Private Monaco

Chapter 74

By the time we returned to the apartment, Monaco was finally asleep. The streets were empty and devoid of crowds. I got a more complete sense of just how much the race altered the city. The diversions, signs, barriers, specially constructed walkways, elevated tunnels, hoardings, stands and temporary buildings stood out as transient additions to the small Mediterranean principality.

Justine took care of the charred documents while I drove us back. When we entered the apartment, we laid them out on the table. I went to Sci’s gear bag and took out one of his traveling crime-scene kits. I found a processing pan and prepared a solution of two parts water, five parts alcohol and three parts glycerin, which I added to the pan. The chemical cocktail was designed to strip away the charring to reveal anything written or printed on the burned paper we’d recovered. The process involved the destruction of the documents, but in the absence of a full lab, it was the best way to retrieve whatever information Roman or his associates might have been trying to destroy.

Justine and I worked methodically, placing each fragment of paper in the solution. We watched them absorb the liquid, sink and then disintegrate, and after each iteration, I would drain the pan, clean it and prepare a new bath for the next document. The first five pieces of paper gave us nothing. They were either blank or contained generic words or numbers that had no special significance, but the sixth and final piece gave up something useful.

First came a logo, Port Hercules Fuel Depot, followed by details of a transaction: 500 liters of marine diesel, invoiced to a boat that had been fueled the previous week. I used my phone to take a photograph of the information.

“They have a boat,” Justine remarked.

“Kendrick Stamp was a scout sniper,” I replied. “They gave me an undetectable pistol for a close kill. It makes sense to have a long-range shooter as backup. Different method in case I was compromised.”

“You think he’d be able to take a shot from a boat?” Justine asked.

“Why not? Why else would they need one? And why try to destroy this invoice if it wasn’t important?”

I watched the fragment of paper sink to the bottom of the pan and begin to disintegrate.

“What now?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Do we trust the cops with this? Or if we tell them, do we run the risk of the information leaking, forcing the assassin to switch to a different method?”

“It would be easier if we knew the target,” Justine remarked.

“Until we know otherwise, I’m going to assume it’s Eli Carver,” I told her, aware I had nothing but the fact I was close to the man and Duval’s sharing of intel to support my hunch. “If we can get to the fuel depot, we can use the invoice number to identify the vessel.”

I searched my phone for the details of the filling station at Port Hercules, and discovered it opened at 7 a.m.

“I’m going to make sure I’m there first thing,” I said.

“We should get some rest in the meantime,” Justine suggested. “You look beat.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. I’m going to stay up a while and review everything. I can’t help feeling there’s something we missed.”

Justine pulled up a chair next to me.

“Don’t,” I said.

“Hey. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose,” she said with a smile. “Mo and Sci are family to me too and I want to do whatever I can to catch the men responsible.”

I took her hand and squeezed it. We kissed tenderly before getting back to work.