Death of a Pawn by David Bruns

Author:David Bruns [Bruns, David & Olson, J R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

From a block away, Alberto noticed the lights were on in his thirteenth-floor apartment. He looked at his watch. 9:05PM. Strange. Paula should be gone by now.

He passed by his security detail with only a nod. He felt their eyes following him as he waited for the elevator, but when he turned around they all avoided his gaze.

Instead of Paula greeting him, his apartment was dark.

He flipped on the light. “Paula?”

Nothing. “Paula?”

The place was empty. Perhaps she took the stairs when I was in the elevator.

In the kitchen, he found the dinner Paula had cooked for him and he poured himself a glass of wine.

It was Friday. His report was due to Congress a week from Monday. He should use this weekend to relax. He needed to be fresh for the final week. But he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. He flipped on the television and began to watch replays from the midweek football matches, half-listening as the commentators discussed the current league standings.

After fifteen minutes, he gave up. The only cure for this nagging feeling was work. He retrieved his briefcase from the hallway and headed to his home office.

He stopped short in the doorway.

Someone had gone through his papers. They’d tried to replace them as he’d left them early that morning, but they’d been moved, he was sure of it. Paula knew better than to touch his desk. When she was hired, that was the first thing he’d discussed with her. In five years, she’d never broken that rule.

A quick survey showed that nothing was missing. He dialed the security detail in the lobby. Marcos answered after two rings.

“Yes, Mr. Nisman?” His voice was cold, professional.

“Was anyone in my apartment today besides Paula?”

“No, sir. Is there a problem?”

Alberto was about to launch into an explanation, but checked himself. “No, thank you, Marcos. Have a good evening.”

He hung up the phone but didn’t take his hand off the handset. He thought about calling Jaime, but his friend had his own problems to deal with—also of Alberto’s making. His daughters, maybe? He considered Diego for a long moment, then spun his chair around so he could see look out over the lights of the city.

Buenos Aires, a city of three million souls. And Alberto Nisman didn’t have a single friend.

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