“But … how did Interpol put these two cases together? What link did they see?”

“They didn’t see any link, and they never did put them together.”

“Then what—?”

“Your questions—your search terms from the Gurikos and Spalter cases—those terms brought up the Corsican mob case and the Paris—”

“But the nails-in-the-head detail would’ve only brought up the file on the Corsican murder, and the cemetery/firecrackers details would’ve only brought up the Duma guy. So what are we talking about? Just based on those two facts, it could’ve been two different hit men, no?”

“It might’ve looked that way—except for one little thing. Both Interpol files contained lists of possibilities—likely professional hitters the local cops or the national agencies thought would be worth looking at. Four names for the Corsican case, five for the Russian-in-Paris case. Far as I can see, the Corsican and French police never got to any of those guys, not even to talk to them. But that’s not the point. The point is, there’s one name that pops up on both lists.”

Gurney didn’t say anything. A link that loose might be meaningless.

As if responding to this doubt, Hardwick added, “I know it doesn’t prove anything. But it’s sure as hell worth a closer look.”

“I agree. So who is this guy who likes firecrackers and hammering nails into people’s eyes?”

“The one name that appears on both lists is Petros Panikos.”

“So we may be looking for a Greek hit man?”

“Hit man for sure. With a Greek name for sure. But a name is only a name. Interpol says there’s no passport issued by any member country to anyone by that name. So it looks like he has other names. But they do have an interesting file on him under the name Panikos, for what it’s worth.”

“What is it worth? How much do they really know about him?”

“Good question. My contact told me there’s a lot in the file, but that it’s a mix—some facts, some secondhand stuff, some wild underworld stories that might be true or might be pure horseshit.”

“You have this fascinating mix in your hands right now?”

“What I have is bare bones—what my man could remember without pulling up the full document, which he said he would do as soon as he could. By the way, you may not have to take a piss, Sherlock, but I sure as hell do. Hold on.”