“If you’re talking about Alice, she came willingly. I’m sure she’ll confirm.”
“We will,” Silvia said, with a touch of hesitancy. “Why the evasion, Carter?”
“I’m not an easy person to track down at the best of times. I’m just trying to find out the truth in all of this.”
Silvia glanced at Schneider. “As are we.”
“Then why are you trying to make me look guilty? A wanted poster, really?”
“Ever thought you’re making yourself look guilty, by running? That paired with the facts of the case…”
Carter leaned forward. “The facts? The fact is that you have no evidence at all that I was involved in the death of the station chief.”
“The fact is that we now have a credible and very detailed account that aligns with the physical evidence, and puts your hand on the gun when the trigger was pulled. But I, for one, would like to hear your side.”
“You’ve already heard my side. And if you’re talking about the novel, it’s hardly a ‘credible account.’ Nika dictated half of it when she was losing her mind, and Alice made the rest up.”
“Which I’d love to talk to Ms. Thornton about, but you’ve been keeping her from us.”
“You haven’t picked her up?”
Silvia glanced at her phone, which was on the table in front of her. “I’m just waiting for confirmation of that. And yes,” she said, returning her focus to Carter, “in itself, the novel might not be credible. But in conjunction with the video evidence, the murder weapon found in Ms. Vasnetsova’s apartment, the motive, her escape from Moscow, your undisclosed relationship, the blood on her boots—it came back a DNA match for the victim, you know.”
“The boots… Wait—does the FBI still have them?”
“Well, yes,” said Silvia, surprised at the question. “We’re not in the habit of releasing evidence that puts someone at the scene of a crime. They’ll be in the evidence lockup. In fact, I know they are, because we received a request last year from Ms. Vasnetsova to have them back, and we turned her down. And now, according to her account in the book, she’s put you in the safehouse with her. In fact, in light of current developments, we had forensicsre-examine the crime scene photos. They’ve concluded from the pattern of blood spatter that two people were indeed standing by the victim when the gun went off, not one as we earlier assumed.”
Carter frowned, picturing the crime scene photos. Then he flinched.
“Mr. Beck?”
“She was in the closet,” he said, thinking aloud.
“Excuse me?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. She was hiding. If I was the shooter—which I wasn’t—and if she was in on it, why would she hide?”
Silvia looked genuinely surprised. “We don’t know she was hiding.”
“She was in the closet, looking out through the slats. I hadn’t thought about it before.”
“You know this how?”
“You showed me those photos. You’re right—there was blood spatter everywhere. But the closet was wide open, empty. You could see the white wall at the back of it.”
Silvia shook her head. “I don’t see your point.”
“The wall at the back of the closet was pristine white. No spatter, even though it sprayed in that direction. Which means the closet door was closed when the shooting happened. Which suggests she was hiding in it. But she had a clear enough view, through the slats, to be able to describe it in the book!”
“Or maybe you searched the closet after the killing, and left the door open afterward?” Schneider said.
“It’s not just that. The photo you showed me, of her cleaning her boots—if she was standing in that room when the trigger was pulled, she’d have blood all over her, not just on the boots. But she didn’t. The boots must have gotten blood on themafterthe shooting—she probably went to check if he had a pulse. Shemet me at the train station wearing the same coat that’s in the footage. There was no blood on it—and I’m guessing it’s not as easy to wipe blood off a cream wool coat as it is from a pair of shoes.”
“Oh, so you can suddenly remember specific details in a photo you saw eighteen months ago?” Schneider said. “You can remember what she was wearing that day?”
“Yes, I can.”
“He has a photographic memory,” Silvia said.
