34
SAVICH HOUSE
GEORGETOWN
TUESDAY EVENING
Savich slipped his cell back into his shirt pocket as he sat down on the sofa opposite Jack and Cam. “That was Chief Harbinger calling back. Surgery went well. He’ll be back to work in a week. He sounded a bit woozy but managed to curse his surgeon for calling his wife.”
Cam laughed. “All bluster. I’ll bet he was happy to see her when he woke up.”
Jack bit into his third slice of pepperoni pizza, saw that Sherlock was eyeing the last slice in the box, and grinned at her. “All yours.”
Sherlock snagged the last slice, waved it at Cam. “Your arm’s okay, Cam?”
“Fine, the stitches itch a bit, nothing to worry about.” She looked over at Jack, then back at Savich. “Actually, what we were both worried about is whether you were going to dress us down or shoot us.”
Savich waved that off. “Stuff happens, so we move on.”
Cam said, “We heard from Haller—the Bolt—that you and Sherlock are up to your eyeballs in a baby kidnapping and the attempted murder last night of the unidentified man you took down on Sunday. Can you tell us what’s going on?”
Sherlock said, “It’s a real puzzle, but the pieces are coming together. It shouldn’t be too long now before we know exactly what happened and why. But what’s important right now is what’s happening with Manta Ray.”
Savich picked it up. “You guys did well identifying the helicopter as a Robinson R66. Despite the fake tail number, it’s a good lead. Lucy’s still working on it.
“Jack, the man you shot who fell from the helicopter was in the system. His name was Arnold Jacobson, age thirty-six, in and out of prison since the age of fourteen. He started with shoplifting, moved on to car theft and breaking and entering, continued up the crime chain to enforcer for some Baltimore loan sharks. He very nearly killed a man in Baltimore and might have gotten away with it, but he had a blowup with his boss, and the boss gave him up. He served a ten-year sentence in Brockbridge Correctional Facility in Maryland, released six months ago. No early parole because he was a troublemaker, ready to stick a shiv into anyone he didn’t like. Ollie is looking into known associates, anyone who could connect him to whoever’s got Manta Ray.
“Something else you need to know. Ruth surveilled Manta Ray’s lawyer, Duce Bowler, when he left his office yesterday afternoon. She and Ollie scared him into calling for a meet with the person who hired him to make the deal with Manta Ray. She followed him into a public garage and he was ambushed. Hard to believe, but Bowler managed to shoot his would-be assassin. At the moment he’s in the wind. We have an APB out on him. As for the assassin, his name was Russell Bauer. Like Jacobson, he was fresh out of prison, convicted for nearly killing a man in a bar fight. Like Jacobson, he served his full six-year sentence. We’re looking into Bauer’s known associates.”
Cam was staring at him. “Good grief, Dillon, and here I thought Jack and I were in the middle of the storm. Is Ruth all right?”
“Yes. Bauer knocked an older couple unconscious but didn’t kill them.”
Jack said, “We should find Bowler quickly. He has no experience staying off the grid, and he’s got to be scared to death.”
Sherlock said, “Agents are covering Mrs. Bowler and the daughter, Magda Bowler. His cell phone is off, so we can’t triangulate his location. But if he uses it to contact them, we’ll find him.”
Jack said, “He’s got to realize we’re his best friends right now.”
“He’s a lawyer,” Cam said, and shrugged. “Lawyers don’t have friends.”
Savich smiled at her. “Now I’ve got some good news and more work for you and Jack. Of the people who rented those bank safe-deposit boxes, I focused on one in particular—Cortina Alvarez. Have you guys had time to read the initial interviews?”
Cam nodded. “Alvarez—midthirties, a wealthy socialite originally from Mexico, official residence in Washington, D.C., for the last ten years. She claimed she had only jewelry in the box. She provided insurance verification of the pieces.”
Savich nodded. “The agents who interviewed her were thorough. They also examined the Mexican public records, verified she was born in Mexico City thirty-five years ago and was orphaned at eighteen, the only beneficiary of her very wealthy parents. She immigrated to the U.S. to attend William and Mary, majored in Slavic literature, speaks three languages. She became a U.S. citizen at twenty-three. She lists no profession, and she travels a lot.”
Jack said, “So what made you suspicious of Ms. Alvarez in particular?”
“I had MAX repeat the check on Alvarez in the Mexican public records. Sure enough, there she was, everything looked on the up-and-up, but still, I didn’t like the feel of it. I had MAX go deeper.”
Sherlock grinned at him and smacked his knee. “Go ahead, Dillon, get some smiles back on these two long faces.”
“There is no Cortina Alvarez,” he said simply. “The records show her first U.S. passport issued twelve years ago, the background information on her parents, siblings, grandparents, and their addresses and birth and death dates seemingly complete and verifiable. It was so well done, it fooled the interviewers, who believed her legitimate and struck her off the list.” He paused a moment, took the last bite of his Dizzy Dan’s veggie pizza slice, wiped his hands on a napkin. “It was a near-perfect legend.”
Cam sat forward, so excited she almost dropped her pizza. “But why didn’t you think it was legitimate?”
Savich shrugged. “It was too pat. I realized I’d seen work like that before by an Italian forger, known in the business as Dr. Perfetto, real name Dr. Antonio Costas, an erstwhile physician based in Milan. He’s been in the business for more than thirty years, costs a fortune, but his legends are a forgery gold standard, nearly impossible to break. But independent of the information created for the passport application, MAX couldn’t find any prior record of her anywhere.”
Sherlock said, “We had a case a couple of years ago that traced back to Dr. Costas. So when he saw it this time, Dillon recognized his style, I guess you could call it.”
Savich said, “Actually, in that case, it was Sherlock who picked up on something that didn’t feel right. Cortina Alvarez’s listed address is the Satterleigh Condominium complex near Rock Creek Park.”
Cam said, “I know them. I dated a guy a couple of years ago who owned one of the condos. It’s very upscale. Since she claimed to be an heiress, I guess it makes sense Alvarez wouldn’t live in a dump.”
Savich said, “All her taxes, insurance, and utilities are paid on time, her two-year-old Lexus is housed at the condo. There is sporadic use of credit cards, again, paid on time each month. It appears she’s spent very little time here in Washington over the past decade. Her passport destinations are primarily European.”
“Which means,” Cam said, “she has cars available to her in these locations and drives wherever she wants. She certainly wouldn’t rent a car and leave a paper trail.”
“Agreed,” Savich said. “Cam, you and Jack will pay Ms. Alvarez a visit tomorrow morning. I want to show her muscle. Take her to the Hoover Building, and we’ll all have a nice long talk. Here’s her passport photo, renewed two years ago.”
Jack looked at the sharp-featured face of a woman in her thirties with olive skin, short spiky red hair, green eyes ringed in black eyeliner, and heavy near-black lipstick. She was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and a nose ring. “Says she’s five foot six, weighs one twenty-five. She looks like a Goth throwback.” He handed the photo to Cam.
Cam studied the photo. “Her hair is dyed or it’s a very good wig. With that olive complexion I doubt she has green eyes. Her hair is probably as dark as her eyes and eyebrows.” She looked at Savich. “Even this photo isn’t real, is it?”