False Impression (2006) Read online

  ‘Thank you,’ said Krantz.

  Krantz remained in her seat until the last passenger had left the aircraft. She then joined the crew as they disembarked and headed in the direction of the terminal. Krantz never left the chief stewardess’s side during the long walk down endless corridors, while Nina offered her opinion on everything from Putin to Rasputin.

  When the Aeroflot crew finally reached passport control, Nina guided her charge past the long queue of passengers and on towards the exit marked CREW ONLY. Krantz tucked in behind Nina, who didn’t stop chatting even when she’d handed over her passport to the official. He slowly turned the pages, checked the photograph and then waved Nina through. ‘Next.’

  Krantz handed over her passport. Once again, the official looked carefully at the photograph and then at the person it claimed to represent. He even smiled as he waved her through. Krantz suddenly felt a stab of pain in her right shoulder. For a moment, the excruciating feeling made it difficult for her to move. She tried not to grimace. The official waved again, but she still remained fixed to the spot.

  ‘Come on, Sasha,’ cried Nina, ‘you’re holding everyone up.’

  Krantz somehow managed to stumble unsteadily through the barrier. The official continued to stare at her as she walked away. Never look back. She smiled at Nina, and linked her arm in hers as they headed towards the exit. The official finally turned his attention to the second officer, who was next in line.

  ‘Will you be joining us on the bus?’ asked Nina, as they strolled out of the airport and onto the pavement.

  ‘No,’ said Krantz. ‘I’m being met by my boyfriend.’

  Nina looked surprised. She said goodbye, before crossing the road in the company of the second officer.

  ‘Who was that?’ her colleague asked, before climbing onto the Aeroflot bus.

  54

  ‘WASN’T THERE anything on the film that would assist us?’ asked Macy.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Jack, as he looked across the desk at his boss. ‘Leapman had only been in the office for long enough to photograph eight documents before Fenston’s unscheduled appearance.’

  ‘And what do those eight documents tell us?’ Macy demanded.

  ‘Nothing we didn’t already know,’ admitted Jack, as he opened a file in front of him. ‘Mainly contracts confirming that Fenston is still fleecing customers in different parts of the world, who are either naive or greedy. But should any of them decide it would be in their best interests to sell their assets and clear the debt with Fenston Finance, I suspect that’s when we’ll end up with another body on our hands. No, my only hope is that the NYPD has gathered enough evidence to press charges in the Leapman case, because I still don’t have enough to slap a parking ticket on him.’

  ‘It doesn’t help,’ said Macy, ‘that when I spoke to my opposite number this morning, or to be more accurate he spoke to me, the first thing he wanted to know was did we have an FBI agent called Delaney, and if so, was he on the scene of the crime before his boys arrived.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’ asked Jack, trying not to smile.

  ‘I’d look into the matter and call him back.’ Macy paused. ‘But it might placate them a little if you were willing to trade some information,’ he suggested.

  ‘But I don’t think they have anything we aren’t already aware of,’ responded Jack, ‘and they can’t be that optimistic about pressing charges while Leapman is still out for the count.’

  ‘Any news from the hospital about his chances of recovery?’ asked Macy.

  ‘Not great,’ admitted Jack. ‘While he was in Fenston’s office he suffered a stress stroke caused by high blood pressure. The medical term is aphasia.’

  ‘Aphasia?’

  ‘The part of Leapman’s brain that affects his speech has been irreparably damaged, so he can’t speak. Frankly, his doctor is describing him as a vegetable, and warned me that the only decision the hospital will have to make is whether to pull the plug and let him die peacefully.’

  ‘The NYPD tell me that Fenston is sitting solicitously by the patient’s bedside.’

  ‘Then they’d better not leave them alone for more than a few moments,’ said Jack, ‘because if they do, the doctors won’t need to make the decision as to who should pull the plug.’

  ‘The NYPD also wants to know if you removed a camera from the crime scene.’

  ‘It was FBI property.’

  ‘Not if it was evidence in a criminal enquiry, as you well know, Jack. Why don’t you send them a set of the photos Leapman took and try to be more cooperative in the future? Remind them that your father served twenty-six years with the force - that should do the trick.’

  ‘But what do they have to offer in exchange?’ asked Jack.

  ‘A copy of a photograph with your name on the back. They want to know if it meant anything to you, because it sure didn’t to them, or me,’ admitted Macy.

  The supervisor pushed two prints across his desk and allowed Jack a few moments to consider them. The first was a picture of Fenston shaking hands with George W. Bush when he visited Ground Zero. Jack recalled the blown-up version that was hanging on the wall behind Fenston’s desk. He held up the picture and asked, ‘How come the NYPD has a copy of this?’

  ‘They found it on Leapman’s desk. He was obviously going to hand it over to you yesterday evening, along with an explanation of what he’d written on the back.’

  Jack looked at the second print and was considering the words, Delaney, this is all the evidence you need, when the phone on Macy’s desk buzzed.

  He picked it up and listened. ‘Put him on,’ said Macy as he replaced the receiver and flicked a switch that would allow them both to follow the conversation. ‘It’s Tom Crasanti, calling from London,’ said Macy. ‘Hi, Tom, it’s Dick Macy. Jack’s in the office with me. We were just discussing the Fenston case, because we’re still not making much headway.’

  ‘That’s why I’m calling,’ said Tom. ‘There’s been a development at this end, and the news is not good. We think Krantz has slipped into England.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ said Jack. ‘How could she hope to get through passport control?’

  ‘By posing as an Aeroflot stewardess, it would seem,’ said Tom. ‘My contact at the Russian embassy called to warn me that a woman had entered Britain using a fake passport under the name of Sasha Prestakavich.’

  ‘But why should they assume Prestakavich is Krantz?’ asked Jack.

  ‘They didn’t,’ said Tom. ‘They had no idea who she was. All they could tell me was that the suspect befriended Aeroflot’s chief stewardess while on their daily flight to London. She then fooled her into accompanying her through passport control. That’s how we got to hear of it. It turns out that the co-pilot asked who the woman was, and when he was told that her name was Sasha Prestakavich, he said that wasn’t possible because he travelled with her regularly, and it certainly wasn’t Prestakavich.’

  ‘That still doesn’t prove it’s Krantz,’ pressed Macy.

  ‘I’ll get there, sir, just give me time.’

  Jack was glad his friend couldn’t see the look of impatience on the boss’s face.

  ‘The co-pilot,’ continued Tom, ‘reported to his captain, who immediately alerted Aeroflot’s security. It didn’t take them long to discover that Sasha Prestakavich was on a three-day layover, and her passport had been stolen, along with her uniform. That set alarm bells ringing.’ Macy began tapping his fingers on the desk. ‘My contact at the Russian embassy called me in the new entente-cordiale spirit of post 9/11,’ said Tom, ‘having already briefed Interpol.’

  ‘We are going to get there, aren’t we, Tom?’

  ‘Any moment, sir.’ He paused. ‘Where was I?’

  ‘Taking calls from your contact in the Russian embassy,’ said Jack.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Tom. ‘It was after I’d given him a description of Krantz, about five foot, around a hundred pounds, crew cut, that they asked me to fax over a photograph of