The Memory Collector Part 22

Through the plate-gla.s.s windows she saw Alec Shepard stride along the sidewalk. He was the only man on the block wearing a suit. Not just any suit, but one the color of a stealth fighter, sleek and tailored, with a crisp white shirt and an electric-blue tie that hung on his chest like a broadsword. He was built to substantial dimensions, with the broad head and chest of a bison. His gray hair and salt-and-copper beard were clipped close. His stride was confident. He stepped through the door, took off his sungla.s.ses, and gave the room the same bottomless stare that Ian Kanan had given her aboard the 747. Maybe it was a patented Chira-Sayf glare.

She waved. He strode to the table and shook her hand.

"I can only stay a few minutes. The police called me. Apparently, someone stole my new Navigator from the driveway this morning." He sat down across from her. "It's turning out to be quite a day."

Shepard didn't hesitate to put his back to the windows. Even though Jo had warned him that Kanan was after him, the idea of a deadly threat seemed not to fit with his mental landscape.

"Please explain this melodramatic message you left with my secretary," he said.

"Ian Kanan may be planning to kill you."

"Absurd."

Jo held his gaze, trying to judge his tone, his att.i.tude, whether he was nervous or frightened. He was stone.

"Why do you think it's absurd?" she said.

He put his sungla.s.ses on the table. "I think, in the circ.u.mstances, you're the one who owes me an explanation."

"Haven't you spoken to the police?"

"About the auto theft. I just flew in from Montreal. If there's anything else, the captain didn't get it over the radio."

Jo leaned back. "Have you heard anything in the past thirty hours? Kanan has suffered a brain injury that's caused short-term memory loss."

His mouth twitched, like a fishhook had caught in his lip. "I heard. I want to talk to the neurologist about that. I'd like you to stick to evaluating Ian's psyche. Tell me why you've reached this bizarre conclusion that he's become a homicidal maniac."

"Mr. Shepard-"

"Alec."

"Alec, strange things are going on at Chira-Sayf. One of your employees is missing. Another lied to me two hours ago about her ident.i.ty. Yesterday Ian a.s.saulted me. He thinks he's been poisoned. He has a list of names written on his arm, starting with yours, and a declarative sentence ending in 'they die.' And I think his injury originated in the theft of materials from your nanotech lab in Johannesburg."

Shepard's eyes were the pale gray of dirty quartz. He peered at her a long moment, a.s.sessing her the way she'd a.s.sessed him.

Jo's face heated. This wasn't psychoa.n.a.lysis. She couldn't afford to sit there like an a.n.a.lyst waiting for defenses to fall, connections to click, insights to light the room. She generally avoided pushing people to respond to her questions. When their memories and impressions unrolled without her prompting, she got more honest answers. But Shepard was stonewalling.

"Who sent Ian to Africa?" she said.

"When?"

"Last week. South Africa, Zimbabwe, Zambia. That's where he arrived home from yesterday."

"I didn't know he was in Africa."

"No?" Jo put her hands flat on the table. "Why did Chira-Sayf shut down the Johannesburg lab?"

"That's not within your purview."

"What nanotech projects did the lab work on?"

"I thought you wanted to talk about Ian."

"I do. Tell me about your relationship with him. Start at the beginning and don't leave anything out. Explain whether you think he could be involved in a theft from the lab, whether your nano project could have poisoned him, and why he was seen walking away from the scene of a murder at the marina this morning."

That got him to drop the mask for a second. Shock lit his gaze. "Murder?"

"Alec, SFPD detectives have been trying to reach you. A man was found floating dead in the water next to Somebody's Baby. He'd been stabbed to death. Ian was seen leaving the marina immediately afterward."

"That's..." He shut his eyes.

"Alec?"

Ignoring her, he took out his phone, dialed, and put it to his ear. "Jenny? Put me through to legal."

Shepard rubbed his forehead. His face had turned as red as a radish. Behind him, outside on the street, the sunlight jangled off pa.s.sing vehicles. Jo realized she was clenching her jaw.

"Bill? Alec. We have a h.e.l.l of a problem. Why didn't you contact me?"

Beyond the parade of vehicles on Sixteenth Street, Jo saw the shine of maroon paint. Her eyes refocused. A red SUV was parked across the street from the restaurant. Her mind clicked back to the CCTV photo of Kanan taken at the marina.

"Alec-the car that was stolen from your driveway. A Navigator?"

He looked up, irritated at the interruption.

She leaned forward. "Is it a red Navigator?"

"Yes."

She nodded out the window. "That one?"

Ian Kanan stared through the Navigator's tinted window at the little restaurant on Sixteenth. He saw Alec sitting at a table inside. A woman was sitting across from him, in the gunfighter's seat. Young, dark hair, good-looking, leaning toward Alec with an intense expression on her face.

He scanned the dashboard. Next to a bunch of Post-it notes, a photo I.D. was clipped to the heating vent. JOHANNA BECKETT, M.D. Same gal.

So Beckett was in this, connected somehow. He held up his phone and snapped a photo of the two of them.

He looked at Alec, and his stomach went hollow. His mind, the bright bubble of now where he existed, filled with the word betrayal.

He took the gun from the small of his back. It was an HK semiautomatic. He checked the magazine and racked the slide to chamber a round.

Shepard craned his head toward the window, phone to his ear. His annoyance turned to puzzlement, then surprise.

He ended the call. "That's my Cal sticker in the back window. I'll be d.a.m.ned. Son of a b.i.t.c.h-what are the odds?"

He pushed his chair back. Jo reached across the table and put a hand on his arm.

The Navigator's windows were tinted. The wintry sunlight bleached the gla.s.s a cold yellow. They couldn't see the driver.

"Ian could have taken it," he said.

"How? He has a key?"

His brows furrowed. "No. But he knows the procedure to disarm the alarm, and where I keep a spare key. He set up the security system for our fleet of corporate vehicles."

He moved again to stand. Jo tightened her grip on his forearm.

"Why hasn't he come in? Alec? What's going to happen if we walk outside?"

"Nothing good." He stared out the window. His splintery voice seemed to scratch the air. "Are you going to call the police?"

So he did think Kanan was dangerous. "Yeah. After we get out of his line of sight."

She waited until a waiter swept past, arms laden with thick white dinner plates. He stopped at the burly gay couple's table and began unloading them, blocking the view through the window. She grabbed her satchel and slid from her seat, keeping a hand on Alec's arm.

"Follow me. Don't look around. Don't draw attention to yourself."

He stood up. She led him back through the restaurant and pushed through the kitchen door. The cooks looked up but she hurried past and led Shepard out the back door into an alley.

She glanced around. "We need to move away from here, as fast as possible. Where'd you park?"

"Across from the restaurant."

"In sight of the Navigator?"

"Unfortunately."

Jo knew the neighborhood, but not well. The Mission police station was several blocks away, and to reach it they'd have to cross Sixteenth. The alley ran only the length of that block, meaning they would have to cross Sixteenth in sight of the Navigator.

She dug her phone from the satchel and dialed Gabe.

He answered brightly. "Be right there."

"Are you in the FourRunner?"

"Negative. On foot."

"d.a.m.n it."

Gabe walked along the busy sidewalk, a block from Ti Couz. "What's wrong?"

"Ian Kanan's sitting in a red Navigator across the street from the restaurant. I just went out the back. Where'd you park?"

His radar spun up. "On Guerrero."

He scanned the street. Eighty yards ahead, he saw the red Navigator, parked facing away from him.

"Jo, I have it. Twelve o'clock."

The driver's door opened and a man stepped out. He was lean, had rusty hair, and moved as smoothly as a snake. He checked for traffic and walked across the street, headed for the door of the restaurant. Outside the plate-gla.s.s windows he stopped. Peered in, standing absolutely still. He touched the small of his back and pulled down his gray flannel shirt over his waistband.

Gabe's pinging radar turned to a solid droning tone. His vision tun neled. "He's armed."

"Jesus. Gabe-"

"Stay on the line."

Abruptly Kanan turned and ran back across the street to the SUV.

"He knows you split out the back," Gabe said.

Kanan jumped in the Navigator, fired up the engine, and peeled away from the curb.

"Jo, he's coming."

"Which way?"

"Around the east side of the block. Head west." Gabe turned and dodged back toward Guerrero Street. "Hang on. I'm coming to get you."

Running flat out, he hung up and redialed 911.

Clutching the phone, Jo nodded up the alley in the direction of Albion Street. "Go."

Shepard glanced around. Jo grabbed his arm again.

"Come on."

She pulled him up the alley. Lagging a second, Shepard broke into a heavy jog.

"Why does Kanan want to hurt you?" she said.

"I don't know."

She looked at him sharply. "Don't, Alec. Now I'm in this with you. Tell me."

The alley was narrow, lined with garbage cans and Dumpsters. The concrete drain along its center was wet from the previous day's rain. Noise from other restaurants came and went as they ran by. Kitchen sounds, pans and cutlery and people calling out in Spanish and Cantonese.

Shepard shook his head. "It makes no sense. It has to be the head injury."

"He has no beefs with you?"