“As far as you’re aware, but clearly Ed thinks otherwise. Doesn’t anything spring to mind?”
He shook his head but thought of the Bostridge job, a hit which as far as he knew had come through the normal channels. Yet Holden had used it as a way of checking who he was on the phone, which meant that he knew the details, and maybe that the connection was there too.
Reminding himself again that Holden’s agenda was as much a mystery to him as Berg’s, he said, “I know he’s your friend, Tom, but what about me? Can I trust this guy Holden?”
“Definitely,” he said without hesitation, backing it up then. “He’s one of us, you know, whatever we are.” JJ liked the touch of unquestioning inclusiveness, based on only rapport and a couple of favors exchanged. Tom’s opinion was probably skewed anyway; Holden was a senior family friend he obviously revered, JJ merely a contact he valued, maybe respected.
“He told me you’d know where I could find him, that he’d gone to ground and there was nowhere to swim.”
Tom smiled at the riddle. “The Copley Inn,” he said immediately, “a guesthouse in Vermont, family friends.”
“Do you have the number?”
“Not on me but we’re in the right place to find it. There’s a book of New England inns; it’s in there. It’s a great place by the way. You could get a flight to Boston ...”
“No, I’ll have to go in through New York, pick some things up. I’ll take the train from there maybe, hire a car.”
“The perfect cover,” Tom said, laughing. “An English tourist in Vermont, September. You’ll fit right in.” He was obviously amused by the thought of JJ going there, like the two things didn’t fit together in his mind.
“I can’t wait,” said JJ, humoring him. “Shall we find the travel section?”
Tom nodded and stood, looking at the table, and then like he’d remembered something important he walked over to the counter and put some change in the tip jar, exchanging a few more words with the woman there.
There was only one other person browsing in the travel section, a girl who looked like she’d just come back from India, all batik and bangles and henna. Tom searched for a while before saying, “We’re in luck,” pulling a slim glossy paperback from the shelf. He leafed through the pages before handing the open book to JJ, pointing with his other hand. “There it is, the Copley Inn.”
He looked at the color picture, taken in the autumn, a large white clapboard house, an image familiar enough to seem artificially picturesque. He looked at the text below but stopped immediately at the name of the proprietor, alarm bells ringing.
Without looking up he said, “Mrs. Susan Bostridge.” Just saying the name gave him a small kick of adrenaline.
“Yeah, her husband and Ed were business partners, friends from way back, at Dartmouth together. Bostridge was killed a couple of years ago.”
“In Moscow, I know.” JJ closed the book and looked at Tom. “I don’t know what Holden’s playing at, but I can’t go there.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve never met the family of a hit before and I don’t intend to start now. It’s baggage I can do without.”
Tom stared at him, taking a few seconds to work out what JJ was getting at.
“You killed David Bostridge?” he said finally. “We thought the Russians did it.”
“That’s how it was meant to look. I’m still surprised you didn’t know.”
“Well, we didn’t. Beats me why not.”
JJ said, “Holden knows, and he knows I did it too. And now it turns out he wants me to go to the house of his lifelong friend and business partner.” It seemed obvious now, the explanation for this stranger calling out of nowhere, perhaps aiming to settle his own score during the wider crisis.
“No, hold up,” Tom said, looking concerned, eager to iron things out. “You’re forgetting something. Ed’s been in the business a long time; he knows you’re just a gun. It’s not his style.”
“You can hardly blame me for being suspicious.”
“Maybe not. But I’ll tell you something, JJ. if he says Berg wants you dead, believe him, and if he says he can help you—well believe that too. I mean, I can understand you not wanting to go there, for lots of reasons, but it could be all there is.”
He had a point, but even with Tom vouching for Holden there was an instinctive recoil from the thought of going there, whether it was safe or not, a heady mix of queasiness and fascination at the thought of being among a victim’s family. JJ said, “I’ll buy the book and I’ll consider it. But I might just see what I can do for myself first.”