Rogue Angel 51: The Pretender's Gambit by Alex Archer Read Free Book Online Page A

without the elephant would not be good business.” Calapez handed the binoculars over to his young associate, then went back to raid the dead man’s refrigerator again. He opened the door and peered inside. Nothing looked good. The deceased obviously didn’t dine in much. Frustrated, he closed the door again. “I will go over to the diner and bring us back something to eat. Maybe I will find out what they are talking about, or where the elephant is. While I am there, you keep watch.”
    Pousao nodded and returned to his vigil.
    Calapez waited at the door till he heard silence, then let himself out. If the police did not have the elephant, he had to figure out where it had gone—soon.

Chapter 5
    Hours later, Annja stifled a yawn and looked through bleary vision at the list of storage units and buyers she had compiled. The sorting program on the software made building that list easier, but there were still a lot of names. Benyovszky had been in business for himself for eleven years.
    The diner was low-key and welcoming, worn and lived-in, filled with lots of younger regulars who worked on tablets or talked on the phone while they ate their breakfast. They wore business attire and were the smallest group in the diner. Most of the clientele was older and spoke in Russian or heavily accented English. They gathered as couples or small groups. All of them looked pensive and distracted, and Annja wouldn’t need a second guess to know what the topic of conversation was.
    “Can I get you a refill?”
    Annja looked up at the young waitress and nodded. Annja slid over her nearly empty coffee cup, did the same with Bart’s, and told the young woman thanks after she’d poured the fresh-brewed coffee. Annja added cream and sugar to both coffees, turning the hot liquid the color of caramel.
    Bart was talking on the phone, listening mostly, and the one-sided conversation didn’t give Annja much to work with. Curiosity grew in her as she waited. Finally, Bart put the phone away and returned his attention to her.
    “That was Broadhurst. He says the ME released a prelim based on the scene.”
    Through the large plate-glass window behind Bart, Annja could see the reflection of the apartment building across the street. The ME’s long black vehicle had eased into the collection of police cars and crime-scene vans. Morning light filtered through the dregs of the night, bringing a sense of the new day. Traffic had increased, both vehicular and pedestrian. Passersby stopped only briefly to find out what was going on, then they got back to their day. Murder was nothing new in the metro area.
    Even though she had seen such casual acceptance of murder and death before, in New York as well as countries around the globe, Annja still refused to think people could just keep moving without being touched by the tragedy.
    She put those thoughts away and concentrated on Bart. “What does the ME say?”
    “The victim had no defensive wounds. Looks like whoever killed Benyovszky hit him from behind with a hammer, or a similar weapon. The ME won’t commit as to what the weapon was, but she thinks death was instantaneous. At least the old guy didn’t suffer.” Bart picked up his coffee, blew on it and took a sip.
    “If the first blow killed Benyovszky, why keep hitting him?”
    Bart shook his head. “Anger? Frustration? Maybe fear, if the murderer was afraid Benyovszky would get back up. Don’t know. But whoever did it was thorough.”
    “You said there were no defensive wounds?”
    “Yeah.” Bart sipped his coffee. “Could mean that Benyovszky knew his murderer. Let the person into the apartment.”
    “Then why was the lock shattered?”
    Bart frowned. “I don’t have an answer for that one yet. You’re right. If Benyovszky let his killer into the apartment, that person didn’t need to break in.”
    “And if the killer had broken in, Benyovszky would have had defensive wounds because he wouldn’t have trusted whoever came through that