the copy released to us."
"It's not enough time, Atticus."
"It's all we've got."
"I'm sure that'll be a consolation to Her Ladyship when the shit hits the fan," Bridgett said.
Chapter 6
"So where is he, then?" Moore asked.
"That's the problem," I said. "We don't know."
There was a slight crackle from the speakerphone as Moore, across the Atlantic, considered what Natalie and I had been telling him. It was the middle of a Sunday afternoon, the day before Lady Ainsley-Hunter would arrive, and Natalie and I were spending it in the office making certain our end of things was in order. In Queens, Dale and Corry were giving the vehicles their final once-overs, and checking that the rest of our gear was ready for action.
"I thought the FBI was assisting with this," Moore said. "Can't they find him?"
"They're looking."
"And?"
"And they're looking, Robert," I said. "Bridgett Logan and Scott Fowler went to Hartford. They found his apartment, but he wasn't there, and so far the word is that he hasn't been back."
"Christ."
There was another silence. I reached for my coffee cup and found the contents ice cold. I drank it anyway.
"All right," Moore said. "I have to ask, are we just being paranoid?"
"Hard to say," Natalie said. "Logan did some interviews with the neighbors. Keith was at his residence until sometime early last week. Bridgett went to his place of employment -- he worked for a temp agency, white-collar, secretarial -- and they told her Keith picked up his last check the Friday before last, at which point he told the service he'd be out of town for a couple of weeks."
"Christ," Moore said again. "Next you'll tell me he owns a rifle."
"If he does, it's an illegally acquired weapon," I said. "According to the FBI, Keith doesn't own a firearm."
"Good news, I suppose. There more?"
"Yeah, but you're not going to like it. Bridgett got a look at his apartment..."
"Legally?"
"I'm sketchy on the details. He had a lot of literature on Together Now and Her Ladyship. Not a shrine, Bridgett was very clear on that, but a substantial collection."
"Like what?"
Natalie consulted her notepad. "Pictures, magazine articles, clippings. Copies of articles written by Lady Ainsley-Hunter. Some of it was recent, including the press release about her appointment from the United Nations."
The groan that floated from the speakerphone made Moore sound like a disgruntled ghost. "How is that not a shrine?"
"No incense," I said.
Natalie gave me a proxy of what Moore's glare must have looked like.
"Bridgett got a picture of Joseph Keith," I said. "Confirmed it with the neighbors. We've had copies made and the FBI is handling distribution to the local authorities."
"Is that all?"
"There's not much more that can be done. Keith hasn't committed a crime, and until he does we can't get a full law enforcement press. Bridgett's been chasing down background on him, but she hasn't found anything in her interviews that sheds more light on what he's up to. We have to work with what we have."
"You trust Logan?"
"If there's something to find, I trust her to find it, Robert."
There was another pause, this one so long that I wondered if we hadn't been cut off.
"Right, then," Moore said softly. "Professional opinions, if you please. Do we cancel?"
Natalie's look was pained, and I nodded slightly in agreement. We didn't need to talk about it; each of us knew the other's mind on the subject.
"Will Her Ladyship accept a recommendation to cancel?" Natalie asked Moore.
"Not unless we're absolutely certain. Unless we tell her we have definite fears for her safety, she'll insist it's still on. I can pass on our concerns, but all that will serve to do is make her nervous, if not outright frightened. It won't keep her from making the trip."
"So this is going to be our decision?" I asked.
"No, for this one, I'm being a bastard," Moore replied. "It's your decision, the two of you. I'm asking you: What's your gut saying?"
What my gut was saying was
"It's not enough time, Atticus."
"It's all we've got."
"I'm sure that'll be a consolation to Her Ladyship when the shit hits the fan," Bridgett said.
Chapter 6
"So where is he, then?" Moore asked.
"That's the problem," I said. "We don't know."
There was a slight crackle from the speakerphone as Moore, across the Atlantic, considered what Natalie and I had been telling him. It was the middle of a Sunday afternoon, the day before Lady Ainsley-Hunter would arrive, and Natalie and I were spending it in the office making certain our end of things was in order. In Queens, Dale and Corry were giving the vehicles their final once-overs, and checking that the rest of our gear was ready for action.
"I thought the FBI was assisting with this," Moore said. "Can't they find him?"
"They're looking."
"And?"
"And they're looking, Robert," I said. "Bridgett Logan and Scott Fowler went to Hartford. They found his apartment, but he wasn't there, and so far the word is that he hasn't been back."
"Christ."
There was another silence. I reached for my coffee cup and found the contents ice cold. I drank it anyway.
"All right," Moore said. "I have to ask, are we just being paranoid?"
"Hard to say," Natalie said. "Logan did some interviews with the neighbors. Keith was at his residence until sometime early last week. Bridgett went to his place of employment -- he worked for a temp agency, white-collar, secretarial -- and they told her Keith picked up his last check the Friday before last, at which point he told the service he'd be out of town for a couple of weeks."
"Christ," Moore said again. "Next you'll tell me he owns a rifle."
"If he does, it's an illegally acquired weapon," I said. "According to the FBI, Keith doesn't own a firearm."
"Good news, I suppose. There more?"
"Yeah, but you're not going to like it. Bridgett got a look at his apartment..."
"Legally?"
"I'm sketchy on the details. He had a lot of literature on Together Now and Her Ladyship. Not a shrine, Bridgett was very clear on that, but a substantial collection."
"Like what?"
Natalie consulted her notepad. "Pictures, magazine articles, clippings. Copies of articles written by Lady Ainsley-Hunter. Some of it was recent, including the press release about her appointment from the United Nations."
The groan that floated from the speakerphone made Moore sound like a disgruntled ghost. "How is that not a shrine?"
"No incense," I said.
Natalie gave me a proxy of what Moore's glare must have looked like.
"Bridgett got a picture of Joseph Keith," I said. "Confirmed it with the neighbors. We've had copies made and the FBI is handling distribution to the local authorities."
"Is that all?"
"There's not much more that can be done. Keith hasn't committed a crime, and until he does we can't get a full law enforcement press. Bridgett's been chasing down background on him, but she hasn't found anything in her interviews that sheds more light on what he's up to. We have to work with what we have."
"You trust Logan?"
"If there's something to find, I trust her to find it, Robert."
There was another pause, this one so long that I wondered if we hadn't been cut off.
"Right, then," Moore said softly. "Professional opinions, if you please. Do we cancel?"
Natalie's look was pained, and I nodded slightly in agreement. We didn't need to talk about it; each of us knew the other's mind on the subject.
"Will Her Ladyship accept a recommendation to cancel?" Natalie asked Moore.
"Not unless we're absolutely certain. Unless we tell her we have definite fears for her safety, she'll insist it's still on. I can pass on our concerns, but all that will serve to do is make her nervous, if not outright frightened. It won't keep her from making the trip."
"So this is going to be our decision?" I asked.
"No, for this one, I'm being a bastard," Moore replied. "It's your decision, the two of you. I'm asking you: What's your gut saying?"
What my gut was saying was
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