“Well, I’m happy to waste my time and theirs.”
“I’m sure. See you at the briefing.”
Brodie hung up as Taylor returned with their drinks and sat down. “Who was that?”
“Butler. We can check out the security camera footage after the briefing.”
“Great.” She slid his beer to him. “The bartender gave me some dinner recommends. A few really good Turkish spots and a few fusion places.”
“What about German food?”
“We might be in the wrong neighborhood for that. In fact, we might be in the wrong city. This is a very international town.”
“I’m sure we can hunt down a schnitzel.”
She was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Did you get the sense that these men at the Islamic center knew you were there under false pretenses?”
“I turned in a pretty good performance, as I always do, but… maybe. With all the death threats they’re getting, they’re suspicious of strangers.”
“Or,” said Taylor, “they were already primed to distrust an American coming to them for information because one already had, possibly also misrepresenting himself.”
Brodie nodded. “Possibly. Whether or not Harry showed up there, they know something.”
“If he did go there, I’d want to know if he also went to other mosques or Islamic religious centers around here. Was he investigating something concrete and specific to the Al Mahdi Center, or just going on a fishing expedition around the neighborhood?”
“Maybe we should go mosque-to-mosque to see if Harry paid a visit.”
“I think you’ve already stepped beyond our mandate. We need to tread carefully.”
“Then I guess we also need to cancel tonight’s rounds.”
Taylor shook her head, then smiled. “We’re just having a night on the town. It’s not our fault if we stumble onto some clues along the way.”
Brodie got started on his second stein of doppelbock. If they kept up at this rate, they were bound to stumble onto something.
As for Maggie Taylor, when it was she who broke the rules, it was okay. Not so for Scott Brodie. Interesting.
More importantly, Maggie Taylor was willing to push the envelope on this case for the same reason he was: to resurrect a career that had been damaged by the Mercer case. And this made things easier for him. They both understood that this case was a make-or-break. They had nothing to lose if they screwed up. And when you have nothing to lose, you do things your way. Meaning the right way.
Harry Vance, who was apparently doing things his way, would agree. If he were alive. But he was dead. Because he was doing things his way.
CHAPTER 16
Brodie and Taylor had dinner at one of the bartender’s recommends, a trendy spot located in a converted old laundromat named, appropriately, the Laundromat. The washing machines had been swapped for tables, but the place otherwise looked like a laundromat—harsh overhead fluorescents, a polished concrete floor, and exposed brick walls slapped with white paint. The fare was upscale continental, and the prices would raise some eyebrows when they turned in their expenses. “Laundromat, two hundred euros, Mr. Brodie?”
Taylor said to her partner, “My instincts tell me that Harry’s lady friend, Anna, will know why Harry was in Berlin.”
“He was here for her.”
“That’s not what got him killed. And she’ll know what he was working on here.”
Brodie had had the same thought, and nodded. He himself did not share his cases with his girlfriends, but lots of men did. Pillow talk. Usually the woman was uninterested, or pretended she was. Sometimes the woman wastoointerested. And she wasn’t in bed with the guy because of love. Or maybe he’d read too many spy novels. Well, they wouldn’t have any answers about Anna until they found her. He glanced at the menu. “I might try the stuffed pig anus.”
“That would be appropriate.”
They navigated the French language menu with German subtitles with the help of the waiter, avoiding internal organs.
They chatted as they ate, catching up on a few things, sort of reconnecting, each trying to figure out how the other one had changed, and whether it was for the better.
