"Annja?" Bart sounded short-tempered.
Why, Annja asked herself, am I having that effect on everyone tonight? "Yes," she said.
"Where are you?"
"I'm writing up the statement on what happened tonight."
"No, you're not. I sent an officer to your hotel room to check on you. Imagine my surprise when he discovered you'd checked out."
"Bart, you couldn't have been that surprised if you sent someone to check on me. You could have called me."
"You would have told me you were writing up that statement."
Annja couldn't argue that.
"You've got a history of doing what you think you need to do," Bart said angrily.
That's something to be proud of, Annja thought. She remained silent.
"I was worried about your safety," Bart said.
"If you were worried about my safety, you'd have shown up yourself."
Bart cursed. "I've been kind of busy cleaning up the messes you've been leaving."
"That fight wasn't my choice," Annja said.
"No, but you seem to be at the center of it."
"Is this going to get personal?" Annja asked.
"It doesn't have to be." Bart spoke in a carefully measured tone.
"Good. After the last couple of days of being chased around New York– "
"Which you still don't have a reason for, right?"
Okay, that was sarcasm. Annja grimaced.
"Tell me where you are," Bart said. "I'll come get you."
"I don't want to be gotten."
"Annja," Bart said, "you're in over your head. These guys aren't playing around."
"I kind of got that when they killed Mario," Annja replied coldly.
The silence on the line lasted long enough that Annja thought Bart had hung up on her. It wasn't her night for performing well at phone relationships.
"Bart?" she said. "Look, I'm sorry."
"I know." He sounded tired.
Annja felt guilty because she knew she was partly the reason for that. "Those guys killed Mario. I'm sure that you'll find a way to prove that they did. And maybe you'll even find out who hired them to do it."
"Believe it or not, I'm good at my job," Bart said.
"I know that."
The limousine passed through security and rolled out onto the tarmac toward the hangars where the private aircraft were kept.
"The guy behind this is out of the country," Bart continued.
"They're German," Annja said. "Mario was Italian."
"But he had recently moved to Riga."
"That's a lot of area to cover."
"Then how do you know who hired Humbrecht and his team?"
Annja answered honestly. "I don't."
"Then why are you going to Venice?"
Gazing through the window as the limousine slowed, Annja saw the small airplanes and jets sitting in front of the hangars. Evidently a few people were taking off for parts unknown.
"Mario wanted to consult with me about something he'd found."
"And he left you a clue where to find it?"
"I think so."
"You could let the police handle this," Bart suggested. "It might take a little time, but I can get some coordination between the NYPD and the Venice police."
"No offense, Bart, but I wouldn't try to tell you how to lift a fingerprint or interrogate a suspect – "
"Person of interest," Bart interjected. "We don't say 'suspect' anymore unless we're certain someone has done something."
"The point being, you've got your specialty and I've got mine. I'm not trailing a murderer. I'm leaving that for you. I want to try to find whatever Mario found."
"You don't owe him that. From what you've said, you hadn't even been in touch much over the last few years."
"We hadn't been."
"Then why – ?"
"Because we shared the same dreams, Bart. You live your whole life hoping you'll find something incredible that will add to what we know about the world that went before us. Something that will illuminate some dark little corner of history and culture that we hadn't seen before."
"You've done that."
Annja thought of everything she'd done since she'd entered the field. She'd been fortunate even before she'd found the sword.
"I have," she said, "but Mario hasn't."
Bart was quiet again. "I understand, but I still worry about you."
"I know. I appreciate that."
"I'll see you in a few minutes."
Before Annja could ask what he meant, Bart hung up.
****
A few minutes later, the limousine glided to a stop in front of a sleek Learjet. An unmarked police car sat on the other side of the aircraft.
Even without the flashing lights, Annja recognized it for what it was. And she knew whom it belonged to. Her heart pounded. She wasn't looking forward to the coming confrontation.
Clad in a black leather jacket, Bart leaned a hip against his car and watched the limousine's approach. No emotion showed on his face.
"Oh, dear," Stanley Younts said.
"Do you have that attorney of yours on speed dial?" Annja asked.
"Yes."
"Good. We may need him just to get out of town." Annja gathered the straps of her backpack and stepped from the limousine.
"You're here." Annja stopped in front of Bart.
Bart shrugged. "I'm a detective, and this was easy. You disappeared. Stanley Younts disappeared. You wanted to go to Venice. Younts is a big-deal author and has a private jet. When I talked to Morrell, he told me that Younts had scheduled a meeting that day to get an interview with you. When I found out you weren't at the hotel, I came here."
"You got here fast," Stanley commented.
"It helps if you have the siren and lights," Bart said.
Tension filled the space between Annja and Bart as the snow continued to fall.
"Uh," Stanley said, "why don't I go wait in the jet?" He looked at Bart. "I can still get on my jet, right?"
"Yes." Bart didn't look at the writer.
Hesitating, Stanley pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at Annja. "Are you going to be all right?"
"I'm going to be fine," Annja replied.
"I thought so." Stanley shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and walked up the steps into the jet.
Annja stayed just out of Bart's reach. Only a few feet away, the private jet's engines roared. The door was open and lighted stairs led to the aircraft's interior. All around her, the biting wind hammered her and stung her exposed flesh. She'd gotten so cold even in just the short walk that she no longer felt the snow hitting her.
"I'm getting on the jet," Annja said.
Bart sighed. His breath came out in a long gray stream that was torn to pieces in the wind. "I know. I can't stop you. I would if I could. I think you're making a mistake."
Annja didn't say anything. There was no need to. She was leaving in a few minutes and that was all that mattered.
"While you're looking for whatever Mario Fellini thought he found, other people are going to be looking for it, too," Bart said.
"I know."
"Whoever had him killed isn't going to pull any punches."
"I know that, too," Annja said.
Bart made no move to step away from the unmarked car. "I wish you wouldn't do this."
"Bart, I – "
He held a forefinger up to his lips. "I know. I had a partner a few years ago who was ambushed on a follow-up interview. He ended up in a coma for two weeks, then got pensioned off the force with a permanent disability."
Annja didn't know what to say. That was a story Bart had never told her. It surprised her that there were still any of those left.
"I moved heaven and earth trying to find out who did it," Bart went on. "I spent most of my time trying to pin the murder attempt on the guy Ross went to interview that day. Long story short, that guy didn't do it. Ross got popped by a jealous husband whose wife Ross was seeing."
Annja waited.
"I got put on suspension for a month for getting too physical with the guy I thought did it," Bart said. "Then, while I was in the hospital sitting with Ross, his wife came in. She told me she'd thought Ross was having an affair. I could see that she was hurt. I didn't believe it, but she helped me put it together. I went and talked to the husband. He was relieved he was finally caught. Sometimes it works out like that."
A jet took off, screaming overhead and putting an end to the conversation for a time.
"The guy shot Ross because he was scared of him," Bart said. "Ross's wife got hurt because he cheated on her. I got suspended and hurt because I believed Ross couldn't do any wrong." He took a breath. "What I'm trying to say is – "
"Sometimes people you think you know disappoint you," Annja said. "I get that." Then she smiled at Bart. "But sometimes the people you know are everything you think they are. You're here now."
Bart looked a little embarrassed. "Maybe. I came here to give you a heads-up." He reached into the car and took out a packet, then handed it to Annja.
"What's this?"
"Background stuff you shouldn't have," Bart answered. "Stuff you wouldn't have if you didn't have a friend with connections. It's interesting reading material."
"Something that's going to disappoint me?"
"Something that's going to open your eyes. Mario Fellini's girlfriend – "
"Erene Skujans."
Bart nodded. "She's got a record. She was an antiquities dealer in Romania. She got busted for misappropriation of assets. I figured that was fancy museum talk for – "
"Theft," Annja said.
"Exactly. Since then, she's been independently employed, but she's wanted for questioning by several international law-enforcement agencies regarding a lot – and I do mean a lot – of burglaries. Does that sound like the kind of woman your friend would have taken up with?"
"No," Annja said.
Bart heaved a sigh. "He met her over there, right?"
"Yes. I confirmed that through the family."
"Then the possibility exists that he didn't know what she was all about."
"He told his family she was a hedge witch at the local village where he was staying."
"Yeah, well, I'm not a big fan of witches, either."
"Witches aren't always bad," Annja said. "It carries a negative connotation here, but there are still women in the Appalachian Mountains who tend to the medical needs of the community. And the role is reprised in several other cultures where medical help isn't available. They're given several titles."
"Maybe so," Bart said, "but this is one witch my spider senses are warning me about. I just want you to know that."
"Okay."
Bart nodded toward the jet. "I'm holding you up. You've got an important discovery to find."
"If it exists."
"Other people believe it does." Bart looked at her. "You believe it does."
"I," Annja said, "believe in my friends."
"So do I. Just make sure you take care of yourself so you can come back and tell me the whole story."
"I will." Annja headed for the jet, then stopped and went back to give him a hug. He held her fiercely for a moment, then let go when she did. "Thanks," she said.
Turning, Annja walked through the snow and boarded the jet. Buckled into her seat, she gazed through the window and waved a final goodbye to Bart as the jet taxied away.
But her thoughts were on Mario and the woman, Erene Skujans. Annja opened the file folder and began to read.