Page 89 of Nightshade

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STILWELL HAD ANunexpected guest waiting for him when he got back to the sub. Mercy reported that the missing Henry Gaston had walked in and told her he was in danger and needed to speak to Stilwell. She gave him a Diet Coke and put him in the interview room.

“He’s nervous,” she said. “He says he needs protection.”

Stilwell nodded as he looked down at her computer screen, which displayed the image of Gaston sitting in the lately busy interview room. He was leaning forward, arms on the table, both hands clutching the can Mercy had given him.

“All right, I’m going in to talk to him,” Stilwell said. “You get anything yet on the Prada shoes?”

“Actually, yes,” Mercy said. “I identified them as satin cutout pumps that retail for fourteen hundred dollars new.”

Stilwell could not comprehend how shoes with a few straps and four-inch heels could cost so much.

“I was also correct when I said you can’t get these shoes directly through Amazon,” Mercy continued. “They’re available through retail outlets like Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus and Prada’sown shops. There’s one on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. But here is a cool thing that may help you: They’re chipped.”

“What do you mean, ‘chipped’?”

“There’s a huge counterfeit market for designer stuff. Prada puts radio-frequency identification chips in its products to help detect counterfeits as well as for supply-chain tracking. So if you buy something you think is Prada, you can go into a Prada store, and they have a chip reader that will tell you not only if it’s real but when it was manufactured and where it was sold.”

“That’s perfect.”

“The chip readers are only at Prada, though—they don’t have them at Nordstrom. I called the store in Beverly Hills and they said they could check the chip in these pumps, but you’ll have to go over there.”

“It’s looking like I may have to go across for other things anyway. I could go to Beverly Hills. Great work, Mercy.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean they can tell you who bought them, but if you narrow it down to the point of purchase, you might get lucky.”

“You never know. It’s definitely worth a shot.” He pointed at her screen. “Are you recording?”

“I was waiting for you to get back. I’ll start the recording now.”

Stilwell went to get another Diet Coke. He now had two mainland leads—the Prada pumps and Daniel Easterbrook—that he could pass on to Sampedro and Ahearn, but he was reluctant to give them up. He knew he would risk the ire of his two temporary partners as well as Captain Corum if he didn’t, but he had momentum and didn’t want to lose it while waiting for moves to be made by people he didn’t have confidence in. He knew he was once more crossing a line but would do it without hesitation.

Stilwell got a rights waiver out of the wall-mounted caddy next to the interview room. The moment he opened the doorand stepped in, Gaston jumped up and started talking in staccato bursts like a machine gun.

“You gotta help me, man,” he said. “They’re going to take me out. And for what? A fucking side of beef? They’re going to take me out for a stupid buffalo?”

Stilwell put up his free hand and made a calming motion. “Okay, slow down, Henry,” he said. “Let’s just sit and talk about this rationally. Okay?”

“I can’t sit down, man. I’m fucking scared. They’re looking for me. I saw them.”

“Sit. Please. Then we’ll talk.”

Stilwell put the Diet Coke on the table and sat down. He picked up the can on Gaston’s side and shook it. It was empty.

“I don’t know if I should give you another one of these. You’re riding a little too much caffeine.”

“I need it. I’m still thirsty.”

“Okay, take it. But drink it slow. Okay?”

“Okay, okay.”

Gaston finally sat down. Stilwell noticed that his blue jumpsuit was dirty and greasy and was possibly the same thing he had been wearing when Stilwell last saw him at the Island Mystery Tours cart barn. Gaston opened the second can and took a large gulp.

“Okay, Henry, I was told you want to talk to me. Is that true?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll tell you everything, but you’ve got to take care of me.”