The Heir Hunter (39 page)

Nick headed up the inclined street to the security station. A frowning guard glared down at him from behind heavily tinted glass and waited. The gate seemed to expand as he neared it. A lack of horizontal crossbars made scaling it virtually impossible. Nick had a passing vision of himself trying to clamber over the top, and he had to smile at how stupid he would look trying

Barely visible through the dark glass, the guard leaned forward and waited for him. An intercom buzzed.

Nick stopped in front of the booth. He glanced back at his taxi, then nodded a greeting to the guard.

“I’ve come here to see Victor Chagnon,” he said. “I’m a private investigator from the United States. I have important news for him.”

A second guard Nick hadn’t noticed appeared at the window. The two of them stared at Nick with disinterest.

“I am not a reporter,” continued Nick. “Or a policeman. All I want—”

A suspended speaker crackled to life.

“Monsieur Chagnon doesn’t see anyone but family.”

“Monsieur Chagnon would surely like to hear me out,”
replied Nick. “This has to do with the murder of his father.”

The guards looked at each other. Nick held his ground. It was a risky statement, one that would undoubtedly get him tossed back out very quickly if he couldn’t back it up inside. But he had to get in.

He heard the speaker click off as one of the guards reached for a phone. Nick glanced back down the street. The cabbie was looking back at him, finishing his smoke. He kicked a pebble and waited, feeling small and very exposed standing there in the street. He tried to bolster himself by mentally reviewing Alex’s conversation with Chagnon, but he suddenly felt considerably less confident over his chances to meet with Chagnon. He wondered why he had felt so certain before.

It took the security guard nearly three minutes to hang up the phone.

“He doesn’t wish to see you,” the man said. “Leave now.”

Nick stepped forward and placed a hand up against the glass. “I have to see him,” he said.

“Leave now or you’ll be placed under arrest.”

Nick stood there, defiant. He reached into his shirt pocket and found a business card. “I’ve written my phone number on the back of the card,” he said, placing it into a sliding tray in the front of the station. “Tell Mr. Chagnon if he wants to find out more about his father’s murder to call me. Tell him I know all about Holtzmann and Taylor. If he has any shred of courage left in himself, he’ll call me.”

He slapped the plastic cover of the tray shut loudly. The guards did not draw it in. Without so much as another glance, Nick turned back to the waiting taxi.

“That’s it,” he said, slamming the door shut. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nick watched the gate shrink as they drove off. This wasn’t the end of it. He would take the phone number Muend had given him, and he would call every five minutes
until he got Chagnon on the line. He would do that for twenty-four hours straight. If that didn’t work, he would consider his last-ditch options. If he could just figure out what exactly those were.

Nick gripped the phone and silently cursed. Twentieth ring and no sign of life. He had called Victor Chagnon a dozen times in two hours and gotten nowhere. He dropped the phone to the cradle and rubbed his eyes.

“Nothing?” Jessica asked.

“Muend wasn’t too sure if the number was correct,” replied Nick. “I think it’s bad.”

“So now what?”

“Grab your skis,” he replied bitterly. “Let’s hit the slopes.”

Nick let himself fall back to the mattress, his thoughts black. He felt a piece of paper being placed into his outstretched hand.

“We need to talk about that whenever you get a chance,” Jessica said.

Nick sat up. She had slipped him one of his blank inheritance contracts.

“What about it?” he asked.

“You don’t want me to sign it?”

Nick held the paper, looking at it blankly, then suddenly crumpled it up. He tossed it to her, rolling it to her feet in a tight ball.

“You don’t want to make your claim anymore?” she asked.

“I have a few slightly more pressing concerns at the moment.”

“Well, I intend to make
my
claim,” she said. “Do you still want to represent me in court?”

“I can’t jeopardize my attorney or anyone else by having them make an appearance at this hearing. If whoever’s behind this wants to stop the hearing, what will they do?
They’ll stake out the courthouse and try to make a final hit right there.”

“How could they? The streets are probably packed outside, and the inside is full of metal detectors and bailiffs.”

“Metal detectors and bailiffs aren’t enough. You’re more likely to get killed on the street than inside anyway. It’s not worth the risk.”

“It
is
worth the risk.” She sat next to him. “This is enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life. This is what you broke into that damn house for, what you risked everything for. You deserve this money—”

“No one deserves this money.”

“Probably not, but isn’t it a good thing to get it away from these crooked bankers? They’ve been sitting on these assets for over fifty years now. At least you’d get it out of their hands, right?”

Nick fell back to the mattress. He stared at the ceiling and pondered her words. A week ago, her argument might have made a lot more sense. Now it didn’t sit right.

“I’ll figure all this out later,” he finally said.

“There’s nothing to figure out, Nick. The hearing’s tomorrow and I’m signing it. If you don’t want to be a part of it, I’ll understand. I can write up my own contract and make a claim all by myself.”

Nick was about to respond when his phone suddenly rang. He reached for it, hope against hope.

“Hello. Hello?”

“My name is Victor Chagnon.”

Nick exhaled in relief. He quickly walked away from Jessica, sitting on the opposite bed.

“Thank you for calling me back, Mr. Chagnon. My name is Nick Merchant. I’ve been trying to speak with you. My associate called you the other day regarding Ludwig Holtzmann—”

“That’s what I thought,” the voice said. “Listen closely. Go to Lyon Park on the western edge of Geneva at exactly
ten o’clock. Enter from the north side of the park and follow the signs along the Touillon path. Come alone. You will walk for five minutes and come upon a bench. Sit there and wait.”

“I’ll be there. Do you—”

“Come alone.”

The click of the line silenced him. He put the phone away and clenched his fist.

“Chagnon’s going to meet with me. I need to find out where Lyon Park is.”

Nick found the map of Geneva and laid it out on the bed.

“When are you meeting?” asked Jessica.

“One hour,” replied Nick, glancing at his watch. He ran his finger across the map. “Maybe we won’t be flying home empty-handed after all.”

“Just so long as you fly home,
period.
Why do you think you can trust this person?”

“Common enemies,” replied Nick. He jabbed at the map. “Here it is—all the way on the other side of town. Nice and desolate, I assume.”

Jessica grabbed his arm. She said, “And you’re not concerned about meeting with some stranger in a desolate park? How do you know he’s not going to put a bullet in you?”

“I
don’t
know, but I’m a lot more scared of what will happen if I
don’t
meet with him. Once he hears what I have to say, he should see I pose no threat. Remember that conversation my partner had with him a couple of days ago? This guy hates Taylor.”

She shook her head, hardly convinced. She sat on the bed and brought a pillow up to her chest. “If you’re wrong, you’ll be all alone there. No gun, no nothing.” She shivered. “I don’t think you should go. Why take the risk?”

“Everything I’ve done for the past week has been a risk,” said Nick, finding a notepad and pen. “How’s this any different?”

He began scribbling an addition to his trip log, acting as if Jessica’s words hadn’t stayed with him. If he was wrong about Chagnon, the chase was going to come to a rapid—and very final—end. But that was already the case for two unfortunate people by the names of Rose Penn and Matt Von Rohr. It was a risk he had to take. Whether he wanted to or not.

Beneath an oppressive gray sky, the seasons were changing in Geneva. The colors and life of summer were fading, a collage of decaying foliage and greenery. The air hung warm and dry, trying unsuccessfully to breathe life into the last remnants of summer. Nature had begun its solemn slide into the bleakness of winter.

Nick had walked for nearly five minutes, encountering only two pedestrians along the wooded path. The young man and woman seemed to be enjoying the ambience of the changing seasons, a state of mind Nick found impossible to duplicate. He was feeling guilty about Alex. He had chosen not to let her know about this latest development, but his secrecy was not meant solely to assuage her fears. The nervousness and doubts she would undoubtedly have expressed over the meeting would only have fueled his own reservations, which at the moment were nagging at him yet again.

He considered the proper approach with Chagnon. He needed to be concise, yet there was so much he needed to include. He shook his head at the thought of it all. No matter how eloquent he was, there was no guarantee Chagnon would buy a shred of his story. He could scarcely believe it himself, and he had witnessed it all firsthand.

He rounded a corner and abruptly stopped. A bench, forty yards from him—first one off the southbound path. He paused and glanced about cautiously. Somehow, just striding up and taking a seat didn’t seem very prudent, but he saw little alternative. He stood for a moment longer,
then stepped out into the open. He walked quickly, tensed to react at the first sign of anything unusual. He wondered if he was being watched. Reaching the bench, he looked around, then forced himself to sit down. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he took a careful look about. There was no sign of anyone else, just the quiet serenity of the park. It seemed an unthreatening, neutral place to meet.

Nick leaned against the back of the bench. He felt as calm as he could possibly feel under the circumstances. Chagnon would want to hear him out. The banker had nothing to risk by listening. But just because he would listen didn’t mean they were going to be exchanging gifts. From what Muend had told him, Chagnon was on edge, a virtual recluse hiding from professional killers who had already done away with his father. Nick frowned. Every word out of his mouth needed to be spoken carefully. He wouldn’t grovel, but if playing to the man’s ego would get him the information he sought, then he wouldn’t hesitate.

Ten minutes passed. It was nearly a quarter after the hour and no one was in sight. No sound except the occasional lonely cry of a bird. Nick rubbed his legs and felt his anxiety building again. From what little he knew, Chagnon didn’t seem like the kind of person who would normally be late. Had something gone wrong, perhaps scared him off? How skittish was this man?

Something snapped behind him, instantly bringing him to his feet. There was movement deep in the brush-something big—and what sounded like the steady hum of an engine. He backed up several steps, ready to move if need be. He squinted through the foliage. There was a large black car coming, following a dirt path so rough and overgrown he hadn’t even noticed it.

Despite his wariness, Nick again felt comforted. Chagnon was probably going to take him to another location, and that was fine as long as they got the time they needed to talk face-to-face. The more he thought about it,
the more confident he felt. Chagnon would
have
to be impressed by his story. Maybe they could even work together somehow.

The car emerged from the brush, dusty and leaf-laden. Nick could see the driver but little else. A side door flew open, and an average-sized man in a gray sport coat emerged from the car. Nick stood still, waiting for some indication of the agenda. He took a step forward and heard a voice.

“Raise your hands.”

Another man had stepped from the trees behind him, a pistol held at arm’s length. Nick paused, not having expected to see guns drawn.

“I don’t have a weapon,” he said, lifting his arms.

The man from the car descended on him quickly. He patted at Nick’s clothes, then ran a handheld metal detector over him.

“I’m not armed,” Nick repeated.

The two of them drew back and studied him. The armed man had lowered his weapon, but the barrel still pointed directly at Nick’s stomach. Nick began to drop his arms slowly.

“Up,” said the man, flicking the barrel of the gun upward.

Nick quickly obliged. The two of them were gruff and angry looking. Apparently they had been given the job of screening him.

“I don’t mean Mr. Chagnon any harm,” Nick said softly. “I just want to talk.”

The gunman frowned, his eyes narrowing distrustfully. He made a short sweeping motion with the gun in the direction of the car.

“In the front.”

Nick did as he was told as the two of them entered from opposite rear doors. He glanced at the driver, an older man who didn’t acknowledge him. The car instantly
did a tight U-turn and moved up the path it had arrived on.

Nick tried to concentrate on his script as he watched the branches scrape against the side windows. He could understand their caution, but somehow he hadn’t expected to be brought to Chagnon at the point of a gun. Armed bodyguards certainly weren’t a surprise, but they were making him feel more like a prisoner of war than a courier of valuable news.

The car did not drive for long. It was difficult for Nick to gauge exactly how far they had traveled, but it was easily within walking distance from their meeting point. The second the vehicle stopped, he heard the rear doors open.

“Step out.”

Nick forced his door open against some bushes and slid out. They were under a canopy of low-hanging branches, thick enough to block out any direct sunlight. Again the gun was trained on Nick. The other man walked to the edge of an embankment and looked back at him.

“Go,” said the gunman, using the pistol as a pointer. “Follow him.”