Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set) Blake Banner (ereader iphone txt) 📖

his response is, don’t contact me on my phone. The clear implication is that Jose has a secret he does not want revealed.”

Joe nodded. “So far, that is sound, yes.”

Dehan looked at him and then at me. “A secret that’s called Mohamed and uses a Sig Sauer Tacops p226.”

Joe leaned back in his chair and emitted a small, humorless laugh. “I’m just here to do the forensics, you guys have to put it all together and give it meaning, but don’t forget that whoever was using that Sig put no less than eight rounds into Jose’s body. He may have been using a pro’s gun, but he wasn’t shooting like a pro.”

“He or she,” I said. “Come on, Dehan. Let’s get home and get some hot food inside us. Things will make more sense after a bottle of…”

I stopped, remembering the bottle on the table by Agnes’ glass, the two dozen bottles in her kitchen and the two dozen more in Robles’ kitchen, and the glass of whiskey by the sink.

For a fastidious man like Robles, the sequence was wrong.

They were both looking at me. Joe smiled. “A bottle of wine or a bottle of whiskey?”

I gave a small laugh, that was more of a snort. “That’s a good question, Joe. First a beer, or a martini if you want a cocktail, then the wine, and then a whiskey or a brandy to round it off. Isn’t that the correct sequence?”

He looked at Dehan and laughed. “The man knows how to live. You have to hand it to him!”

Dehan was laughing and getting to her feet. “He does that! Why d’you think he married me? The man’s got taste!”

“Can’t argue with that!”

It was a short drive from the lab to the house. The streets were empty but for the occasional car that hissed by, casting amber light on the blacktop. The first Santas were beginning to scale the walls, balconies and rooftops, and the first strings of winking lights were beginning to gild the lilies in the gardens of suburbia. I killed the engine of the Jag outside our house and Dehan went ahead in her woolly hat and gloves to open the door.

Inside, as I closed the drapes and started to build the fire, she peeled off her layers of wool and went to the kitchen. I heard the fridge open and thud closed, pots and pans clatter and the warmth of the growing flames washed over my hands and face. Then there was a pregnant silence from the kitchen. I stood, poured two generous Bushmills and went to the breakfast bar with them.

She was standing, staring at a can of tomatoes. On the bar she had a pack of minced meat, an onion, some garlic, a red pepper and a pack of spaghetti. I said:

“It’s a can of tomatoes. It has tomatoes in it. They grow them like that in Italy, in the cans, especially for making spaghetti and pizza.”

She put down the can. I sipped my drink and went to look for a can opener, fearing dinner might be slow in coming if I didn’t.

She said: “Who stands to lose the most if Jose Robles’ research is successful?”

I set about opening the can. “That is a very wide question, Dehan. You’d need to be a bit more precise about what you mean.”

I handed her a vegetable knife and an onion. She took them and frowned at me. “I mean, if everything that Am said is true. If they are on the verge of a revolution in lithium battery technology, and soon all forms of transport are going to be running on lithium ion batteries. Who stands to lose the most?”

I ground some black pepper into the tomatoes and took the onion and the knife from her. “Peel the garlic, will you?” She picked up the garlic and followed me to the frying pan, where I peeled the onion and started cutting it into the pan. “Obviously the petroleum companies would be the worst hit. But, Dehan…”

“No, just humor me a moment, Stone. Where are the most powerful petroleum interests in the world?”

I took the garlic from her fingers and started peeling it. “Slice the red pepper for me. Saudi, Egypt, the UAE, Jordan, Iraq… all of them. I know where you’re going with this…”

She went and came back waving a red pepper at me. “Don’t talk, just answer the question. Now, obviously, if you are heavily invested in oil, you can’t go around murdering every scientist who comes up with an alternative energy source. But what you can do is try and take possession of that technology.”

I took the pepper from her and said, “Olive oil, and salt.” I started chopping the pepper. “Yes, that is true. But how do you get from there to…”

“I said don’t talk. Now, suppose a Middle Eastern government got to hear about Dr. Jose Robles’ research, and they approached him to buy him out…”

I took the olive oil from her hands and poured it into the pan, with the onion, the garlic and the red pepper, then turned on the heat. She had gone quiet. I took the salt and sprinkled it in. The pan started to sizzle. I stirred it with a wooden spoon.

“Hand me the meat and open the wine.”

She brought over the pack of meat in one hand and the bottle in the other. As she started peeling off the lead from the bottle, she sighed and shook her head. “Whichever way you look at it, there is always something that doesn’t fit.”

I nodded. “I keep wondering about that threat: to join his class.”

She screwed the corkscrew in, stuck the bottle between her knees and pulled. The cork popped. She carried the bottle away and put it on the table. Then she came back and leaned her cheek