“WASN’T THERE ANYTHING on the film that would assist us?” asked Macy.
“Nothing,” replied Jack, as he looked across the desk at his boss. “Leapman had only been in the office long enough to photograph eight documents before Fenston’s unscheduled appearance.”
“And what do those eight documents tell us?” Macy demanded.
“Nothing we didn’t already know,” admitted Jack, as he opened a file in front of him. “Mainly contracts confirming that Fenston is still fleecing customers in different parts of the world, who are either naïve or greedy. But should any of them decide it would be in their best interests to sell their assets and clear the debt with Fenston Finance, I suspect that’s when we’ll end up with another body on our hands. No, my only hope is that the NYPD has gathered enough evidence to press charges in the Leapman case, because I still don’t have enough to slap a parking ticket on him.”
“It doesn’t help,” said Macy, “that when I spoke to my opposite number this morning, or to be more accurate he spoke to me, the first thing he wanted to know was did we have an FBI agent called Delaney, and if so, was he on the scene of the crime before his boys arrived.”
“What did you tell him?” asked Jack, trying not to smile.
“I’d look into the matter and call him back.” Macy paused. “But it might placate them a little if you were willing to trade some information,” he suggested.
“But I don’t think they have anything we aren’t already aware of,” responded Jack, “and they can’t be that optimistic about pressing charges while Leapman is still out for the count.”
“Any news from the hospital about his chances of recovery?” asked Macy.
“Not great,” admitted Jack. “While he was in Fenston’s office he suffered a stress stroke caused by high blood pressure. The medical term is aphasia.”
“Aphasia?”
“The part of Leapman’s brain that affects his speech has been irreparably damaged, so he can’t speak. Frankly, his doctor is describing him as a vegetable and warned me that the only decision the hospital will have to make is whether to pull the plug and let him die peacefully.”
“The NYPD tells me that Fenston is sitting solicitously by the patient’s bedside.”
“Then they’d better not leave them alone for more than a few moments,” said Jack, “because if they do, the doctors won’t need to make the decision as to who should pull the plug.”
“The police also want to know if you removed a camera from the crime scene.”
“It was FBI property.”
“Not if it was evidence in a criminal investigation, as you well know, Jack. Why don’t you send them a set of the photos Leapman took and try to be more cooperative in the future? Remind them that your father served twenty-six years with the force—that should do the trick.”
“But what do they have to offer in exchange?” asked Jack.
“A copy of a photograph with your name on the back. They want to know if it meant anything to you, because it sure didn’t to them, or me,” admitted Macy.
The supervisor pushed two prints across his desk and allowed Jack a few moments to consider them. The first was a picture of Fenston shaking hands with George W. Bush when he visited Ground Zero. Jack recalled the blown-up version that was hanging on the wall behind Fenston’s desk. He held up the picture and asked, “How come the NYPD has a copy of this?”
“They found it on Leapman’s desk. He was obviously going to hand it over to you yesterday evening, along with an explanation of what he’d written on the back.”
Jack looked at the second print and was considering the words, Delaney, this is all the evidence you need, when the phone on Macy’s desk buzzed.
He picked it up and listened. “Put him on,” said Macy, as he replaced the receiver and flicked a switch that would allow them both to follow the conversation. “It’s Tom Crasanti, calling from London,” said Macy. “Hi, Tom, it’s Dick Macy. Jack’s in the office with me. We were just discussing the Fenston case, because we’re still not making much headway.”
“That’s why I’m calling,” said Tom. “There’s been a development at this end, and the news is not good. We think Krantz has slipped into England.”
“That’s not possible,” said Jack. “How could she hope to get through passport control?”
“By posing as an Aeroflot stewardess, it would seem,” said Tom. “My contact at the Russian embassy called to warn me that a woman had entered Britain using a fake passport under the name of Sasha Prestakavich.”
“But why should they assume Prestakavich is Krantz?” asked Jack.
“They didn’t,” said Tom. “They had no idea who she was. All they could tell me was that the suspect befriended Aeroflot’s chief stewardess while on their daily flight to London. She then fooled her into accompanying her through passport control. That’s how we got to hear of it. It turns out that the copilot asked who the woman was, and when he was told that her name was Sasha Prestakavich, he said that wasn’t possible because he traveled with her regularly, and it certainly wasn’t Prestakavich.”
“That still doesn’t prove it’s Krantz,” pressed Macy.
“I’ll get there, sir, just give me time.”
Jack was glad his friend couldn’t see the look of impatience on the boss’s face.
“The copilot,” continued Tom, “reported to his captain, who immediately alerted Aeroflot’s security. It didn’t take them long to discover that Sasha Prestakavich was on a three-day layover, and her passport had been stolen, along with her uniform. That set alarm bells ringing.” Macy began tapping his fingers on the desk. “My contact at the Russian embassy called me in the new entente-cordiale spirit of post-9/11,” said Tom, “having already briefed Interpol.”
“We are going to get there, aren’t we, Tom?”
“Any moment, sir.” He paused. “Where was I?”
“Taking calls from your contact in the Russian embassy,” said Jack.
“Oh, yes,” said Tom. “It was after I’d given him a description of Krantz, about five foot, around a hundred pounds, crew cut, that they asked me to fax over a photograph of her, which I did. He then forwarded a copy of the photograph to the copilot at his London hotel, who confirmed that it was Krantz.”
“Good work, Tom,” said Macy, “thorough as always, but have you come up with any theory as to why Krantz would chance going to England at this particular time?”
“To kill Petrescu would be my bet,” said Tom.
“What do you think?” asked Macy, looking across his desk at Jack.
“I agree with Tom” replied Jack. “Anna has to be the obvious target.” He hesitated. “But what I can’t work out is why Krantz would take such a risk right now.”
“I agree,” said Macy, but I’m not willing to put Petrescu’s life at risk while we try to second-guess Krantz’s motives.” Macy leant forward. “Now listen carefully, Tom, because I’m only going to tell you this once.” He quickly began to turn the pages of his Fenston file. “I need you to get in touch with—just give me a moment,” said Macy, as he turned over even more pages. “Ah, yes, here it is, Chief Superintendent Renton of the Surrey CID. After reading Jack’s report, I got a clear impression that Renton is a man used to making tough decisions, even taking responsibility when one of his subordinates has screwed up. I know you’ve already briefed him on Krantz, but warn him that we think she’s about to strike again, and the target could well be someone else at Wentworth Hall. He won’t want that to happen twice on his watch, and rub in that the last time Krantz was captured, she escaped. That will keep him awake at night. And if he wants to have a word with me at any time, I’m always on the end of a line.”
“And do pass on my best wishes,” added Jack.
“That should settle it,” said Macy. “So, Tom, step it up a notch.”
“Yes, sir,” came back the reply from London.
Macy flicked off the speaker phone. “And, Jack, I want you to take the next flight to London. If Krantz is even thinking about harming Petrescu, let’s make sure we’re waiting for her, because if she were to escape a second time, I’ll be pensioned off and you can forget any thoughts of promotion.”
Jack frowned but didn’t respond.
“You look apprehensive,” said Macy.
“I can’t see why a photo of Fenston shaking hands with the president is all the evidence you need—” he paused “—although I think I’ve worked out why Krantz is willing to risk returning to Wentworth Hall a second time.”
“And why’s that?” asked Macy.
“She’s going to steal the Van Gogh,” said Jack, “then somehow get it to Fenston.”
“So Petrescu isn’t the reason Krantz has returned to England.”
“No, she isn’t,” said Jack, “but once Krantz discovers she’s there, you can assume that she’ll consider killing Anna a bonus.”