Savich said, “Which brings us back to the question of why. All to pressure your government to remove your sanctions from Syria? Think of the sheer complexity of pulling off the kidnapping of a peer’s wife or daughter and forcing your government to remove the sanctions. All the moving parts would have to work together seamlessly, and it would depend on a number of people to do exactly as they’re told and keep their mouths shut. And if the imam is part of it, is he taking his orders from Aboud?”
John sighed. “Or maybe, Savich, this all does have to do with revenge against Elizabeth and her family for Samir Basara, however tortured that motive might be.”
Savich said, “My gut rejects revenge for Basara as a motive.”
“I guess mine does too.” John laughed. “I must say, it must have shocked Aboud to his heels when you arrived at his house and informed him your people shot down his helicopter and his two men with it.”
“He tried to hide it, but he was stunned. And yes, I did enjoy delivering the news to him. However, we can’t underestimate him, John. Did I tell you he covered his bases by reporting his helicopter stolen the night before?”
“I bet she’s now glad he did.”
Savich said, “John, I hope you’re planning to bring Rome and Elizabeth in on this, for their own protection.”
“Of course, I’ve arranged to speak with them this afternoon.”
Savich dug into a particularly tight muscle in Sherlock’s shoulder and she moaned with pleasure. John said, “Dare I inquire what you’re doing, Savich?”
Savich laughed, said, “Didn’t you rub Mary Ann’s back when she was pregnant with Cici?”
“She wouldn’t let me go to sleep until I did. Tonight I’ll hear my perfect child’s golden voice, telling me she’s hungry, which means a fresh peach, which, thankfully, any adult hovering over her will provide without hesitation. Then she’ll want meto read herPeter Rabbit. I’ll keep you posted, Savich. Give my best to Sherlock, and my best advice? Do what you can to keep her happy.”
“You can count on it.” Savich punched off. He said to Sherlock, “You heard everything. Anything to add?”
Sherlock dropped her head so he could knead her neck. “You‘re always telling everyone in the unit to keep it simple and to remember Occam’s Razor—horses, not zebras. So, forget all the serpentine possibilities—who has a nice clean motive? Ah, that feels wonderful.”
Savich smiled at her. She was right, answers usually came down to straightforward motives, hidden maybe, but always there, behind the distractions. He started massaging her back again.
Sherlock groaned, whispered, “Keep that up and I’ll be your slave.”
“I like the sound of that. I’ll think about what I want. John said Cici likesPeter Rabbit. Do you think Felicity will go for a smart bunny?”
“I did, and I’ll bet you did too, but you mean Beau, don’t you?”
“We’ll see. I’ll make you a deal—you make a lemon meringue pie for dessert tomorrow night and I’ll play ‘Hot for Teacher’ and you can salsa. I’ll follow it with another massage.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Elizabeth’s house
Eaton Square, London
Tuesday
Rome decided driving in London was an endurance contest, like driving in New York City, except on the wrong side of the road. Plus there were more tour buses flogging through the snarled traffic, their guides shouting out the stops and their histories on bullhorns. At least today Elizabeth was driving, and it seemed to Rome she enjoyed every honking horn, every near miss as pedestrians trotted out into the chaos. And the bicycles, in and out, between and around cars, like maniacs, never seemed to have a care in the world.
Elizabeth pointed out sights to him as she drove their rented Vauxhall Corsa through the morass and weaved her way expertly through side streets until they reached Eaton Square.
She swung behind a crescent of white houses and parked behind the last one. She led Roman around to the front and said, “Breathe in, Rome. I love this spot, with all the marvelous scents of the summer flowers across the street. And all the trees in the park mute the traffic noise. Even the air smells different here in this one quiet place. Let me show you my house.” She paused, gave him a grin. “Yes, it does have a name—Palmer House. I fibbed because I didn’t want you to smirk and get snarky.”
He shook his head. “Why would I smirk? The U.S. has houses with names too, like Mount Vernon, Monticello, and the White House.”
She stopped, smiled up at him. “When we go back, I’d like to see those places.”
He said carefully, “You’re considering coming back with me to the United States?”
She looked at him, but didn’t answer. Rome wanted to grab her, make her tell him, but he let it drop. For the moment.
Palmer House felt more at ease with itself than Darlington Hall. Elizabeth gave him nuggets of its history as she led him through the rooms, the kitchen included. She called out all the faded glory—tatty arms on that chair, rugs so old she was afraid she’d put a hole through them.
