Red Widow by Alma Katsu (good books to read for beginners txt) 📗

for signs of decomposition. “Does the police report say anything about the time of death, or the state of the body?”

“They’re waiting on an autopsy for time of death, but they estimate that he’s been dead about a week.”

Which means whoever abducted him kept him alive for two weeks. Although you could make a case for torture from the state of his face, it didn’t seem likely that a bunch of homophobes would kidnap a man and hold him for two weeks if they meant to kill him.

It did sound like an interrogation, however. “Could you forward that report to me?” Lyndsey asks, getting ready to head back to her office.

As Westerling reaches for the mouse, tears spill down her cheeks. “It’s different now, you know, from when I started. They’re playing rougher in Moscow.” Tell me about it, Lyndsey wants to say, but she doesn’t want to shut the young woman down, so she nods. “It’s like the FSB feels they can take the gloves off. I can’t believe they did this to—this asset. He was a nice guy. A scientist. Harmless.” A few more tears. “He didn’t sign up for this. This should never have happened. We can’t take care of them . . . Something’s wrong.” She wipes at her tears, shaking her head. “Forget what I just said, I’m upset. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Westerling meant every word and Lyndsey knows it. She’s just afraid Lyndsey will tell Eric. Lyndsey puts a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I know what you mean.”

The first thing Lyndsey does is forward the Russian police report to Raymond Murphy, sure that word hasn’t traveled as fast to him down in Counterintel and wanting to keep him aware of the development. Then she sends it to a woman she worked with early in her career, Ruth Mallory, someone who has followed Russian internal security services for decades. She only wants Mallory’s take on the killing; she won’t be given the background on the case, won’t betray any compartments.

Lyndsey looks up to find Maggie, the office manager, standing in the doorway to her office. She has a quizzical expression on his face, like she’s just heard bad news. She steps inside and closes the door.

“I’ve noticed you’re spending a lot of time with Theresa Warner.” There’s a warning in Maggie’s tone, if you’ve ears to hear. “That’s not a good idea.”

This is not what Lyndsey expected, not at all. “What are you talking about?”

“There are things you don’t know.” How Lyndsey hates those words: they are used too often in the intelligence business. There’s always someone happy to remind you that there’s a deeper secret you’re not privy to. After ten years, Lyndsey has learned that sometimes there’s a secret, and sometimes there isn’t.

Maggie tilts her head, weighing her words. “Theresa Warner . . . has a reputation. She’s rubbed some people the wrong way.”

Lyndsey parses this silently. Some people means senior managers. Rubbed them the wrong way means she’s made enemies. Committed unforgiveable offenses.

Lyndsey feels a slow burn ignite in her chest. “The woman’s husband died in a CIA operation. Of course she’s angry and upset—”

“She’s let her anger cloud her judgment. She’s alienated people, people who have tried to help her. I’m only telling you what I’ve heard.” Maggie takes a deep breath. “Be careful aligning yourself with Theresa. She’s burned too many bridges.”

How many times has Lyndsey heard these exact words whispered about a coworker? Someone could say the same thing about her. CIA can be a difficult place to work, politicized in unspoken ways. Failure isn’t viewed well, no matter whose fault it is. Some people probably distanced themselves from Theresa after Richard’s death, afraid that the taint would stick to them, too. It was a lesson she learned as a child, when some of her friends withdrew after her father’s death. They were afraid, her mother had explained. The death of a parent is scary and they’re transferring that fear to you. Her mother had always been good at seeing what was going on inside a person’s mind, and she’d taught her daughter to be the same way. It was the reason she’d decided to major in psychology. Lyndsey didn’t hold it against her young friends, but that’s when she learned not to depend on them too much. She’s surprised that she’s grown so close to Theresa. Maybe it’s because they’re so alike. Two loners.

Lyndsey looks at the office manager, reading her expression and body language. She’s sincere. She’s only trying to help. She doesn’t appear to be anyone’s cat’s-paw. Maybe there’s something to what Maggie is saying, something that bears looking into. “Okay—thanks for the warning.” For now, there’s nothing else to say.

TWELVE

Time drags in Lyndsey’s minuscule office. With no window, she judges time by the sounds outside her door. Lyndsey is about to head downstairs for another coffee, her third of the day—and stifles the urge to text Theresa to see if she wants to join her—when an email appears in her inbox.

Preliminary toxicology report on Genghis.

Popov. Her eyes skip down the page. She opens the attachment, a pdf of the report from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner of the District of Columbia. While it is grainy it is also readable, but most of it is technical jargon and medical-speak that she doesn’t understand. One page in, she sees that she needs someone to interpret it for her.

Although it is past Theresa’s usual quitting time, she is still at her desk. She smiles at Lyndsey when she sees her approach.

Lyndsey looks over her shoulder for Maggie (does Maggie report this sort of thing to Eric? she wonders) before starting to speak. “Do you have a minute? I could use your help. Before I left to go overseas, there were a couple analysts who worked on medical issues. Do you know if they’re still around?”

“Let me show you a way to find out.” A couple taps on the keyboard