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IT WAS SUNDAY. PLANES were flying again, and Laynie’s most recent hotel was clearing out. It made her nervous, knowing that, at half-full, the hotel’s staff would be more cognizant of its guests. And, at another new hotel, she might be more noticeable checking in.
Stay calm. Keep this room one more night.
She was stiff from inactivity, so she entered into an hour’s worth of stretching, when what she really wanted and needed was a nice, long run.
Tomorrow. I’ll get a good walk in tomorrow.
Tomorrow everything would change. Tomorrow she would leave Montreal.
ZAKHAR WAS CHECKING out of his hotel, using the opportunity to show Linnéa Olander’s pictures to the morning staff.
“I’m sorry. She doesn’t look familiar to me, but we’ve had a full house ever since the attacks,” one woman told him. “We’ve been run off our feet.”
Zakhar held up the photograph to the other front desk clerk. “You, young man. Have you seen this woman?”
“No, sir. Sorry.”
He showed the image to a bellboy handling a loaded a luggage cart. He flashed the photo to the day manager walking by.
Behind him a male voice exclaimed, “Isn’t that Beverly?”
Zakhar turned and faced the young man. “You know this woman?” He held all three pictures before the man’s face.
“Her name is Beverly. I, uh, had dinner with her, couple nights ago.”
“What is your name, young man?”
“Justin Worley.”
Zakhar signaled the manager. “I require a room to interview this man.”
“Hey, I don’t have time for this—finally got a flight home to Vancouver, and I need to leave for the airport.”
Zakhar took him by the arm. “You will go nowhere until I am finished with you.”
“But—”
“I am Lieutenant Paul Moreau, and this is official government business. You will come with me.”
The manager led them to her office and, at Zakhar’s gesture, left and closed the door behind her.
“Now, Mr. Worley, I cannot emphasize how important your cooperation is. You say you know this woman? How did you meet her?”
“We were in the business center, using the computers. She had a Final Fantasy disc.”
Zakhar recognized the title. “This is a video game, no?”
“Yeah. I play the same game, so I asked her if she’d like to play it with me. I travel a lot and bring my game console with me.”
“In this hotel you saw her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“It was Thursday. She came up to my room.”
“So, a woman of her age was interested in you only for video games?”
Justin flushed. “I don’t know what she was interested in. We played the game, ate dinner, drank wine—and I think she drugged me.”
“What? Why? Why would she do this?”
“I don’t know, but I passed out and it wasn’t just from the wine. When I woke up in the morning, she was gone, and the desk said nobody by the name of Beverly was staying here.”
“Tell me what you talked about.”
“Not much, other than the game. I asked her what she’d done that day, she asked me what I’d done.”
“Tell me her exact words. What did she do that day?”
“I dunno. Look, can I go? I have a plane to catch.”
Zakhar slid his gun from his pocket and leveled it at Justin’s heart. “Do you really not remember?”
Justin’s eyes widened to the size of silver dollars. “Hey, man, you can’t do that!”
“This is an issue of national security, Mr. Worley. Believe me when I tell you, you and your flight are both expendable. You will tell me what I want to know.”
“Sh-she said something about paperwork. Shopping. I think she said the bank.”
“The bank? You are certain?”
“Yes. Paperwork, shopping, the bank.”
“Which bank?”
“I don’t know—I’m telling you the truth!”
Zakhar watched the young man’s face. “I think you are. You may go.”
Justin fled the room, leaving Zakhar thinking.
Not as many banks as hotels in the city, and surely it will be close by.
He found the manager again and beckoned her to join him at the far end of the front desk. He laid out the map of Montreal and placed his finger on it.
“We are here at your hotel, yes? Show me the banks near here.”
