The Silenced

Chapter 27

“Wills is dead?” Mikhail sounded like he almost expected it.

“Killed right in front of me,” Petra said into her phone. “I tried to stop the shooter, but she got him before I could.”

“Who was she?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. We need to concentrate on finding Quinn.” Petra had heard Wills speak the name into his phone. Then she had heard him rasp it again when the body snatcher, Quinn, had tried to comfort the dying man.

“Who is Quinn?”

“The body snatcher,” she said. “The one I saw in Los Angeles. He was there, too. When I spoke the Ghost’s name, I could tell he had heard it before. He knows, Mikhail. We just need to find him, and convince him to tell us.”

“But where would we look? If he wants to stay lost, he sounds like the kind of man who can do it. Today might have been our only chance.” He paused. “You had him, Petra.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Mikhail took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. I should have done more.”

“No. You did what you could. I couldn’t have done any better. But the question is still, what do we do now?”

Neither of them said anything for several seconds.

“What about Stepka?” Mikhail said. “We have a name now. Maybe he can help.”

“I’ve already given him Quinn’s name and description,” she said. “I guess the only thing we can do is wait. Let’s meet back at the apartment.”

“Okay.” The defeat in Mikhail’s voice was palpable.

“We’re almost there,” she reassured him. “We know Quinn has information that will help. We’ll be able to see this through to the end.”

“Perhaps.” Mikhail didn’t sound as optimistic.

“We’re going to find the Ghost, Mikhail. We’re going make him pay for what he did.”

Petra kept scanning the crowds the entire way back to Bayswater. She knew she was hoping for the impossible, but if there was even the smallest of chances that she’d spot Quinn, she couldn’t afford to relax.

But he wasn’t on any of the trains, nor the platforms, nor the streets. The only thing she could hold on to was the fact that he was in the city.

Mikhail had not yet arrived when she got back to the apartment. So she checked in with Stepka.

“In the right circles, your new friend is something of a legend,” Stepka told her.

“How so?”

“First, we should make sure we’re talking about the same person. Do you have your computer?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing at the bag that held her laptop.

“I’ve sent you a picture.”

Petra switched her phone to speaker mode, retrieved her computer, and booted it up. She then opened the browser and logged on to her email. Stepka’s message was in her inbox. She opened the attached picture. It wasn’t a photograph, but a drawing. It looked very much, but not exactly, like Quinn.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A police sketch from New York City. The man in the drawing was wanted for a murder earlier this year.”

“They were looking for Quinn?”

“They stopped searching for him when another suspect turned up. The question is, is he the same man you’re looking for?”

She looked at the picture again. “It’s not quite right, but yes, this is him.”

“Okay, then this is what I’ve got,” he said.

She heard a key slip into the lock on the front door. “Hold on.” She waited for Mikhail to enter, then said, “Stepka dug up information about Quinn.” She pointed at the computer screen where the drawing was still up. While Mikhail took a look, she told Stepka to go on.

“The man’s name is Jonathan Quinn. He’s a freelance cleaner, not associated with a specific organization. His reputation is stellar. He gets the job done. My contacts could not recommend him higher. Says he has a bit of an ethical streak, so if he doesn’t think you’re on the up-and-up, he’ll refuse the job.”

“Then, why would he be working on the jobs in Los Angeles and Maine?”

“Every job has many angles. What’s ethical to one may not be ethical to another.”

“Or maybe he’s been lied to.”

“Also a possibility. But you should know my contact did say that Quinn is not one to mess with. He’s not above leaving a body for someone else to clean up.”

Petra let it all sink in for a moment. “Anything else?”

“That’s not enough?”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you.” She hung up the phone.

“We can print out copies of the sketch,” Mikhail said. “Then we can make the rounds and see if any of our people have seen him.”

“Good idea,” she said, nodding.

She felt like they were clinging to their last bit of hope. But at least it was hope.