I thought about all the things the old man had taught me and everything I’d learned about Delov while we’d been watching him. “The most common places for people to go in their own house late at night are the kitchen and the bathroom. So either he got up because he was hungry or he needed to take a leak. I’d vote for the kitchen, given his enormous appetite. He’s always munching on something in all the surveillance photos I’ve taken.”

Fletcher nodded, agreeing with me. “Okay. Now, stay close to me while we go see if you’re right.”

Together, we tiptoed over to the bedroom door and slipped out into the hallway. The third floor of the mansion was devoted to Delov’s personal quarters, and each room was more opulently furnished than the one before it, all with slightly oversize chairs and tables, the better to accommodate the giant’s tall frame. One by one, we peered into the rooms we passed, but they were all as empty as his bed had been.

Finally, we reached the last room on the floor—the kitchen. The double doors were thrown open, and light spilled out into the hallway. A soft snick sounded, like someone opening a refrigerator door, followed by the faint rattle-rattle of dishes. Fletcher grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.

Fletcher and I eased up on either side of the doorway, still keeping to the shadows as much as possible, and peered inside. The kitchen was just as large and spacious as the other rooms and featured two of everything, including twin refrigerators situated side by side along the left wall. The doors on both were wide open, and Peter Delov stood in between them, perusing all the items inside.

Delov was big, even for a giant, topping out at almost eight feet. His back was to us, but I knew from my surveillance that he had tan skin, brown eyes, bushy eyebrows, and dark brown hair that was always slicked back over his high forehead. Delov considered himself to be a handsome man, and given his massive drug empire, he treated himself to the very best of everything, from clothes to cars to women.

But his main passion was gourmet food, and both fridges were stocked with bottles of pricey champagne, tubs of expensive caviar, and wheels of exotic cheeses. I wrinkled my nose. Very smelly cheeses. Several packs of crackers were crowded onto the counter to the right, along with a tray of cold cuts and another one piled high with an elegant arrangement of chocolates, strawberries, and kiwi slices. Looked like Delov had developed a hankering for a late-night snack. I hoped he was enjoying it, because it would be the last meal he ever ate.