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“How could they tell? Was he carrying a passport?”
“No ID at all, but he had amalgam fillings, which you don’t find in this country anymore, and he had a Russian military tattoo.” She described it to him.
Grant shook his head. “Blood and loyalty. I’ve never heard of anything like that. Crossed daggers doesn’t sound military, either; crossed swords, maybe.”
“I saw a photograph; it’s definitely daggers.”
“Send it to Harry; he can run it against the Bureau’s files.”
“Good idea.”
“You run the guy’s prints?”
“Yes, but we came up with nothing.”
“If he’s an immigrant on a visa, his prints should be on file with INS. Tomorrow, run them against their files. They may not have gotten passed on to the Bureau yet.”
“Thanks for the suggestion.”
Grant started clearing the table, and Holly helped. Then her cellphone rang.
“Hello?”
“Miss Barker?” The voice was female and quavering.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Marina Santos.”
“Is something wrong, Marina?”
“I went to the grocery store, and when I came back . . .” Her voice broke, and she seemed unable to go on.
“Marina, what is it? Tell me.”
“My mother and my aunt are dead.”
“Oh, God.”
“There was blood all over the kitchen; they were shot.”
“Marina, where are you now?”
“I’m on my cellphone in my car, parked on the street outside my aunt’s house.”
“What’s the address?”
Marina gave it to her, and Holly wrote it down. “All right, Marina, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to start your car and drive away—don’t hang up. When you drive away, check your rearview mirror to see if anyone is following you. Now, go ahead.”
“All right.”
Holly heard the car start.
“I’m driving down the street, and no one is behind me.”
“All right, give me your cellphone number.” Holly wrote it down. “Now, I want you to go to a public place, very well lighted, like a supermarket parking lot, and park right in front of a big store. I’m going to call the police, and then I’ll call you back with further instructions.”
“All right,” Marina said.
