The Heir Hunter (36 page)

“So eventually he hired you full-time.”

“Actually, no. He never got the business to the level where it could support two full-time investigators. It was only after he died and I took over that I found out just how much business there really was.”

“Sounds like your father started a pretty good thing.”

Nick nodded and rose to his feet, approaching the window. The water was oil black, the moon’s glare dancing across its surface like a flame. The massive chateaus and
villas dotting the shore on the opposite side of the lake stood like solitary castles in the night.

“He found a good niche,” Nick said softly. “He didn’t live to see the business reach its full potential. I tried to investigate his death after I quit the force, but nothing ever came of it.”

“Investigate it?”

He stared into the dregs at the bottom of his glass. “He was murdered. The police never caught the killer. I didn’t either.”

She looked down. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He spoke after a few seconds. “It seemed like the right decision for me to take over. I felt like I
had
to keep the business alive. It was my way of keeping my dad alive.” He paused, then started up again quickly. “The timing was perfect for Alex. She was hating life with a New York City law firm and really looking for a change. I taught her the ropes over the course of a few months and she set up a similar operation based out of her home in Albany.”

“And that’s worked out okay?”

He smiled. “It’s worked out wonderfully. We’re partners, yet we’re independent of each other most of the time. She’s really done great with the East Coast wing. I’m very proud of that girl.”

“You two must do very well. You probably live in a mansion.”

Nick shook his head. “I live—correction,
lived
—in a one-bedroom apartment not much bigger than this room. That was before it got blown to bits, of course.” He turned to her. “You might laugh, but what I do isn’t about money, believe it or not. If I could find heirs and make a cop’s salary, I’d do it. It’s the work itself that grabs me. It’s fascinating. To be able to go to a stranger’s home and tell him things about his own mother or father or brother or sister that he didn’t know himself—that’s just an incredibly powerful thing. I’ve never experienced anything quite like
it.” His face quickly turned somber. “I doubt I ever will again.”

Jessica sat up and cradled her glass with both hands. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Why not?” he asked, barely hearing the question. All the talk about his father was starting to weigh on his mind. He wanted to lose himself in sleep for a few hours. He dumped the remainder of his glass out on the landing outside the window.

“You and your partner,” Jessica said. “Are you . . . together?”

“Not at the moment,” Nick replied, wondering why he hadn’t just said no. “Why?”

“Just curious,” she said, with a shrug. “I thought I picked up on some . . . undertones when we were in that apartment. Some sort of vibes—mostly from her, I guess.”

“We’re not together,” said Nick flatly.

“I didn’t think so,” she said, placing her glass aside. “You two seem very different.”

Nick’s response came quickly.

“Funny you should say that, because when I think about it, we’re actually about as similar as two people can be.” He turned away from her. “Excuse me.”

He entered the bathroom and shut the door. The wine had left a film in his mouth, and he cupped his hands under the faucet, using the cold water to gargle. He did that three times but still tasted a faint sourness.

He grabbed the towel and rubbed his hands dry. Something was bothering him about Jessica’s last few observations. She was quick with her opinions, but she was off the mark regarding his relationship with Alex. The fact was, they were good for each other. It was a rare occurrence when he didn’t talk to his partner at least three times a week, and he didn’t mind the staggering phone bills. Somehow he had never considered any of their conversations strictly business. He enjoyed them too much to think that way.

The room was dark when he came back out. Jessica had clicked off the light next to her bed and pulled the covers over herself. Good, he thought. He would try to sleep as well, and with a little luck he might actually nod off for an hour or two.

His cell phone rang the second he reclined on the bed.

“Nick, it’s me.”

The urgency in his partner’s voice instantly brought Nick to his feet. “What is it, Alex?”

“Thank God you answered,” she said, breathless. “We got a fax—someone’s been checking Michael Collier’s credit transactions. They’ve got your alias, Nick—”

“Wait a second. What exactly does it say?”

“It says some company in Brooklyn Heights called Hamilton Leasing Agency has requested and been sent a copy.”

“Hamilton Leasing Agency?” said Nick. “Could it be some kind of mistake—?”

“It’s a bogus company, Nick. I called information, then I had Doug run the name. There is no Hamilton Leasing Agency.”

Nick stepped to the window, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Jessica. The streets outside were dark but still full of pedestrians.

“Does it give a time when they ordered it?”

“It says yesterday. The—”

“Yesterday?
You were supposed to be checking these every two hours—”

“There’s a time gap!” Alex said, her voice desperate. “There’s a lag of anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours from when someone requests a report and when the request’s actually logged. I just found this out, Nick!”

Nick was trying to show a facade of calm in front of Jessica, but his mind was in overdrive. Whoever had requested the report was now en route to them. Or already there.

“Okay then. I’ll take care of it.”

“Nick, they know you’re there.
They know where you’re staying.”

“We’ll be fine,” he replied. “I’ll do what I have to. Call you later, okay?”

“Be careful—”

He clicked the phone off and finally looked at Jessica. She was sitting up, her face worried.

“What’s wrong?” she asked sharply. “What is it?”

He grabbed his suitcase and flipped it open. “We need to find new lodgings—just a precaution.” He gave her an unconvincing little smile. “Get your bag, okay? We’ve got five minutes to pack.”

The calm and cool act didn’t work. Jessica latched on to his arm tightly.

“What exactly did she say, Nick?”

He saw by her eyes that she would not accept anything but the truth. He licked his lips.

“They know we’re here,” he said.

Regnier was in a heavy black coat and was standing at the far desk of the Beau Rivage. The girl at the counter was eyeing him nervously. The three bills were neatly laid out on the sleek marble surface between them.

“Very important,” he said, flashing a cruel smile. He placed another fifty-franc note down with the other three.

She bit her lip and glanced down at the money. Her eyes darted down the lobby, then back to the bills. Her hand slipped out and drew the money toward her.

“Room 412,” she said, turning and walking away.

Regnier put his hands deep in his pockets and walked through the lobby. He met his comrade outside. They spoke briefly, then split up and found their positions.

Nick and Jessica passed through a laundry room on the first floor, ignoring the curious looks of a half dozen
maids. Nick pressed the rear door open as quietly as possible, scanning the back alleyway carefully. He motioned to Jessica and then they were out on the street, walking casually but briskly toward the boulevard.

They stopped under the shadow of a jewelry store canopy. The stars were gone, and a light rain was falling. Nick was staring down the street, his eyes on the illuminated sign of the Beau Rivage.

“Are you sure we’ve got everything?” Jessica asked.

Nick checked their surroundings before answering. He couldn’t think of anything essential they might have left in their room. His travel bag had been haphazardly stuffed full of clothing and notepads.

“Let’s get a move on,” he said, taking her arm. “Come on . . .”

They hurried across the Quai du Mont-Blanc. The boulevard was an overwhelming commotion of noise and lights. Nick frowned. They were far safer catching a cab away from the city center, on a quiet street with sparse foot traffic. He scanned their surroundings a final time before directing Jessica down a poorly lit side street and heading south.

They walked quickly. The street was quiet and lined with little shops and trinket stores, all of which were dark and closed for the day. Pedestrians were few. A beggar sat on the sidewalk and muttered to himself. Nick raised the collar of his jacket and quickened his pace. Jessica had to hurry just to keep up with him.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“We’ll catch a cab a couple of blocks from here,” he said. “Then we’ll find a place to stay somewhere on the outskirts of town. Cash transactions from here on out.”

He was not slowing his stride as he spoke. She stepped along quickly to keep pace.

“Walk any faster and I’ll have to run,” she said, trotting along at his heels.

“You’re doing fine.” Nick scanned two pedestrians as
they passed by. He looked over at Jessica. “Come on, lady. I thought you were a jogger.”

“Funny, I don’t remember telling you that.”

“You must have.”

He slowed as they reached the corner. Another narrow street, devoid of much foot traffic. Nick scanned it and kept walking.

“I meant to ask you,” Jessica said. “What’s your take on all that business at the bank?”

“Still trying to figure that out,” replied Nick. “I think I’ll know more tomorrow.”

She took three quick steps and pulled even with him. “Sounds like this Kranzhoffer stole my inheritance.”

“Your inheritance? Jessica, these weren’t clean accounts.”

“My mother wouldn’t have been involved in any fraud.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this right now. All I want to do is find a place where we can hide out. You should—”

Nick suddenly caught movement in his peripheral vision. They were no longer alone on the street. The man was tall and as big as a professional wrestler, and he was walking straight for them, his hand extended. Instantly Nick had Jessica step behind him.

“Light?” the man asked.

Nick studied him, studied the cigarette between his fingers. He placed his hand on Jessica’s shoulder and moved them along again. “Sorry,” he replied.

They were three or four steps away when the man spoke again. “Merchant!”

Nick’s head turned involuntarily. In the dim light, he saw the stranger smile.

“And Blondie too,” said the man, reaching into his coat and pulling out a gigantic, saw-toothed knife. “Remember our night in the park? Nowhere to run now, Nick . . .”

The street was empty and cold. Water flowed from a
roof drainage pipe and trickled along the street in tiny rivulets.

The man stepped forward, the knife partially extended. Nick could barely breathe. He kept his eyes on the glimmering steel blade as he felt his heart kick into high gear. He had disarmed knife-wielding punks back on SFPD, but those had been nothing more than emaciated dopers, too strung out to pose much of a threat. This man was no blurry-eyed drug addict.

“Only hurts for a second, Nick,” said the stranger, smiling. “I promise you . . .”

He shot the knife forward, making Nick flinch violently. The stranger chuckled as they circled each other. Nick held his eyes on the blade and kept himself fluid, ready to move. He could feel the ground, hard and slick beneath his feet.

The thug swiped a wild horizontal arc that made Nick draw back on his heels, and then he charged. Nick caught his wrist with one hand and threw a sharp uppercut to his attacker’s chin. When his foot slipped he knew he was going down, but his grip on the wrist was tight, and he pulled the man down with him. A thick forearm leaned into Nick’s throat, and then he was on his back, choking for breath and struggling to hold back the descending knife with his left hand. His vision started to waver as the sound of his own gagging filled his ears.

Out of the shadows, something swung through the air. Nick heard a solid whack, and all at once the stranger’s grip loosened. Nick punched out viciously and caught him squarely in the throat as another sharp blow from behind struck his attacker in the back of the head. Nick slammed his knuckles solidly into his nose, and the man’s eyes rolled in their sockets like loose marbles. He pitched forward with a groan, landing face-first on the pavement.

Nick squirmed free. Jessica dropped the brick and knelt down to him.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”

Nick stood and rubbed at his throat as his vision came back into focus. He slowly nodded, coughing. He stooped down to the body on the ground, taking the knife. A quick search of the man’s jacket and pants pockets turned up no ID. He stood and placed the knife in his coat.

“Jesus. We need to get out of here.”

“What about him?” she asked, bringing her hands together to stop them from shaking.

“Let the rats have him. Let’s get moving before his friends come looking for him.” He pointed down the alley. “Quick—there’s our ride.”

They jogged down the alley and waved down the taxi. Nick held the door as she stepped in.

“Take us to the west side of town,” Nick instructed the cabbie. “And make it quick, please. We need to find some lodgings.”

The driver nodded and entered the street.

“Maybe we should get out of Geneva,” Jessica suggested, a quavering still audible in her voice.

“We’ll be fine if we can just get inside. They can’t kick down every door in town.”

She hugged herself and shivered noticeably.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Sure,” she replied. “Someone just tried to kill us, and we can’t set foot outside for fear of getting murdered in broad daylight. I’m wonderful.”

Nick threw a quick glance at the driver, then looked over at her, placing a finger to his lips. He moved closer to her and spoke in a whisper.

“We’ll be okay. We’ll find a little inn we can check into on the edge of town and get some sleep. We’re going to be up early tomorrow. I’m going to go see that PI in the morning, and then we’ll pay Mr. Chagnon a visit. Once we—”