The Prophecy

42

For Nick Dial, it had been a day from hell. Starting with the early-morning wake-up call from Payne and continuing with a breakfast meeting that lasted until mid-afternoon, Dial was not in the mood to be messed with. Unfortunately for Henri Toulon, he did not realize this when he broke into his boss’s office and used his couch for an afternoon nap.

Toulon, the Assistant Director of the Homicide Division, was a wine-loving Frenchman who practically lived at headquarters yet spent half his time avoiding the tasks of the day. In some ways, he was a great employee, able to speak at length on every subject under the sun whether it was history, sports, politics, or pop culture. But sometimes he got lost in his own thoughts, and when that happened, he could usually be found outside the building, smoking a cigarette and preaching to his co-workers about some random topic. Back in school, he had been the student who everyone loved to hate. He never studied, rarely showed up for class, but always had the best grades.

Dial unlocked his office door, looking forward to a few minutes of peace and quiet before he responded to a handful of messages. Unfortunately, he was greeted by the sound of snoring.

‘You’ve got to be shitting me,’ he mumbled to himself.

Wasting no time, Dial walked across the room and tipped the couch forward, dumping the unsuspecting Frenchman on the floor. Toulon awoke on impact, and launched into a string of profanity that Dial couldn’t understand. Eventually, Toulon shifted to English.

‘Why did you do that? I have done nothing wrong.’

‘Say that again.’

‘I have done nothing—’

‘Stop!’ Dial growled, cutting him off. ‘That’s the problem right there. I’ve been busting my ass all day, and you have done nothing!’

Toulon ran his fingers over his grey hair, which was pulled back in his trademark ponytail. He certainly didn’t look the part of an Interpol officer, but his brilliance usually made up for his attitude and attire. ‘I am detecting tension in your voice. Perhaps you need a siesta?’

‘Henri, I’m telling you right now: do not mess with me.’

Toulon ignored the warning. ‘Why are you so cranky? Are you mad you are not French? I know if I was an American, I would be tempted to slit my wrists.’

Dial stared at him, fuming.

‘Excusez-moi,’ Toulon apologized. ‘I did not know you were serious.’

‘Do I sound like I’m joking around?’

He shook his head. ‘On reflection, you do not.’

‘And do you know why I’m so pissed?’

‘Several jokes come to mind, but I shall keep them to myself.’

‘I’m pissed because I gave you an important task this morning, and as far as I can tell, you haven’t taken care of it.’

Toulon fiddled with his ponytail. ‘And what task was that?’

‘You were supposed to identify the second gunman who tried to kill Jonathon Payne in Pittsburgh, and then talk to our contacts in antiquities about that mysterious letter.’

‘Have you no faith in me? I completed those tasks long ago.’

‘Really? Because you were supposed to send the information to my cell phone, so I could forward it to my friend.’

Toulon groaned. ‘That, I did not do. But two out of three is pretty good, no?’

‘Not good enough.’

‘If you’d like, I can send it to your phone right now.’

Dial growled. ‘How does that make any sense at all? You’re standing in front of me. Just tell me what you learned, and I’ll call Jon myself.’

‘In my defence, it makes perfect sense because I do not remember all the details. If you give me a moment, I can run to my desk and get my notebook.’

Dial waved him off. ‘Go!’

Toulon nodded and walked away. He returned a few minutes later and sat in one of the chairs across from Dial, who was on the phone. Normally, Toulon would have cleared his throat and pointed to his watch, just to piss Dial off, but he realized if he did either, there was a decent chance that Dial would shoot him.

‘So,’ Dial said as he hung up, ‘what did you learn?’

‘The Pittsburgh police have identified the second shooter. He is an American named Chad Wilkinson. His criminal record is quite long, but not very distinguished. On the surface, there does not appear to be a connection with the sniper from Belgium.’

‘What about below the surface?’

Toulon scrunched his face. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your notebook says there isn’t a connection, but sometimes detective work isn’t about paperwork. Sometimes it’s about hunches and gut feelings.’

‘Do you know where the term gut feeling originated? Soothsayers from ancient civilizations, particularly those near the Mediterranean Sea, used to read animal entrails in order to prophesy the future. They literally used to feel an animal’s guts in order to work their magic.’

Dial rolled his eyes. He didn’t give a damn about the term’s origins, but he knew if he had interrupted Toulon, they would’ve wasted more time than the explanation itself. ‘Are you done?’

‘Oui, I am done. I kept my story short because you are angry.’

‘I’ll be a lot happier if you answered my original question.’

‘Your original question? Ah, yes, you wanted to know if I had a theory.’

‘Well? Do you?’

Toulon smiled. ‘What if shooter number two was a last-second substitute?’

‘How so?’

‘The first shooter was from Belgium, but he was killed before the job was done. Whoever hired him refused to wait for a replacement to be flown in from Europe, possibly afraid that the letter might be taken out of the city. So he hired a substitute, someone who lived near Pittsburgh. According to our files, the American was from a small town in Pennsylvania. Obviously he would be more familiar with the region, and he would not have to worry about smuggling a weapon on board a flight.’

Dial nodded. ‘Makes sense to me. Wilkinson was a pinch hitter. Of course, that leads me to the next question. Who hired him?’

Toulon shrugged. ‘This, I do not know.’

‘What about the letter? What did our contacts in antiquities say?’

‘They said nothing. The letter you described is one they are not familiar with. But they will ask around. If they learn anything, they will let me know.’

‘If that happens,’ Dial stressed, ‘call me immediately. No more of this forgetting to tell me bullshit. Understand?’

‘Oui, I understand.’

‘And no more naps in my office. If I can’t sleep here, neither can you.’

Payne’s phone rang several times before going to voicemail. Normally Dial would have been reluctant to leave confidential information in a message, but considering the urgency of the situation, he explained everything he had learned and apologized for the delay.

‘If you have any questions, give me a call back.’

Dial smiled and added, ‘Preferably at a decent hour.’