looks, sir.”
Montaro smothered a smile. So did Aikens.
“So, her interests were not the same as yours?” Caine asked.
“No, not really. Her aim was to open me up.”
“For?”
“Information.”
“About?”
“You and Lawrence.”
“What did she want to know about us?”
“We never got that far. Something happened that made her lose interest. I think somehow she was able to find out what she needed without me.”
“And what do you think that was?”
“Those two people who visited you in the lab, Freich and Beekman, she wanted to know about them. There were some other names she mentioned, too.”
“Did you report any of this to Lawrence?”
“No sir, I didn’t.”
“Tell me why.”
“Because my activities are all assigned to me. And that was not one of my assignments.”
“Then, in your view, Gina Lao was strictly extracurricular?”
“You might say that.”
“All right, last question. You’re a very talented investigator, and you’re a pretty sharp guy. I’m sure you could have figured out the relevance of your findings. So, let me ask you, would a pat on the back, from time to time, help you to smile a little more and report back to us when there is information we might actually need to know?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way, sir,” said Curly, his cheeks flushing again.
“See that it happens anyway,” Caine told Aikens, then looked at each man in turn. “Now, I need both of you to focus all your attention on Whitney and Franklyn Walker. I don’t want you to rest until you’ve found them. Your loyalties cannot be divided on this matter; it is too important. Do you understand?”
“I do,” said Aikens.
“And you, Curly?” asked Caine.
“I do,” said Curly. “You have my word on that.”
Caine shook hands with both men, then stared directly at Curly Bennett. “By the way,” he said. “In case you’re wondering, I’m the one who ordered the tap on your phone. Lawrence knew nothing about this.” He turned to Aikens and tilted his head apologetically. “It was both necessary and a good idea at the time. But I trust you now and I know you will not disappoint me.” He smiled, and added, “Show yourselves out, gentlemen.”
37
THE MODEL OF THE SEVENTH SHIP WOULD NOT OPEN A SECOND time. No matter how often Montaro picked up the object, rubbed its surface, or shook it, Luther John Doe’s carving remained motionless as it had for nearly half a century. Montaro hoped that somehow it might reveal to him the location of Whitney and Franklyn Walker, teach him how to find Matthew Perch, or at least reward him with another magnificent display of colors and shapes. But there was nothing.
And yet, in some way, the model had already done its work, for it had reminded Montaro of the value of patience, something often sorely lacking in men in his position with the pressures he faced. Luther John Doe’s model had taken nearly fifty years to open and reveal its interior; Luther had waited the same amount of time to tell Montaro all he knew that he had kept inside him. How many years had the Seventh Ship traveled? Montaro understood that if he remained focused and determined, if he trusted his instincts as P. L. Caine advised him, he would arrive at a place he wanted to be, even if he didn’t yet know where that place was.
Soon enough, even without any apparent action on his part, events began to move forward, as if plans beyond the scope of his own understanding had already been put into motion. Anna Hilburn finally managed to get hold of one of Whitney’s cousins, who had actually heard from Whitney in a letter and learned that she claimed to be working for an international nonprofit agency developing health-care clinics in Africa, and also that the baby in her belly had begun kicking harder, as if it, like the images Montaro had seen in Luther’s carving, was preparing to emerge and reveal its secrets. Montaro immediately turned this information over to Lawrence Aikens and Curly, advising the investigators to use every means at their disposal to follow up on it.
And one early morning, when Montaro hadn’t even made it in to work yet, Larry Buchanan dropped by The Carlyle unannounced with information that he said couldn’t wait and that he hadn’t wanted to discuss over the phone.
“What is it, Larry?” Montaro asked as he adjusted the knot in his tie in his living room mirror while Larry helped himself to a tall cup of black coffee.
“It’s about your pal Fritzbrauner,” Larry said.
“What