Countdown - Iris Johansen [62]
“Grozak killed him. Trevor didn’t even know he existed.”
“The letters.”
She shouldn’t argue with him. He was upset and grieving. Then she remembered Trevor’s expression in the library. Silence was assent, and she found she couldn’t do that to Trevor. “Listen to me.” She knelt before him and took his hand from his eyes. “Look at me. You’re not being fair, and I won’t let you get away with it. I think Grozak counted on you blaming Trevor. He set you up and you’re falling for it.”
Mario shook his head.
“You’re looking for someone to blame and Trevor’s the closest target. But it’s not true. It’s a terrible, terrible tragedy, but the only one to blame for it is Grozak.”
Mario was gazing at her in scornful disbelief. “You believe Trevor? You actually trust him?”
She was silent. If he had asked her that last night, she wasn’t sure what she would have told him. What had changed?
The answer came with unerring certainty. The terror and shock of this monstrous killing had burned away all the confusion and hesitancy, and, for the first time since she’d seen Trevor outside that dorm at Harvard, she was responding with instinct and not emotion.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I do trust him.”
Wickman?” Trevor asked as he put the video on pause. “Same height.”
Brenner frowned. “I was thinking maybe Rendle. I’m not sure Wickman is that thin. Of course, you’ve run across him more than I have, haven’t you?”
“Twice. Once in Rome, another time in Copenhagen. He’s smooth. Everything about him is smooth. The way he talks, the way he moves . . .”
“I remember. But Rendle is thinner.”
“Weight can vary. It’s difficult to change your body language.” He punched the rewind button. “But you may be right. We’ll watch it again.”
Brenner grimaced. “Great.”
Trevor knew how he felt. He’d seen many atrocities in his life, but the sight of that old man’s bewilderment and terror was enough to make him want to throw up. “We have to get a handle on who we’re dealing with.”
“And take him out?”
Trevor nodded curtly. “Particularly if it’s Wickman. He’s good, and I don’t want him turned loose on Jane or anyone else here.” He pressed the button and Eduardo’s face appeared on the screen. “So we’ll watch this damn video until we go blind if we have to. Wickman or Rendle?”
10
They’re still in the library,” Bartlett told Jane when he met her coming down the stairs an hour later. “Trevor told me to keep you out. I didn’t ask him how I was to do that since you’re probably more martially adept than I’ll ever be.” He frowned. “But please has always worked for me. Will you please not cause me undue distress by barging in there?”
“Yes, I don’t need to see that video to know what we’re dealing with. My friend was killed by them.” She shuddered. “But I admit the sheer callousness of what they did to Mario’s father is almost beyond belief. It’s . . . barbaric.”
Bartlett nodded. “Attila the Hun comes to mind. Trevor told me Grozak was vicious, but one can’t take it in until—”
“I need to charter a plane, Bartlett.” Brenner had left the library and was coming down the hall toward them. “Get a helicopter to take me to Aberdeen and have a jet ready to take off when we land there.”
“Right away.” Bartlett turned toward the phone on the hall table. “Where are you going?”
“Lucerne. Trevor and I aren’t agreeing on the possible executioner. I’m going to see if I can nose around and narrow it down and try to get confirmation.” He looked at Jane. “How’s Mario doing?”
“Not good. Devastated. What would you expect?”
“I’d expect him to be mad as hell and not cave. I’d expect him to be on his feet and fighting me for a seat on that plane that’s going to Lucerne.”
“He’s not you, Brenner.” She started down the hall toward the library. “Give him a chance.”
“I’ll give him a chance if he doesn’t open his mouth to me about Trevor being to blame.” His tone was cold. “If he does, his luck is going to run out.” He headed for the front door. “Trevor