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Despite my objections, we drove back to Sam’s place. He needed his computer and bristled at the notion of going into hiding. I followed him to the den. He fired up his computer, got on his phone and sweet-talked someone on the other end into helping us ID the man in the photos. He sent off the portrait shot; it was the sharpest of all of them.
Though I was tempted, I didn’t call Sebastian again. I’d already left him a message. I told myself I didn’t want to distract him, that he’d call when he could, but guilt about handing Kimberley to Ortez was part of my reluctance.
We moved to the living room and Sam plopped into a worn recliner that appeared to be the only piece of furniture he’d brought to the decorating party.
“Mason sent me contact details for the Tribunal members. I should call one of them. See if he was lying to me about the year my dad died.”
“You do that. You hungry?”
“Starved.” I thought of Mom’s pot of porridge gone cold on the stove at home. Sam extracted himself from the recliner and walked back to his kitchen. I watched him pop open the fridge door and lean on it, staring inside.
I scrolled through the names on Mason’s list and stopped at Ron Evans. I felt as if Ron and I had connected at the caucus. I texted him my name and number and asked him to call me as soon as he could.
Minutes later, he called. “Emelynn. Good to hear from you. How are you?”
After we exchanged pleasantries, I got to the point of my call. “Do you recall a time when a Tribunal seat was vacated and a proxy given to another member?”
“Surely you’re not ditching us already, are you?”
“No. That’s not why I’m asking.”
“All right. Yeah, it happens. Carrie and Rachael gave their proxies to one another from time to time. Ivy has given a standing proxy to Sebastian. Why are you asking?”
“Do you recall a time when the Reynoldses vacated their seat?”
“No, but I can ask my father. He served for twenty years before I stepped in. Somehow I can’t imagine the Reynoldses giving anyone their vote. It’s about as likely as Sebastian Kirk giving up his.”
“Would you check with your father? It’s important. And one other thing: is a record kept of what the Tribunal votes on?”
“Sure. There’s a ledger. Sebastian would have passed it to Mason at the caucus.” I remembered Sebastian had arrived at the caucus carrying an oversized book along with the sceptre. Great! I thought. By now, Mason will have erased any evidence from it.
I thanked him again and we hung up. I looked over to the kitchen. “The Tribunal’s ledger of recorded votes is in Mason’s hands. I’m trying very hard not to jump to conclusions over here.” What was Mason thinking? That I wouldn’t check?
“Assumptions will lead you astray,” Sam said. “Follow the evidence.” He stood in front of his stove with a spatula in his hand. “Get the pickles out of the fridge, would you?”
He’d made grilled cheese sandwiches. I set out plates and added dill pickles to both and a blob of ketchup to mine. “Want a beer?” Sam said, opening the fridge and snagging a bottle.
“No, thanks.” I’d never developed a taste for beer. We took our plates to the table. A text came in from my mother. I glanced at my phone. “Mom’s safe. For now, anyway.”
I was at the sink playing Molly Maid when Sam’s phone rang. His body language told the story. He massaged his forehead and then ran his hand over his brush cut. “What the hell happened?” He listened for a moment. “You have it backed up, right?” He listened again. “Good. Let me know when you have it.”
He stuffed his phone in his pocket. “That was Peter Caulfield. Someone rifled through the Mansfield Group’s baggage. It arrived in Vancouver missing a critical component: the hard drive with the data from their search for your dad’s wreckage. Peter spent the last hour with YVR authorities, who guaranteed him the baggage had been secured and under surveillance on the tarmac. They reviewed the surveillance film. No one touched their baggage.”
“No one they could see. I guess we know now where Mason’s been hanging out. Damn! Did I hear you say Mansfield’s data is backed up somewhere?”
“Yeah, they uploaded it before they left the ship. They’re catching a connecting flight and will recover it when they get back to their office.”
“So we’re back to waiting?”
“Afraid so.”
An hour later, Ron Evans called me back. “I stand corrected. Dad recalls that Stuart bowed out for a while after his wife suffered a stroke, ten or fifteen years ago. He doesn’t remember who got Stuart’s proxy.”
A part of me felt disappointed. Mason’s treachery would have been easier to accept on top of another lie. “Okay. Thanks for your help.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why is this important?”
“I’m trying to get to the bottom of something is all I can say right now.”
Before we hung up, Ron promised to help in any way he could.
“Looks like Mason was telling the truth about his family’s absence from the Tribunal the year Dad’s plane crashed. Not that it changes anything. Just because they didn’t know about a sanctioned hit on my father, or vote to support one, doesn’t mean they didn’t do it.”
Sam found a baseball game on television. The boys of summer had been at it for two hours before his phone rang again. The end of the conversation I was privy to did not sound positive. By the time Sam hung up, I knew Mansfield hadn’t been able to retrieve the data.
“What happened?” I asked.
“They were able to download the files from their backup site, but they’d been overwritten with garbage. Whoever did it hadn’t been able to erase the files, so they corrupted them. Peter is doing all he can to recover the data, but he’s doubtful. He wants to know if we care to involve the police.”
“There’s no point. If Mason is determined to cover his tracks, the police won’t be able to stop him.”
“For what it’s worth, the wreckage is still there. Peter has the coordinates and a photo of the partial call letters on the main fuselage in his notes.”
Our heads snapped up at a knock on his door. “Are you expecting someone?” I asked.
He stood. “No, but they’re knocking. That’s got to be a good sign.” Regardless, he pulled out his gun and motioned for me to follow him.
Sam stood to the right of the door with his gun down by his thigh. I stood to the left, slipped my hand over his in case we needed to ghost, and kept out of sight as he wedged opened the door.
Sam didn’t say a word. It was Sebastian’s voice I heard. “Did you think we didn’t know where you lived? You were thoroughly vetted before you ever started working with Emelynn.”
I pulled the door open and showed myself.
“I thought I might find you here,” Sebastian said.
“Why don’t you come in,” Sam said. He wasn’t smiling.
Sebastian stepped inside and addressed Sam. “I think it’s time we stopped the pretense that you don’t know who or what I am.”
“Let’s not,” Sam said. “It’s better for my health if I don’t know.” He turned and led the way down the hall to the living room.
“You got my message?” I asked Sebastian as we trailed behind Sam.
“Yes. Where is your mother?”
“She’s safe,” I said. “Where were you?”
“Indisposed.”
Sam once again sat down in the recliner.
Sebastian took a seat on the sofa. I sat opposite him. “The groundwork is in place to bring your case forward to the Tribunal. Naturally, with an allegation as serious as an unsanctioned hit on a Tribunal member’s family, I’ll need to review your evidence in advance. If it’s satisfactory, I’ll trigger the meeting as soon as you’re ready.”
I dropped my head in my hands.
“What is it?” Sebastian said. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No. Dad’s plane was blown up, I just can’t prove it. The hard drive containing the data was stolen from Mansfield’s baggage and their backup files are useless.”
Sebastian leaned forward. “Surely they can recreate their findings?”
“Short of returning to the site of the wreck, no,” I said.
Sebastian’s face hardened. “You can’t expect me to condemn another Tribunal member without solid proof, Emelynn. It would be suicide. How soon can this group get back out to the site?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not even sure they’d be willing to go back now that they know someone doesn’t want the wreckage found.”
“I’m sure Mason will be happy to hear that,” Sebastian said, tipping his head with an air of superiority. He stood. “You should never have told him. It was a mistake. One you’ll have to live with.”
“There’s got to be another way to prove he killed my father.” I wanted to scream in frustration.
Sam rose from his chair. “We’ve got nothing more than a loose collection of facts and three deaths surrounding Jolene, none of which have been ruled homicides. Circumstantial at best.”
Sebastian looked down at me. “That’s not nearly enough. I’m sorry, Emelynn. Find another way to prove it, and I’ll do all I can to help.”
With frightening clarity, another thought occurred to me. “Mason’s going to hunt me down.”
Sebastian swept away my fear with a swipe of his hand. “You’re no threat to Mason without evidence of his guilt. It’s a harsh introduction to life on the Tribunal, Emelynn. You and Mason may be enemies now, but enemies abound in our circles. Ask for his forgiveness and keep him close. If there’s a silver lining to this fiasco, at least now we know we can’t trust him.”
Sebastian headed for the hall and Sam walked him out. How would I ever explain this to Mom?
When Sam returned, he went straight to the fridge for another beer. “Is he gone?”
I did a quick check. “Yeah. He’s not here.”
“He is one cold, calculating son of a bitch.”
“I’ll never ask for Mason’s forgiveness. Not knowing what I know. This can’t be over. I have to talk Peter Caulfield into going back out there.”
“Do you think that’s wise? You’d be putting his team in someone’s crosshairs.”
Sam’s phone dinged. He took it out and looked at it. “It’s Dino from the station. He’s found a match for the photo.” I’d met Dino before. Sam scrolled and paused. “Well now, isn’t this interesting.”
Sam passed me his phone. The photo Dino had sent had an Interpol stamp across the top and the name Otis Hofmann printed across the bottom. There was no doubt the image was the same man from Sebastian’s stash of photos.
“Hofmann? This is Wade’s brother. Stuart told me Wade killed a brother. I wonder if he has more than one?” I handed Sam his phone. He starting dialling and walked back to his den. I heard him address Dino.
I found the studio portrait of Otis Hofmann on my phone, sent it to Ron Evans and then dialled his number.
“Hello, Emelynn.”
“I need your help again. I’ve sent you a photo of a man. Do you know who he is?”
“Just a minute,” he said. “Got it. Where’d you get this?”
“I can’t say. Do you know him?”
“Sure. Everyone knows him, or knew him. His name was Otis Hofmann. He’s one of only a handful of Ghosts the Tribunal has ever ordered assassinated. My father told me about him. His own brother took him out.”
“When?”
“Geez. You’re testing my memory today. Ten years ago, maybe more.”
“What did Otis Hofmann do to earn that sentence?”
“He’d been testing the Tribunal’s resolve for years, stealing major works of art. We’re talking the Louvre, the Met, the British Museum. High profile. The thefts were risky. Outrageous. Authorities actually have his face on film. The final straw came when the police uncovered a ring of Fliers helping Otis fence the stolen art.”
“Do you know if the Tribunal ordered Otis’s gift . . . reassigned?” I couldn’t think of another way to say it. James had told me the Tribunal had a history of stripping the accused of their gift before they were executed.
“Interesting you should ask that question. Strangely, no. They didn’t. It was the one condition his brother insisted upon when he took the contract. Still, taking money to kill your own brother? The man has no conscience.”
“Yeah. Thank you, Ron. I appreciate the information.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t want to be messing with these people, Emelynn. Wade Hofmann is trouble.”
“So it seems. Thanks again.”
Sam returned shortly after I disconnected. “Dino tells me Otis Hofmann was found barbecued in his car seventeen years ago.”
“That’s not possible,” I said. I pulled out my phone and flipped through the photos I’d taken. “Here. He’s getting into an SUV. Sure doesn’t look seventeen years old to me.”
Sam took the phone from me. “You’re right. That’s a Lincoln MKX. Not more than three years old.”
“Wade didn’t kill his brother after all,” I said. “Sebastian knows it, and from these photos, he’s known it for a while.”
“That’s what Sebastian’s holding over Wade. But why hasn’t he turned Wade in to the Tribunal?”
“Maybe he wants an assassin in his pocket. He did say enemies are plentiful in our circles.”
“Or they’re playing a game of chicken,” Sam said. “Maybe Wade’s got something on Sebastian.”
“Do you have Wade’s address?”
“His vehicle is registered to a numbered company, but Dino dug down and got me an address. How about we take a drive?”
“Why not? One break-in a day is hardly enough to keep my skills up.” I stood. “Let’s go.”
Wade lived in a posh condo on West Hastings Street. Parking proved impossible. Sam pulled into a loading zone.
“Do you know how to sweet-talk your way out of a ticket?” I teased. His dead-pan stare drew a laugh out of me. I ducked down in case anyone was watching then blinked out of sight.
I made my way into Wade’s building through the glass front doors and headed to the elevator shaft. Once inside, I rose to the sixteenth floor and poked out into the carpeted hall. Elegant wall sconces threw dim light across the floor. Six-inch moulding framed each door. Wade’s unit was 1607. I pushed through his door and found myself in an entry hall that opened into a spacious living room.
Wade’s voice drifted from a room to my left. I made a quick circuit of the living room and pantry and found no mail, nothing to hide a safe behind and very little food. With Wade still occupied elsewhere, I re-formed in the kitchen and quietly opened cupboard doors. Most were empty. It was as if he didn’t live here. The bedroom and bathroom to the right of the living room were likewise void of anything more telling than a receipt. Which left the room Wade occupied—another bedroom, no doubt.
Even though I knew he couldn’t sense me, being in ghosted form around him still unnerved me. He lay on the bed with his cellphone to his ear. Fortunately, he was dressed. Unfortunately, he was caressing his crotch. He flirted with whoever was on the other end of the phone, laughing softly and coercing the person to join him. It gave me the creeps. A little like watching Hannibal Lecter talking to Clarice Starling.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he said. “Promise.”
I checked the wall behind the bed, where a large painting hung. Nothing there. Nothing on top of the dresser.
“Blow him off,” Wade said. “He’s got nothing on me.”
The ensuite was surprisingly clean.
“Tomorrow then,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the Bayshore. Let’s say eight o’clock. Drinks then dinner then me.”
I checked the walk-in closet and came up empty-handed. Expecting pay dirt twice in one day was perhaps overly optimistic. Time to go, I thought, and pushed back into Wade’s bedroom.
He leapt up off his bed. “Bimbo better be worth my time,” he mumbled, stuffing his phone in his pocket.
If only I could have warned the poor woman. Instead, I got out of there as quickly as I could.
“It’s just me,” I said, as I re-formed in Sam’s passenger seat.
Sam reached down and started the engine. “What’d you find?”
“Not a thing. I don’t think he lives there. There’s nothing personal lying around and it’s too clean.”
“Not a bad set-up. Guess the killing business still pays well,” Sam said.
“Checking his place was worth a shot, but we’re no further ahead. We’ve still got nothing.”
“It’s late. How about we call it a night and tackle it fresh in the morning?”
Sunshine wouldn’t fix this, I thought, but it was late. “Your place or mine?” I said. Sam swung his head in my direction. Surprise and confusion warred for top billing on his face. “I need to be within touching distance of you, remember?”
His brow smoothed and he nodded. “You could try to not look so relieved,” I said.
He laughed, did a shoulder check then pulled out.
We stopped for Thai takeout and ended up back at Sam’s. “I have better beer,” he told me. After our late dinner, I stretched out on his sofa with the pillow and blanket he’d given me. He took the recliner, swearing it wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in it.
