Moscow X by David McCloskey

Author:David McCloskey [McCloskey, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epub3
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

- 33 -

St. Ives

THE CHIEF HAD STOPPED FOR GROCERIES AND THANK GOD NEARLY all of it was pre-made. They found her in the kitchen, pulling from the scorching oven with bare hands a cooking sheet without a hint of pain. What she did drop hints about, with zero prompting and an equal amount of preamble, was the nosy proprietor in St. Ives. The man’s tendency to snoop, in Procter’s estimation, made him a borderline sex pervert (her words). From a culinary standpoint, though, he had steered Procter well: there were containers of fresh bucatini, thick tomato sauce, crispy oil-fried meatballs, and a salad with squash and carrots sprinkled with chickpeas and toasted almonds.

The perverted proprietor had suggested pairing the food with a few bottles of Chianti. But Procter said that when she was acting classy, she was a white wine kind of girl and so poured for herself a sweet white blend she’d bought as well. That it would pair awfully with the pasta did not concern the Chief; neither, apparently, did the £3 price tag (still visible on the bottle), nor the Technicolor label inhabited by a cartoon fish family. Sia noticed Max staring at the bottle while Procter poured.

At the dining room table, Procter immediately fumbled a meatball and it rolled off onto the floor, leaving a saucy trail behind. Then she picked it up and ate it. “So, tell me everything,” Procter said, mouth full.

“Of course,” Sia said. “Where to begin?” She started with the “light pressure” Anna had applied, then barreled on to Anna’s father’s arrest, the beating, and the final dance on horseback, where she had emerged victorious. If Procter was excited, it did not show. She focused mostly on the meatballs, scraps of which she occasionally picked from her teeth. When Sia had finished, Procter sat for a moment, using her fork to roll a half-eaten meatball around her bowl.

“What’d you give up in the end?” the Chief asked. Looking up from the bowl, Procter watched Sia’s body language with those bright green eyes.

“I gave her the computer and explained how Goose’s finances are structured. Showed how they turned the gold into cash and where it is now.”

“And the squeeze?”

“Gentle,” Sia lied. “Anna is, or was, playing a long game with me. I think she wanted information on Lyric, too, on Harry Hamilton and all that. On the first afternoon we went riding, she told me Goose and his guys were making it hard on her family. Might I help? I said I would but of course I can’t break the law.”

“Of course,” Procter said. “Obviously.”

“Then Anna hinted that if I did not help, I might be arrested. She did not say arrest, but it was implied. I cooperated. I explained things.”

“And then Daddy gets arrested, hubby smacks her around, and we’ve got a new ball game on our hands,” Procter said. “Holy hell.” She put a whole meatball in her mouth. “She never said she was SVR or FSB?” Procter asked after she managed to swallow.

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