The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 66
"Chris said he grew up in Snohomish. That's about thirty miles north. It's where David James probably banked the diamond."
They climbed into a taxi, and Frank flashed his badge at the driver.
"Break every fucking law you know of, but get us to Sno---Sno---"
"Snohomish," Jason offered.
"Yeah," Frank said. "What he said."
The cab peeled out in a squeal of tires, and the diminutive Asian cabbie cast an anxious glance at the two men in the backseat as he sped out of the airport. "Sorry," he apologized.
Frank waved him off and watched Jason intently as he pulled up a list of banks in Snohomish on his mobile phone.
"Snohomish Trust," Jason said, pointing. "That's the one. Says here it's the oldest bank in Snohomish. Chris's father wouldn't have trusted a brand-name financial institution. He would have wanted to make sure his instructions were followed to the letter."
Frank nodded, sticking out his bottom lip. "Sounds reasonable."
Jason placed a call to the bank, and when the line was answered, he asked for the branch manager.
"This is Harry Larson speaking."
"Mr. Larson, my name is Jason Kingsley. I'm a special investigator with the FBI." Frank raised an eyebrow, and Jason tried to ignore him.
"We have reason to believe that a client of yours by the name of Christian James may arrive at some point this morning in the company of a man named George MacQuery, potentially to retrieve the contents of a safety deposit box."
"Yes," Larson said. "In fact, they've come and gone. Not thirty minutes ago."
Jason cursed. "Damn." He was silent for a moment. "Mr. Larson, did they say where they were going? Please, it's very important. Chris James's life is in jeopardy."
"But he signed an affidavit---"
"Please," Jason cut him off. "Think. Did they say where they were going?"
Larsen was silent for a long time. "I... I was busy, not paying attention," he excused nervously. "I can't---wait... Whidbey. They said Whidbey. Yes, the little girl was hungry, and Mr. James said she could have something to eat on the ferry to Whidbey."
Jason smiled in triumph. "Whidbey. Thank you, Mr. Larson. Thank you."
He disconnected. Frank was already on the phone with the field office making arrangements for a check on MacQuery's assets.
Specifically, he told them to cross-reference property records on Whidbey Island to see if they could find some kind of a match.
"Driver," Jason said sharply, "skip Snohomish. Get us to Whidbey Island."
"On the ferry?" he asked skeptically. "You want to go on the ferry?"
Frank looked at Jason quizzically.
"Well, I'd rather not have to swim."
"It will cost you, my friend," the cabbie warned.
Jason shrugged. "Whatever," he said.
Chapter 18
GEORGE'S cottage was a postcard-perfect plantation-style home situated on the northwestern point of the island. The parcel was heavily forested, and barely visible through a break in the dense foliage, down near the water's edge, a boathouse hovered on stilts over the gently lapping waves.
The house had been George and his late wife Lucy's private retreat during their marriage. In order to ensure it remained a safe haven for them, George had registered ownership to a property holding company--- he was careful that way. Chris knew this because George often advised Michael he should be equally diligent.
Growing up, Chris had spent several summers at the house with his parents and George and Lucy. It still looked exactly as he remembered it.
It reminded him of simpler, happier times. Those were halcyon days when summers lasted forever and he hadn't a care in the world. The cottage represented safety, security, and warm memories.
When the car stopped and he deposited Brianna on the front lawn, he was instantly at peace, as if the events of the past several days had been nothing more than a horrible dream that had faded in the light of morning.
He closed his eyes and sighed deeply as the sun bathed him in its cheerful glow. The weather was spectacular, clear and calm---it had the makings of a perfect midsummer day.
"You must be exhausted," George said softly, patting him on the back. "Let's get you settled in."
He led the way up to the front porch and, once inside, upstairs to a sweetly appointed guest bedroom. The walls were painted a cheerful buttery yellow, with lace curtains on the windows and white linens on the four-poster bed. He knew from experience how comfortable this particular bed was, and his body ached to sink into the soft mattress.
He lifted Brianna onto it, and she immediately burrowed into the down comforter, yawning mightily. Though she had slept during the long drive from Las Vegas and again on the Cessna, it had not been a restful sleep, and he knew she was just as tired as he was.
He thanked George profusely and turned to tend to his daughter.
"Chris, why don't you give me the diamond? I'll lock it up in the safe," George urged softly before leaving the room.
Chris had almost forgotten about it. Withdrawing the heavy lump of stone from his jacket pocket, he handed it over. He was glad to be rid of the thing.
George clutched the velvet bag and left the room, closing the door as he went.
He stood in the hallway outside, fondling the diamond in his left hand. The weight of it was satisfying, exciting... galvanizing. His eyes hardened as he realized what he must now do.
In his way, he did love Chris. He had not been lying when he had told Jason Kingsley he regarded him as a son. It broke his heart to have to kill him, but there was no other way.
What he had lied about, however, was the nature of the argument he'd had with David James. He'd had practice with that particular tale, so the story came easily to his lips. They hadn't argued about Chris at all---his name had never entered the conversation. Instead, the fight had been about the diamond.
He thought back to that night long ago. David had just received the results of the laboratory tests and had called George over to discuss the legal aspects