Magic Lantern. Alex Archer

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СКАЧАТЬ Annja extracted the card from the plastic holder using her sleeved fingers.

       When she flipped the card over, she found another telephone number. Feeling a little better, she tucked the card into the back pocket of her jeans, then continued her search.

       Twenty minutes later, Annja was satisfied she’d combed the entire flat. Edmund Beswick lived the cramped life of a confirmed scholar with too much to do and too little space to do it in.

       Although Edmund had spoken proudly of the collection of magical props he’d assembled, only a handful of small things occupied the built-in bookshelves in the office area. Decks of playing cards, coins, scarves, cups and balls, and even a gibecière, the large pouch street magicians used to hold props while putting on shows, shared space with the books on magic.

       That meant Edmund kept his collection somewhere else.

       Annja returned to the card file and flipped through the thick plastic pages till she found three business cards for storage units. Two of the storage businesses were in Chelsea and one was in Mayfair.

       She’d been relieved to discover there was no blood in the apartment. If the men had gotten to Edmund, they’d taken him easily enough. She didn’t know if he would tell them about his storage unit. Then she realized almost in the same thought that he would. He would be fearful for his life, for good reason, and wouldn’t hold back when asked.

       But what would the Triad do with Edmund when it recovered the magic lantern?

       Antsy, ready to move, Annja retreated to the window and climbed out. She took a moment to replace the glass pane in the window so others—less altruistic—wouldn’t be tempted by an easy mark. Then she clambered back down the fire escape.

      * * *

      ANNJA BOUGHT A CUP OF COFFEE at a pub around the corner, fended off a couple halfhearted attempts at picking her up and retreated to the back area and the phone. She was happy to find one there because public phones were a dying business now that everyone had cell phones. Still, cell phones were known to go dead at inopportune moments.

       She switched off her sat-phone because it had a GPS chip in it that would allow police to track her if they wanted to. After she finished speaking with DCI Westcox, she was pretty sure the man would want to find her.

       She dialed Westcox’s office and was greeted by a polite male voice. She identified herself and asked to speak with Westcox.

       “I’m afraid DCI Westcox is unavailable at the moment, Ms. Creed.”

       “I know. He’s working the fourth Mr. Hyde murder.”

       The assistant didn’t respond to that.

       “I just left him less than an hour ago.”

       “I understand that, Ms. Creed, but DCI Westcox asked not to be disturbed—”

       “A man has been kidnapped and it might have something to do with Mr. Hyde. Do you think that will interest DCI Westcox?”

       “Wait a tick, Ms. Creed.”

       Annja sipped her coffee and waited anxiously. She didn’t know if Edmund’s disappearance was connected with the Mr. Hyde murders or not, but it was a way of getting Westcox’s attention. She didn’t have to wait long.

       “Ms. Creed, where are you?”

       Annja ignored that, but she felt certain that the chief inspector already knew. The landline would show up immediately. If he really wanted to see her, a patrol unit would already be en route.

       “Professor Edmund Beswick has been kidnapped.”

       “Who is he?”

       “I don’t have a lot of time to get into this.”

       “Why?”

       “Because I’m trying to find him. I think it would be better if you were looking, too.”

       “Come into my office. We’ll talk.”

       “Haven’t you already sent someone to pick me up?”

       Westcox didn’t bother to deny the charge.

       “I don’t know what Professor Beswick is involved in—”

       “The Mr. Hyde murders?”

       “I doubt it. Saying that was the only way I had of getting your attention.”

       “That also constitutes interfering in a police investigation. I’ll have you up on charges.”

       “Fine. If that’s what it takes to get you looking for Professor Beswick, do it. In the meantime, he needs to be found. His life is in danger.”

       “What makes you so certain of that?”

       Annja peeked down the hallway to assure herself the police had not yet arrived. “Because the men looking for him also kidnapped me.”

       “Really?” Westcox’s tone indicated he wasn’t happy, and he wasn’t entirely convinced.

       “Yes. Right from under your nose. Now that I think about it, maybe calling you is a waste of time.”

       “Ms. Creed, you’re not doing much to endear yourself to this office.”

       “You’re not very endearing, either, Inspector. I need you to help me find my friend.”

       “I was given a report only a short time ago. Something about a shooting involving an automobile loaded with possible Asian gangsters and a young red-haired woman spotted fleeing the scene. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

       “Have those men been taken into custody?”

       “Not as yet. We’re searching for them. Nor do I intend to discuss this over the phone with you, Ms. Creed. We’ll talk in my office.”

       “Thanks for the invitation, Inspector, but I’m going to decline for the moment.”

       Westcox’s voice was hard as he replied, “That course of action wouldn’t be prudent.”

       “With all due respect, you weren’t in the back of that car when the guns came out. I like my chances on my own at the moment. Find my friend. Then I’ll be happy to speak with you.” Annja hung up.

       She regretted not having gotten her backpack from her hotel room, but it was possible that Westcox already had men there. Or that the Triad had set up camp there.

       Or both, which would have been interesting.

       She started for the front of the pub, noticed the police car pulling to a stop out on the street in front of the building and headed for the back door. She was in the wind before the police arrived.

      8

      A few blocks from the pub, Annja stopped at a bodega and used the pay phone. She called the number she’d found for Gaetano Carlini’s СКАЧАТЬ