It took them twenty minutes to reach Beth Israel and another ten minutes to find Upton. He was sitting in a separate room next to the emergency room, at a white table, half a glass of water in front of him, his forearms on the tabletop, his fingers interlocked. His face, arms, and hands had been superficially cleaned.
When Mike and Nikki entered the room, he sat up straight. "And?"
Now that she saw Upton for the first time without a face covered in blood, Nikki noticed the man's lightly tanned skin and angular, masculine chin. Together with his bright blue eyes, the sight would inspire romantic thoughts in many women.
Mike turned to the two officers. "What's wrong with him?"
"Possible concussion. We're waiting on the x-rays."
"Please, just tell me if you found anything," Upton tried again, whereupon Mike shot him an ungracious look. 'Yes, blood. Do you know who owns the apartment?'
"No, like I told you --"
"Who is this man who called you?"
"I can't tell you that."
Nikki took a step towards Upton. "Mr. Upton, if your story is true, you entered a stranger's apartment to meet an informant there. He knocked you out when you arrived, and from the looks of it, he then caused a terrible bloodbath that he wanted to pin on you. Don't you think that would be reason enough to give us this man's name? Even to exonerate yourself?"
Upton shook his head. "You don't understand me. I can't give you the name because I don't know it."
"You don't know your own informant," Mike said, frowning. 'This is getting crazier and crazier. I can't shake the stupid feeling that you're telling us a wacky fairy tale. But I can assure you that it will backfire on you.'
The door opened, and their attention was diverted from Upton.
"What's going to backfire?" The newcomer stopped in the doorway and looked at them seriously. Her dark gray pantsuit looked sporty yet elegant because of the black blouse, the top button of which was undone.
Nikki gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes.
"I seem to have arrived just in time." As she continued speaking, she entered the room and closed the door behind her. "First of all, I'd like to know why my client is being subjected to such crude threats by a detective from the Boston Police Department after he was the victim of a violent crime and was injured as a result."
Mike closed his eyes for a second. Now, don't exaggerate, Ashlyn, that wasn't a threat. And whether Mr. Upton is a victim remains to be seen."
When Ashlyn O'Laighin's gaze turned to Nikki, she nodded.
Nikki took a deep breath, crossed her arms over her chest, and pursed her lips. "If you don't mind, counselor, we'd like to continue questioning your client, if you don't mind."
Ashlyn arched an interested eyebrow. "What exactly are you accusing him of?"
"As I'm sure you know, Mr. Upton showed up at the BPD covered in blood." Mike took over again. "We also found a lot of blood in the apartment he came from. There are many indications of a violent crime. And the only one who can tell us anything about that now is your client. Is that enough to ask him a few questions?"
"It's all right." Upton turned to his lawyer. 'I don't know what happened in this apartment, but I want to help. As much as I can.' The sound in his voice had changed, appearing more confident.
"Mr. Upton, I advise you --" Ashlyn began but was interrupted.
"No, let me. It's enough that you're here."
When Ashlyn finally nodded, Upton turned away and stared at the wall. It seemed as if he was thinking about how to start.
They all gave him time until he finally nodded.
"All right. I'll tell you everything I know: I'm researching the banking sector in Boston. It's about aiding and abetting tax evasion on a large scale. Holdings in so-called tax havens, into which hundreds of millions of dollars in black money have flowed. Big shots in industry and politics. This man who called me yesterday claimed to be an employee of this bank and to have confidential documents in his possession. Papers that prove that the bank is not only involved in such transactions but has also actively offered these deals to potent customers. People like that don't give their names over the phone."
"Which bank?" Mike asked immediately, frowning.
Upton shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. "Look, I don't have any hard evidence yet. I'll be in trouble if I make unproven accusations like that about a bank. They'll sue me so hard that I'll spend the rest of my life…"
"If you don't help us, you may end up in jail. In case you haven't noticed, you're way over your head. What do you say?" Mike looked at his sister-in-law, who preferred to cooperate most of the time and took a deep breath.
Ashlyn licked her lips and seemed to wrestle with herself for a moment. "Detective Fisher, I urge you once again to refrain from making any kind of threats," she said almost reluctantly. "Especially since there is not the slightest evidence that Mr. Upton is guilty of a crime."
Mike ignored his sister-in-law and kept his eyes fixed on Upton. He hesitated for another moment but finally gave them the name of the bank and the names of three senior employees who, according to his information, were actively involved in the scheme.
"What if my informant was careless and someone knew about the planned meeting? Someone who definitely wanted to prevent me from getting this information? They could have hired a professional to kill the informant in the apartment, knock me out, and stage it the way it was. Then, they would have killed two birds with one stone. Not only did I not get the documents, I might even be suspected of committing a crime." Upton paused briefly and then added, "Am I being suspected?"
"Let's put the speculation on the back burner," Nikki said with a frown, glancing briefly at her younger sister. 'Let's deal with your injury. You say you were knocked out when you entered the apartment. When was that?'
"Ten o'clock," Upton replied without hesitation.
"So it was 10:00 last night. This morning, you showed up at 8:30. That means you must have been unconscious for about 10 hours. And now you're sitting here - don't get me wrong - with only a suspected concussion. I'm no doctor, but that doesn't quite add up."
Ashlyn shook her head. "Mr. Upton, I advise you not to answer that."
"I don't know what they did to me. I think I woke up once or twice. Everything around me was unpleasantly damp. I was dizzy and terribly nauseous, and I felt like I was completely soaked with sweat. It was all very strange, like a nightmare. Maybe it was a dream. I don't know."
"And then?" Mike took over again. "Tell us what happened when you woke up this morning."
"I had an incredible headache and didn't know where I was. When I sat up, I saw all the blood." Upton paused and shrugged again.
"Go on," Mike urged.
"I can't remember what I did next. For God's sake... Can't you imagine that I was completely out of it? I obviously ran out of the apartment."
"I assume you didn't go to the meeting barefoot last night," Nikki remarked.
"No, of course not. How can you tell?"
Nikki pointed to Upton's feet, now in bright terrycloth slippers, the kind you'd find in a good hotel. "That raises the question of what happened to your shoes and socks."
Instead of answering, Upton just shrugged his shoulders in resignation.
The ringing of Mike's cell phone sounded unnaturally loud to Nikki. During the short conversation, he nodded several times. "I see ... yes, good ... okay ... yes." After he had hung up, he looked over at Nikki. "The officers have checked all the hospitals in the area. No one with significant blood loss was admitted anywhere last night. Not here either."
"What's going to happen to me?" Upton asked.
Before Mike could answer, Ashlyn asked, 'Is my client a suspect in a crime?'
Mike hesitated before finally shaking his head. "No. Not at the moment."
"Then it's up to the doctors. If they have no objections, you can go home. Am I right, Detective Fisher?"
Nikki saw that her husband had to pull himself together when he addressed Upton: 'That's right. But I ask you to stay at our disposal.'
He nodded wordlessly to his sister-in-law and walked to the door.
Nikki followed him. After they had left the building, she called the BPD. Damien Bauer answered, a calm colleague in his early fifties.
"O'Laighin here," she reported. 'I have a cell phone number for which I need all the connections from the last few days.' She read Upton's number from her notebook and repeated it. "Do we have any from the others who are interviewing the residents of the building complex and searching the surrounding area?"
"No. Nothing that would help us. But a colleague from forensics called. He said to tell you that the door lock is completely intact. The door must have been opened with a key."
"Okay, thanks. Oh, and I need the number to reach the apartment owner. Diana Martiny. Please send it to me by message."
After Bauer agreed to take care of everything immediately, Nikki thanked him and ended the call.
"Don't you think it's strange that Upton's wife hasn't shown up yet?" Nikki asked as she put the phone away. 'Upton called Ashlyn and hired her. Surely, he must have found out what happened last night.'
Mike nodded grimly. 'Indeed. That's why we're going to pay her a visit now.'
xxx
"What do you think of Upton?" Nikki asked when her husband turned from the hospital grounds onto the main road.
"I think he's telling the truth. You said it yourself earlier. Why would he make up such a crazy story instead of disappearing?"
Nikki thought about it for a while. "Yeah, I thought so, too. But somehow... I don't know. When he came into the BPD this morning, he seemed completely apathetic, which was a normal reaction in the situation. And just now... I think he's recovered pretty damn quickly, Mike. In my experience, you don't get over something like that quickly."
Mike had to stop at a red light and looked over at her. "In your experience?" What experience exactly are you referring to? The one from your Quantico books? Once again, it's the pure theory you were crammed with at Quantico that you're talking about, the one that has filled your head so much that there's no room left for instinct."
Nikki found these same comments annoying, but she couldn't let Mike's remark go unchallenged this time.
"You're wrong. My instincts are still working perfectly, and I often let myself be guided by them. Although the books you like to quote say that we should stick to facts." And just for provocation, she added, "Recently, people have even been working with methods based on scientific findings. For example, in the field of psychology."
"Spare us the scholarly drivel, Veronica, and think for yourself. This man is an investigative journalist. He has certainly been in precarious situations during his research. He's not easily rattled."
Nikki shook her head back and forth. "That may be true. And yet... my instinct tells me that there's something strange about Upton. I don't know what it is yet."
At that moment, the traffic light turned green, and Mike silently concentrated on the traffic.
As they drove along the street in the villa district a little later, he kept glancing at the spacious front gardens. Most were hidden behind high walls with large wrought-iron gates blocking access to the noble villas.
"Look at that. We couldn't even afford a doghouse here."
"The question is whether you'd want to," Nikki replied with a raised eyebrow, taking a deep breath. In the past, Mike owned a successful media agency and saved a decent fortune; she and her family had a state family fortune. Yet, just like her parents and grandparents before her, they had decided to live a middle-class life and not show off the money they had. She tore her gaze away from the driveway of the mansion they were passing. A park-like garden, rose beds, and columns reminiscent of Greek columns. Someone had taken the trouble to pave the path in a light and dark gray checkerboard pattern.
The Uptons' mansion was located roughly in the middle of the neighborhood. It was not surrounded by a wall, but that did not make it look any less luxurious than the surrounding properties. A twenty-foot wide passage through dense vegetation of shrubs and trees led to a spacious, sand-colored natural stone-paved path towards the house. Over the last twenty-two yards, it merged into a circular area, at the center of which was a stone fountain surrounded by rose bushes.
Four round columns, reaching up over two floors, supported an imposing porch above the entrance, reminding Nikki of the mansions of the southern United States.
Mike parked the car right before the entrance and gave Nikki a meaningful look before leaving.
"I wouldn't be surprised if a maid in a white lace apron opened the door for us."
But it wasn't a servant who stood before them shortly thereafter, but a slender, almost gaunt woman. Her beige pantsuit was so cleverly tailored that it looked elegant despite its simplicity. Her light blonde hair was combed back severely and tied into a bun at the back of her head. Nikki had a hard time estimating the woman's age. She was well-groomed but was a bit older than Upton.
"Hello," she greeted the detectives and stepped to the side. 'I guess you're with the police. I know what happened. My husband called me. Please come in.' There was no emotion in her voice or on her face.
Nikki entered the house behind Mike, wondering. As she passed the woman, she caught the scent of her subtle perfume.
They were standing in a generously sized room with a dark wooden staircase in the middle, a good thirteen feet wide, leading to the upper floor. Several doors opened from the back area, most of them closed. On the right, a wide-open passage led into a living room, as far as Nikki could tell from where she stood.
"Please, come," the woman said, leading the way.
The room was at least a hundred square meters and divided into a living and dining area. The furnishings were a successful blend of old and new. Heavy antique furniture was combined with light, modern elements in such a way that they formed a pleasant contrast. The reddish-brown parquet floor was covered here and there with probably costly carpets. The central eye-catcher of the living area was a massive brick fireplace, in front of which stood a gigantic three-piece suite in brown leather.
"Please, have a seat." The woman gestured to the armchairs and sat down on the couch herself.
"So you know what happened to your husband," Mike began with a frown.
"Yes."
"When did he call you?"
"About two hours ago."
"So? What do you think about this?"
"I don't know what to think about it. I was hoping you could tell me something about it."
"Mrs. Upton, we--"
"Boutroux."
"Excuse me?"
"My last name is Boutroux. I kept it when we got married. For my father's sake."
For some reason, Mike lost the thread. He looked at the woman, apparently searching for words, so Nikki took over. "We're from Beth Israel, where your husband is being examined. It seems he got off with a slight concussion." She paused, waiting for a reaction from the woman. It didn't come. "Your husband's lawyer is there, too. We wondered if there was a reason why you didn't want to check on your husband. After all, he was knocked out and woke up in a room full of blood."
"Does he have something to do with the blood?" Boutroux's voice was still monotonous. Indifferent. She showed no signs of agitation or concern.
"What's the relationship between you and your husband like?" Mike asked, whereupon she fixed him with her eyes.
"We're well-organized."
Mike pursed his lips. "Well-organized? I have to admit, I didn't expect that answer. We're happy. Our marriage is boring. We often argue, that kind of thing. Well-organized? What do you mean?"
"I hope you don't mind if I don't discuss the details of my marriage with two complete strangers. Would you mind answering my question, please: did Harry have something to do with the blood?"
"I'd be happy to answer that question after you tell us why you're sitting here at home instead of with your husband in the hospital."
For the first time, Nikki thought she saw a flicker of emotion on Boutroux's face. Was that insecurity?
"We don't expect such things from each other. What would be the point? When my husband is finished at the hospital, he will come home and tell me everything I need to know."
Nikki exchanged a glance with her husband, whose eyebrows twitched briefly.
"So, what does my husband have to do with this thing in the apartment other than being knocked out?"
Mike leaned on the armrests and stood up. "I think your husband will tell you when he gets home. Thanks for your time. We don't want to bother you any further with... whatever you were doing. We'll let ourselves out."
Nikki watched the woman's face closely while she got up. Then, she followed her husband.
She waited until they were both back in the car before she said, "I've rarely seen a person more emotionless than that woman. Even now, when you let her down... not the slightest reaction."
Mike started the car. "I guess it's because of the way she was raised. I thought I had just heard something wrong. Does the name Boutroux mean anything to you?"
She thought for a moment and shook her head. "No, should it?"
"Old money. Her father is Marius Boutroux. A wealthy industrialist. He could buy the whole street and pay for it out of pocket. In those circles, you don't show your feelings."
"I'm well aware of that, but I still find the woman's reaction strange. Or rather, the lack of reaction. We're well organized... This doesn't sound like a happy marriage." And with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a smile, she added, "That, Mike, is what my instincts tell me."