"Of course. But before you get too self-righteous, Detective, this is a nation threatened on all sides. Gregori had created a deterrent for any land incursion but still needed one for the sea. He pointed out that, G.o.d willing, neither would ever be used."

"What had you originally intended to do with the doc.u.ments?"

"They are in my will, bequeathed to the United Nations for safekeeping. I now have two reasons to change my will. There is also a missing link, a critical component of the formula that I've kept separate for safety."

"Did Gregori take that doc.u.ment too?" MacNeice asked.

"No. What he has is incomplete, but he doesn't know that."

"You don't trust him." MacNeice didn't expect a response, and he didn't get one.

"Mr. Petrescu," Aziz said, "did Gregori show you the portfolio of images of your daughter?"

"No. Why would he have images of my daughter?"

"They were photographs taken by her boyfriend. Intimate photographs. He never mentioned them?"

"What do you mean, 'intimate'? My daughter was a good girl."

"Nude photographs, with her violin. They are beauti-" Petrescu interrupted her. "I want no more of this, please. I want you to leave my house." He lifted his head, staring directly at MacNeice.

"One last question, sir, and then we'll go. Do you know when your son is leaving?"

Standing up to indicate that the interview was truly over, Petrescu said, "He called to say that his original schedule had unexpectedly changed and that he was catching the 1:30 p.m. flight to New York."

"Why was he calling?" MacNeice asked.

"He wanted to know if the formula was complete...."

MacNeice picked up the recorder and turned it off. No further words were spoken until they were on the other side of the front door, where MacNeice turned to say goodbye. Before he could get a word out, the door slammed with such force that the bronze knocker jumped and clacked twice. He caught Aziz's eye and shrugged, and she briefly put a hand on his shoulder.

BACK IN THE C CHEVY, MacNeice hit the speed-dial for his boss. "Sir, here's the situation. We have a growing body of circ.u.mstantial evidence that Gregori Petrescu and his two bodyguards are responsible for the girl's death and that of her boyfriend, as well as the dealer in the boat."

"How circ.u.mstantial?"

"The strongest evidence we have is that the pathologist has identified the marks on Marcus Johnson's head and shoulders as being consistent with the sticks the two bodyguards were carrying. Forensics haven't processed the sticks yet, but Richardson's evidence is pretty sound."

"That's it?"

"We have a portfolio of images of Lydia Petrescu taken by her boyfriend. It was in the Range Rover with Gregori Petrescu, and I believe his fingerprints and those of his bodyguards will be on it. The only way he could have gotten that portfolio was from Johnson himself. We believe it was just before or after throwing the boy off the balcony."

"How much time do we have?"

"Three hours before their flight."

"You have my backing. Get it done."

MacNeice got Swetsky on the two-way radio. "Get the New York flight schedules from the international, regional and Buffalo airports. Find out which flight Petrescu and his bodyguards are booked on."

"Where are you headed?"

"Aziz and I are going back to the Chelsea Manor. If the Range Rover is there we'll sit tight near the entrance to the hotel. I'll call you when we get there. Grab Williams and come over as soon as you can."

"We'll be there." Swetsky broke off contact and the car fell silent for a moment.

"What if he's not there?" Aziz asked.

"We'll determine which airport they're flying out of and put up a roadblock. If it's Buffalo, we'll get Wallace on it."

They drove through the tree-lined streets where it seemed that nothing bad ever happened. The dappled light played on the hood and windshield, causing Aziz to screen her eyes with her hand.

"I saw Vertesi this morning. He's doing better." Looking over at MacNeice, she added, "He had a dream that you were there last night."

"That would be the Demerol talking."

"Right." She smiled, and a moment later asked, "What do you think will happen to the old man now?"

"Honestly? I think he'll be dead by tomorrow."

"Should we be doing something about that?"

"You mean like a suicide watch? No. He's already lost everything that meant anything to him, and today we told him that his own son had Lydia murdered. But I could be wrong. He's certainly a strong man, and he's suffered losses before now...."

"When he suggested that you hadn't known love like that he felt for his wife...I half expected you to correct him."

"That's good, Aziz." He glanced over at her.

"I didn't mean-" She turned to lean towards him.

"I'm serious. It's a legitimate...observation. And true. I certainly thought about it, but there wouldn't have been any point. That was just grief venting," MacNeice said. "You weigh everything after the death of a loved one, including life. Petrescu has experienced a tremendous amount of pain in his life. I believed him when he said that joy had narrowed to the point where he could find it only in Lydia. Add to that the potential or likelihood that his son was responsible...The rest of the journey is bleak. I think he's a proud man who's seen enough. But I may be wrong. I sincerely hope I'm wrong."

"Were we too hard on him?"

"Not at all. There were questions that needed to be asked and we asked them. Did you notice his eyes, though?"

"I'm not sure I follow-"

"He looked directly at me when we talked about Lydia, but when we got on to his son, he'd look away, sometimes to the table, or off to the garden."

"What do you take from that?"

"He's lying."

"If it's all over, what's left to lie about?"

"I'm not certain, but I think Gregori will know. Right, here we are." He turned into the lane to the Chelsea Manor. "We'll do a quick circuit of the parking lot."

The radio barked to life as they pa.s.sed beneath the columns.

"MacNeice."

"The little s.h.i.t is booked out of two airports. He's got tickets on flights leaving from Dundurn Regional and Toronto International," Swetsky said.

"Smart. What times?"

"International at 1:30 p.m., Dundurn at 1:10 p.m."

"Where are you?"

"Ten minutes away. Do we take him down if he's there now?"

"No, we wait till they leave the hotel."

"Don't start this party without us."

MacNeice hung up. Aziz nodded to the doorman, who had stepped out ready to open the door of the Chevy, but MacNeice drove slowly past, leaving him standing on the pavement. After a complete circuit of the lot without seeing the Range Rover, MacNeice came back to the doorman. Rolling down the window, he asked, "The black Range Rover and the three men who travel in it, have you seen them?"

"Yes, sir. They left here about a half-hour ago. Gave me a ten-dollar tip."

"You mean they've checked out."

"That's right, sir. Two of them had duffle bags and the leader-I mean the guy with the nice suit-he had suitcases and a briefcase. They wouldn't let me load them in; they did it themselves."

"So why the ten-spot?"

"I dunno. I mean, I was nice to them like I am with everyone. They wouldn't even let me open the car door for the guy in the suit. The first time I tried, this big guy gets out of the front and puts a hand up, like it was a crime to open the door for the guy in back. So I never tried again."

"Did you happen to see which way they were headed?"

"I did, because the driver laid some rubber as he turned onto the street-that caught my attention. They went left, towards downtown."

MacNeice thanked him and pulled away from the hotel.

"What's downtown that would interest these guys?" Aziz asked as MacNeice turned left too.

"I bet Gregori's figured out there's a missing link. He's either gone back to his father's house or he's at the antique shop looking for it." MacNeice reached for the radio. "Swetsky, come in."

"We're a half-block from the intersection. What's up?"

"They've checked out. I have a hunch that they've gone either to the old man's house or to his shop. You two go to the house, but don't engage. Just let us know if you see the Range Rover there."

"We're on it."

"Check around the back of the house too. They may have parked in the laneway."

As MacNeice came to a stop at the intersection, he saw Swetsky's unmarked car making a U-turn south. Williams waved to them from the pa.s.senger side as if he were Queen Elizabeth. MacNeice turned right towards the shopping district, speeding past the parked cars and smartly maintained lawns of the quiet west-end neighbourhood.

Twelve minutes later Swetsky was on the radio. "MacNeice, we're just approaching the house now. Nothing on the street out front.... Wait a minute.... Nope, nothin' in the back lane. Do you want us to hang in here or come to you?"

"We'll be at the shop in five minutes. Hang in, but stay on that side street so you're not spotted if they do show up."

"Turning now. I'll leave the radio on."

"Thanks, Swets."

"I don't know what we're worried about, though. I mean, these guys fight with sticks and I'm sitting here with a forty-four on my hip." MacNeice heard Williams laugh.

"Don't underestimate them," he said firmly. "Now, sit tight."

TWENTY SIX.

THE W WEST V VILLAGE HAD BEEN CREATED to meet the needs of an expanding city and of Brant University, whose campus hugged its edge on one side and the ravines of the escarpment on the other. Over the decades, the main-street restaurants, galleries, gourmet emporiums and antique shops had multiplied to reflect the affluence of the surrounding neighbourhood. to meet the needs of an expanding city and of Brant University, whose campus hugged its edge on one side and the ravines of the escarpment on the other. Over the decades, the main-street restaurants, galleries, gourmet emporiums and antique shops had multiplied to reflect the affluence of the surrounding neighbourhood.

"There it is, ahead on the left. Nothing in front, though." Aziz was craning forward, her hands on the dash.

"We'll check the street to the east." MacNeice slowed as he pa.s.sed in front of the shop. There was no sign of anyone inside. He paused at the stop sign and scanned the vehicles parked along the cross-street. "There it is."

"Where?"

"Six cars down, tucked behind the green van."

He went through the intersection and did a U-turn halfway up the block. "Swetsky, get over here now. We're a half-block to the east of the shop. Just pull in behind us and get into our car."

"Be there in a jiffy."

From where they were parked they could see the front of the shop and its side door. A woman pushing a stroller was coming towards the shop and an older couple was walking on the other side of the street, but other than that it was quiet. Several minutes later, Swetsky eased in behind them.

Both rear doors opened, and as Swetsky and Williams climbed into the back seat, MacNeice was vaguely aware of cologne-Williams, he a.s.sumed. When the doors closed, he said, "That's the shop up on the right. Front and side doors. The Range Rover's a hundred feet or so down the side street."

"Got it. So what's the plan, Stan?" Swetsky leaned forward, his bulk filling the rear-view mirror.

"We're making it up as we go. To a certain extent it's driven by the Romanians, but it will come together fairly quickly, I suspect."

"Do we call in the troops?" Williams asked.

"No. We're trying to be effective but discreet. We've got Wallace's support, but beyond him are External Affairs and the Romanian consulate. If we do this right, we can shortcut their involvement till we have so much evidence they can't spring them."

"So we're Jesuits, and we'll seek forgiveness afterwards," Williams said.

"Exactly. See the Vanilla Bean ice cream shop across the street?"

"Yeah," Williams responded.

"Go get yourself a cone and wander down the street like a gentleman out for the day. Cross over beyond the antique shop and casually do some window shopping while you enjoy your ice cream. If we're lucky, Petrescu won't recognize you from the interview room, and his bodyguards have never seen you."

"Do I get to choose the flavour?"