The Bricklayer - Boyd Noah (лучшие книги читать онлайн бесплатно без регистрации txt) 📗

VAIL WATCHED as the evidence agent, using a cordless saw, carefully cut out a small section of wall that contained one of the bullets fired at him. It was the fourth one the team had recovered in addition to the five ejected shell casings. The fifth bullet, they decided, had been fired out the open front door and would probably never be found. It didn’t really matter; one was all that would be needed to match the gun taken from Bertok’s hand. The day’s events had left little doubt in anyone’s mind that it would match the four slugs extracted from the Pentad’s murder victims.

Assistant Director Don Kaulcrick and the SAC came through the door. “Everybody okay?” Kaulcrick asked.

“Not counting Bertok, everyone’s fine,” Vail said.

The assistant director looked down at the body. “At least he did the right thing.”

“Maybe.” Vail’s voice was a little more displaced than usual, encrypted.

“I would have thought that you of all people would be happy. Your assignment was to find him. You did it and did it well. I would have preferred you cut us in on it before the fact, but…”

“When we got the call about the Laundromat, it sounded like a dead end, so we thought we would waste only two agents’ time.”

Kaulcrick nodded in agreement but his look seemed questioning. “That’s fine, Steve. The important thing is we got Bertok. Any sign of the money?”

Kate, listening from the kitchen area, walked in. “We didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene, so we’ve just given the house a cursory search. So far, nothing.”

Kaulcrick walked over to the evidence agent. “How much longer are you going to be?”

The agent pulled out the section of the wall he had been working on and placed it in a cardboard box. “We’re pretty much done. The only thing left is the car.”

Kaulcrick went over to the SAC and put his hand on his shoulder. “Mark, I want someone reliable to immediately carry all this ballistics material back to the lab. Take your Bureau plane. I want it in the examiner’s hands before sundown, eastern time. I’ll call ahead and have someone waiting to go to work on it.”

“What about the slug from the body?”

“There’s no hurry on that. As soon as the M.E. can get it out, we’ll send it back. The thing we need to know right now is whether Bertok’s gun is the one used in the murders. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, he’s left little doubt.”

Kate held up a clear plastic envelope sealed with red evidence tape. Inside was a sheaf of hundred-dollar bills. “These were in Bertok’s wallet.”

Kaulcrick took the envelope from her and examined the bills. “What are these holes?”

Vail said, “From the punji boards when I dropped the bag in the tunnel.”

“So these bills are part of the three million.”

“We haven’t checked the serial numbers yet, but they should match,” Kate said.

Kaulcrick took out a three-by-five card and made a note. “So it was all Bertok. Let’s tear this place apart.”

“There’s really not much to search,” Kate said. “The house is small, no attic, basement, or crawl space. No furniture. I’ve been through the rooms a half-dozen times looking for hidden boards and compartments—nothing.”

“When ERT finishes, let’s get some fresh eyes in here, Mark,” Kaulcrick said to the SAC. “Have them check the walls, floors, and ceiling. Let’s go take a look at the car. If the money isn’t in here, it’s the next best bet.”

Outside, Kate took out another evidence envelope and shook out a set of keys with the rental tag attached. She slid one of them into the trunk lock and opened it. There was a collective “Yeah!” as everyone recognized the large canvas bag that, when last seen, had contained three million dollars. The head evidence agent stepped forward and, pulling on a fresh pair of plastic gloves, unzipped it. Inside were a few banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills, pierced with nail holes.

“Where’s the rest of it?” Kaulcrick asked. “How much is in there?”

The agent counted the stacks. “If there’s a hundred bills in each stack, we’ve got only fifty thousand dollars here.” Sticking out from under one of the bundles, he saw something shiny—a key. He pulled it out. The number 14 was stamped into it.

“What’s that for?” Kaulcrick asked.

“I don’t know,” the agent said.

Someone said, “Could be for some kind of storage facility.”

Kate looked over at Vail. His attention had once again drifted elsewhere.

Kaulcrick turned to the SAC. “Obviously, the money is wherever this key fits. How many men can you put on it?”

“I can deploy the entire office if you want.”

“We need two things. First, a couple dozen copies of the key. And then a list of storage facilities in the city. Have someone list them by proximity to this location. The closer, the higher the priority. What was the alias he was using for the car registration?”

“Alan Nefton,” Kate said.

“They can also check that name and the name from the Florida driver’s license….”

“Ruben Aznar,” Kate said.

Kaulcrick made another note on his three-by-five card. “Also, Mark, I want you to handle the media. Have a news conference and tell them only that, tragically, an agent has committed suicide. Nothing about the Pentad, nothing about any money, terrorism, or extortion. Don’t give them anything specific why he might have killed himself. ‘Ongoing investigation,’ et cetera. If someone does make the connection between Bertok’s death and the Pentad, deny it unequivocally.” Kaulcrick turned back to everyone there. “If there is any leak of this—any leak—there will be more Bureau polygraphers in this division than falsified time sheets. Now get going.”

As the group around the car started to disperse, the assistant director said, “Well, Steve, I guess you can head back to Chicago.”

“What are you talking about?” Kate asked.

“He was asked to find Bertok, and he’s done that. This is all drone stuff now: go to the rental places and show the key. It’s just a matter of time until someone stumbles across it. I think we can take it from here. I would think you’d find that boring, wouldn’t you, Steve?”

“Actually, the director asked me to find Bertok and the money. You wouldn’t mind if I hang around until you do find it, would you? I promise not to get in the way.”

“Does that mean you don’t think we will find it?”

“It means I’m curious, nothing more.”

“Sorry if I’m a little defensive. I’d like to think that the Bureau could solve at least part of this case.” There was something strained about Kaulcrick’s attempted humility.

“I’d just like to see how it turns out. I’ll keep my hands off,” Vail said.

Kaulcrick stared at him for a moment. “Are you sure that’s possible?”

Vail smiled. “Probably not.”

THAT NIGHT VAIL watched the SAC on the early news. He stood at the lectern and read from a prepared statement. “Special Agent Stanley Bertok of this division, a twelve-year veteran with the FBI, committed suicide earlier today in this city. Agent Bertok had not reported to work for the last several days, and agents from this office had been searching for him. One of those teams finally located him and discovered that he had killed himself. This office is continuing to investigate the matter. Once that investigation is completed, our findings will be made public.”

The statement, short by design, caused the reporters to start firing questions at Hildebrand. “Any idea why he killed himself? Was he depressed?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, but I believe depression is involved in most suicides. If he was depressed, we had no indication of it prior to this.”

Another reporter asked, “How hard were you looking for him? Why wasn’t there a public plea for help in locating him?”

The only answer that occurred to Hildebrand he knew could open Pandora’s box. He looked back past the lights for some signal from Kaulcrick, who sat in his chair passively. “Like any organization, on rare occasions,” Hildebrand started, “we have employees who are out of pocket for short periods of time. And when they are located, the explanations are usually quite innocuous. We had no reason to believe this was any different.”