Page 132 of The Grave Artist
“So, all his records are in there.” Reynolds stared at the house.
Jake said, “And he has no safety deposit boxes.”
Reynolds jumped on that. “Youhardlyexpect him to rent one in his own name, do you?”
A pause. Jake noted Sanchez sighing loudly. Reynolds, like most narcissists, missed the dig. She said, “Declan took that into account. He correlated visits to safety deposit boxes in a fifty-mile radius to Garr’s credit card, FasTrak and license plate scans for the past month.”
Reynolds was still for a moment, perhaps wondering if he’d just been belittled.
“Of course, he might’ve parked a mile away and walked to a bank or storage facility. Did your YouTube bot take that into account?”
Jake said, “Yes, it did, Stan.”
Reynolds ignored the parry. He paced briefly, staring at the house. “All we need is one teeny-tiny bit of evidence linking Garr to Ivanov. Maybe the Russian gave him a present. A painting.” He glanced at the digital murder board. “He’s an artist, right?”
“No. A collector and art historian.”
“All the more reason to gift him something.Moscow at Night.Or a landscape of Siberia. Maybe there’s a shipping label. We find that and Ivanov’s ghost is cooked.”
“Goose,” not “ghost,” Jake thought. He suppressed an eye roll and said nothing, though Sanchez caught his expression.
“I think it’s time to move in,” Reynolds went on. “We can collect whatever evidence there is and lie in wait. Sneakily.” He snapped his fingers.
Sanchez said patiently, “Heron scanned it. Lots of security outside and in. We’re worried that there’s a trip switch or something that will send a message to him that his house has been breached. And he’ll blow out of town—maybe flee the country.”
“To Russia. Then we’ll get him at the border. Meanwhile, we’ll have evidence on them both. Ivanov and Garr. RICO, conspiracy. I’m not worried about safes. We can always get into those. For now, I want all the devices in there.” Pointing to the monitor that depicted the multiscreen version of Garr’s house. “This is looking better by the minute. But keep in mind booby traps. They were popular during the Cold War.”
Sanchez said, “We’ve been through as many internet purchase orders and other records as we can find, credit cards, debit cards. He’s bought ammunition in the past six months, but no explosives or fertilizer or quantities of gasoline, anything else that would suggest a homemade bomb.”
“Who’s in charge there? I mean, tactical?”
“Liam Grange.”
“Is he good?”
Another sigh from Sanchez. “Yes.”
“Get him on the horn.”
She hesitated.
“Agent Sanchez, who is running this organization?”
“You are, Stan.”
It would be “sir” no longer.
He glared. “Then let’s do it now. I want Garr’s computers and phones. That’s an order.”
Then an idea occurred to Jake. But there was no way to explain. He straightened and looked at Sanchez, willing her to see his intensity.
“Heron?”
He responded with, “HTW.”
“What’s that you’re talking about?” Reynolds asked. “HTW. Hostages Tactics Weapons?”
“Initials of an individual we’ve been working with,” Sanchez said.
