Waksit’s sudden and unplanned departure from the Days Inn in Silver Spring the previous night had further unraveled him.
* * *
Deciding to call Jayla hadn’t been easy, and he’d assessed her possible responses, ranging from slamming down the phone to expressing joy at hearing his voice. Neither extreme had occurred. But she had put him off, which to Waksit in his frazzled mind-set represented a cruel rejection. On top of that he’d been forced to flee the Days Inn and find another place to stay, this time a Holiday Inn in Crystal City, close to Reagan National Airport.
He sprawled on the bed and talked to himself, verbalizing his jumbled thoughts to an otherwise empty room, fingertips performing a drum roll against each other, uttering an occasional pained cry from deep inside.
The trip to Washington, D.C., was turning out to be a disaster.
He’d left Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, with Preston King’s research in his briefcase—his ticket to riches and glory. He’d made contact with Eric Morrison, who’d initially treated him shabbily but who he knew would eventually come around and see the wisdom of joining forces. Now Morrison was dead, murdered in some secluded part of the city by a madman. The news reports claimed that the private detective, Robert Brixton, had been exonerated of the killing, but Waksit didn’t buy it. This Brixton probably had connections that got him off the hook. That’s the way the world worked, especially in places like Washington, D.C., where connections meant everything.
He got off the bed and stood at the window watching planes take off and land. He wished that he was on one of them, abandoning the corrupt city with its fancy architecture and pretty avenues. But he couldn’t leave yet, not without accomplishing what he’d come here to do. He spent the next twenty minutes mentally rewriting the unpleasant aspects of his life, something he was good at. He replayed his phone conversation with Jayla and decided that she hadn’t put him off. She was just surprised to hear from him. That was it. And she was probably pleased to receive the call. After all, they went back a long way together, and had in common the work her father had done in his lab. They would make an unbeatable team if they joined forces and sold that work to the highest bidder.
But his rosy interpretations were interrupted by darker thoughts. Who was the young man he’d seen with her when he’d sat in his car and peered through her window? He decreed that it didn’t matter. Waksit believed that Jayla had always found him attractive and had often flirted with him. He wouldn’t have minded a roll in the sack but he’d been too smart to allow his hormones to get in the way of his close relationship with her father. Now that the father was out of the picture he would rekindle her romantic interest in him. That was the key. He would woo her before jumping into a business relationship and make her realize that he had her best interests at heart.
He checked his watch. It was a few minutes past eleven. He opened his briefcase and took out some cash. He was about to close the case when he saw the Italian stiletto switchblade that he’d purchased upon arriving at Dulles Airport. It was tucked in a sleeve within the briefcase and he’d forgotten that it was there. He considered for a moment taking it with him, decided not to, then changed his mind and slipped the knife into his pocket. Washington was a dangerous city; he would no longer venture out into it unarmed.
He drove his rental car to Jayla’s apartment building, parked in the same spot as the previous night, and looked up at her window. The blinds were open. Jayla was speaking into a phone while walking back and forth in her living room. Who was she talking to? Maybe that guy he’d followed the other night.
But then Nate Cousins came into view, causing Waksit to grimace and curse under his breath. Who was this guy?
Cousins and Jayla had gone out for dinner and returned to her apartment after it had been agreed that Cousins would spend the night. Jayla had gone to work at Renewal that day but left early. Sleep had been elusive the previous night and she’d had trouble keeping her eyes open. The nap refreshed her, enough so that she felt up to dinner with Cousins at Pearl Dive Oyster Palace on Fourteenth Street Street, N.W.
Once back in the apartment Jayla had returned a call from a colleague at Renewal who wanted to discuss the next day’s work. The call completed, Cousins came to where she stood in the middle of the room and embraced her. Anger welled up in Waksit. Then Jayla closed the blinds. Ten minutes later the lights went out.
Waksit returned to the Holiday Inn and stewed about what he’d seen. He came to many conclusions before falling asleep, the final and most compelling one that he had to act quickly.