Two Nights in Lisbon by Chris Pavone

Two Nights in Lisbon by Chris Pavone

Author:Chris Pavone [Pavone, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781803287294
Publisher: Head of Zeus


CHAPTER 28

DAY 2. 2:04 P.M.

Everything is finally moving along, until suddenly it isn’t. The notary is shaking her head.

“Who is this, please?” She’s pointing at the paperwork. “This Laurel Turner?”

Ariel’s spirits plummet, and she covers her face in both hands.

“You are Ariel Pryce, yes? But this document is for Laurel Turner. I do not understand.”

Of the many challenges to her credibility, Ariel had failed to anticipate this one. “I changed my name a long time ago. These papers use my old name.”

The notary seems to be taking this as a personal affront.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any identification with that old name.”

“Nothing?”

“No. Not with me.”

The notary sighs. “This,” she says, “is a serious problem. Very serious.”

*

Kayla Jefferson puts the printout of phone records down on her station chief’s desk.

“Oh my goodness,” Griffiths says, thumbing through the pages. “This is a lot.”

“Yeah, it looks like John Wright uses this cell for everything. I checkmarked in blue the things that look like client calls. Green is travel—hotels, restaurants, cars, a place where they rented Segways.”

“Sorry: rented segues? What the fuck does that mean?”

“You know those things.” Jefferson holds her fists in front of her, as if clutching handlebars. “Like upright scooters? People zoom around on them, looking like idiots?”

“Ah. Right.”

“Red checkmarks are personal contacts. No checkmark at all means we don’t yet know what the relationship is to Wright. Still working on those.”

Griffiths turns a page, and Jefferson points at something. “This incoming call is a mechanic’s garage near Pryce’s farm. And this one here is Wright’s sister in Marrakesh.”

“Marrakesh?” Griffiths turns another page, then flips back. “His sister lives in Morocco?”

“Looks like it.”

“That’s a strange place for an American woman to live, isn’t it?”

“Is it? There are a lot of American expats in Morocco.”

“Hmm. Let’s take a look at this sister.”

“You got it.”

“Also that mechanic. Could you see what that’s about?”

Jefferson nods.

“Anything else?” Griffiths asks.

“Yeah: Just a few minutes ago, she had a really weird phone conversation with I think an employee of hers.”

“Really weird? How so?”

“You’re going to want to listen to it.”

*

“Hi again Mr. James, this is Laurel Turner. I just realized that I have a small problem with the paperwork. I’m no longer Laurel Turner, I changed my name, I don’t have any ID in that name. So the notary can’t endorse my signature of this agreement.”

“I see.”

“Can you please redraft with my new name?”

“I’ll have to check with my client.”

“Please,” Ariel says, “can you hurry this up?”

Ariel wonders if James knows his client’s identity, or if this lawyer is just another unaware cutout, a subcontractor of a subcontractor, anonymous outsourced legal help buffered by multiple layers of insulation.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on here?” Ariel asks.

“Listen, Ms., um, whatever you say your name is. That’s really none of my concern.”

*

Twenty minutes later, Ariel can barely keep herself from launching across the desk to throttle the notary, who seems to be purposefully turning the pages in slow motion, double-checking who the hell knows, eyes back and forth between Ariel’s passport and the agreement.



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