Blood Rubies (36 page)

“Probably. Go ahead and call him back and ask him to send the paperwork documenting his authority.”

“Good,” Gretchen said, sounding relieved. “Sasha is waving at me. She'd like to talk to you.”

“Good job with the lawyer. You can put Sasha on.”

“I've finished my report on Ana's Russian skating snow globe,” Sasha said. “Do you want me to e-mail it to you?”

“Yes. What's your estimate?”

“Only a few thousand. Three to four, maybe, if we get lucky. It turns out that these ice-skating sculptures were strong sellers for Gardner.”

“So it's not rare,” I said.

“Or scarce.”

“Too bad, but this is excellent work, Sasha.”

“Thanks,” she said shyly.

I leaned back for a moment, resting, then followed up on Cara's message by texting Timothy with my apologies, saying I'd explain why I'd run out when I saw him and suggesting that he call or text when he was ready to talk. I reached Ty and asked him to pick up dinner on his way home, which he said he was glad to do. I e-mailed the photos to Wes.

Wes called, and I let it go to voice mail. “Wicked cool photos, Joz. Thanks. Maggie and I should be back within half an hour or so. What's going on? The police radio is crickets, and my contacts aren't telling me Jack.”

Detective Brownley entered. “Chief Hunter is ready for you.”

“Sure.” I limped toward her.

She opened the first door we passed, the one that led to the observation room. I stepped in, but she didn't. She closed the door behind me. Daryl was punching buttons and twirling dials, getting everything set. Ellis stood watching him.

“I'm letting you sit in on this for your antiques expertise. Text me as needed. Also, I heard from the lab. Letting the flash drive air-dry worked. You were right. Milner's client list is there.”

“And the name I expected is on it?”

“Yup. Along with that disposable cell number. Two dots connected.”

“Is it okay that you confiscated that trash bag? Is Peter going to say it's an illegal search?”

“Probably. But he won't succeed. I pulled him over for speeding, which he was. The bag was in plain sight.”

“So what? You can't go around opening plastic bags just because they're in plain sight.”

“The legal term is exigent circumstances. He's a suspect in a murder case. You're a reliable witness. You reported he entered Ana's house empty-handed and left almost immediately with a plastic bag. We couldn't let him leave the state with potential evidence. I'm not sure we'll need it, but juries like tangible evidence, so I'm glad we have it. I think we have a strong evidence chain leading from the Fabergé egg snow globe to Milner to Kovak to McArthur Evergreen Technologies to Jason to you. The contents of the plastic bag are the cherry on top.” He rubbed his chin. “What's your sense? Do you think Milner was pulling a fast one?”

“No. I think he was just what he seemed to be, an expert antiques appraiser planning an exotic vacation. I think he got killed because he actually saw the killer, so he could provide an ID. Kovak didn't. You should ask the travel agent if this was his first big vacation.”

“I already did. Last year he went to the Seychelles, an island chain in the Indian Ocean. The year before, he went to Barbuda, a resort with nine suites. It's supposed to be one of the most luxurious in the world.”

“Alone?”

“Both times.”

“That clinches it, doesn't it? Milner's not involved.”

“All set, sir,” Daryl said.

“Thanks.” Ellis took a step toward the door, then paused. “Do you think Jason was killed because of money?”

I shook my head. “Money was merely the symptom. The disease was pride. This entire nightmare sprang from Jason's cynically given advice. Can you get his newsletter subscriber list?”

“Good idea.” He picked up the receiver from a wall-mounted phone. “Cathy, get me Heather Walker at
Ferris Investor News.
The number is in the Jason Ferris case file. I'll take the call in my office.” He hung up the receiver and turned to me. “Thanks for the idea.” He headed out, adding, “Get yourself settled. I won't be long.”

I sat down and closed my eyes. I was weary, worn out, and worn down.

Ellis came back, his expression hard to read. He looked solemn, not like he was going to a funeral, more like the guy who told the family a loved one had died.

“You were right,” he said.

“Another dot connected.”

*   *   *

Peter sat on the long side of the table facing the one-way mirror. Ellis was at the head, so I had him in profile. Detective Brownley sat behind Peter. Ellis had Peter sign a form indicating that he understood his rights and explained that the interviews would be recorded.

Ellis stated the date and time and the names of everyone present, then turned to Peter. “The DA is drawing up the paperwork charging you with tampering with evidence, obstructing justice, and maybe accessory after the fact. That one is pending. It's tricky because it depends on prior knowledge.”

“Are you trying to frighten me by listing trumped-up charges?” Peter asked, looking amused. “Give me a break.”

“Name-calling won't help you now. Just because you call them trumped up doesn't mean they are.”

“Please. Hauling me in here because I have a bag of laundry in my car.”

“Not a bag of laundry,” Ellis said pleasantly. “A bag of evidence. Why did you remove the dirty pants, stained shoes, and the hat from Ana's house?”

“They needed cleaning. I'm a helpful sort of guy.”

Ellis remained unperturbed. “You know the truth about your father, don't you, Peter?”

Peter didn't reply.

“It was Wes Smith's article that got you thinking,” Ellis continued. “As soon as you heard about the cowboy hat, you knew. What made you think about the pants and shoes?”

My heart leaped into my throat and I grabbed my phone and texted, “I mentioned mineral oil to Ana.”

Ellis read the message. “I can see trying to protect your dad. You're a family-first kinda guy. You read about the hat, and Ana told you about the mineral oil spill. To her, it was just an interesting tidbit. To you, it meant your dad was in trouble, that you needed to act.”

“I'm not saying a word. Nothing.”

Ellis stood. “I'll be back with the arrest warrants.”

Peter glowered at him.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The technician, a beautiful blonde named Katie I'd met before, had us wired up within minutes. Her eyes opened wide when she saw my purple, yellow, and brown bruises, but she didn't comment.

Ellis arranged for two plainclothes police officers to be on-scene with me. Stan was a newcomer to the force, a middle-aged man I was meeting for the first time. He had pleasant enough features, but his was the kind of face that was hard to describe. Everything was proportional. Nothing stood out. He wore a black sweatshirt and jeans. The other officer was a woman named Dawn, on loan from a neighboring department. She and I had worked together before.
*
Dawn was about my height and sturdy-looking, with shaggy brown hair, cut shorter than I remembered, and a dusting of freckles on her cheeks and nose. She wore brown slacks with a red sweater. Ellis told me he'd be outside in the communications van.

While Ellis walked me through what I should say, and what I should avoid, Stan and Dawn set out ahead of me to get in position.

I stood up. “I hope I don't screw up.”

“Me, too,” Ellis said.

*   *   *

Rocky Point library was 110 years old. It was a huge building constructed of gray granite blocks. A turret housed the children's section. Every time I saw the building I smiled. I love libraries and have haunted them since I was a kid.

I parked in the side lot and walked to the front, swaying a bit as I dragged my leg. The pain was constant but blunted by the medication. On a scale of one to ten, it was a two.

*   *   *

Stefan was sitting in a green-patterned armchair positioned to capture the view of Old Mill Pond, an idyllic location. He was wearing a white cotton sweater, green shorts, and brown leather sandals, a bold move in early spring. He held the
Financial Times
open wide, his sleeves pushed up, his elbows resting on the chair arms. Dawn sat three chairs away, apparently texting. Stan stood at a nearby bookshelf, a book in his hands, flipping pages.

“Hi, Stefan,” I whispered, sitting next to him.

“Josie,” he said, surprised, starting to rise.

“Don't get up. I was hoping I'd find you here. Do you have a few minutes to chat?”

“Of course.”

I looked around as if I wanted to be certain that no one was eavesdropping. When I spoke, I kept my voice low. “I have a proposition for you.”

He looked startled.

A woman walked by holding a toddler's hand, and I waited for them to pass before continuing. I leaned in close to Stefan's ear. “About the Fabergé egg.”

He folded the newspaper and placed it on the table next to his chair. “I don't understand.”

“I figured it out, Stefan. You had the Fabergé Spring Egg snow globe appraised, then used it for collateral. You got a million-dollar loan. I have a firm offer of three million for you. I'll front you a million so you can redeem the egg plus whatever more you need for the interest.”

He looked ill. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I'm not judging you, Stefan.” I smiled, one friend to another. “I know what happened, and you shouldn't blame yourself. You lost money. It happens. Three million dollars would solve a lot of money problems.”

“Three million dollars.”

“Cash.”

“Who would pay such an amount?”

“A Russian businessman.”

Stefan lowered his eyes to his hands. He rubbed his left index finger with his right thumb.

I sat back, in no hurry. “It's because you followed Jason's newsletter's instructions, right? What a jerk he was. Arrogant. Narcissistic. Mean-spirited.”

He raised his eyes and looked at me straight on. “Add in uncaring. He never thought about the people he hurt.”

“Hiding behind his education-not-advice mantra,” I agreed, “like a banker hides behind small print.”

“He was a charlatan,” Stefan said.

“And you got taken.”

“A fool and his money are quickly parted.”

I titch-titched softly and shook my head sympathetically. “How did you happen to subscribe to Jason's newsletter, anyway?”

“At first, I signed up because of Heather, to support her in her new job, but I renewed because of its quality. Or what at the time appeared to be its quality. Jason didn't follow the pack. He seemed to have a more holistic view of investing.”

I sighed and shook my head again. “That makes perfect sense. He used words well. He was persuasive. Did you get hurt by the recession?”

“No. I got hurt by my reaction to the recession. I followed Jason's advice about silver and family restaurants.” He paused, looking again at his hands. “Timing is all, certainly when it comes to investing. In October 2007, Jason recommended getting ahead of the coming recession. He was right about the recession but wrong about the advice. He recommended buying silver and selling family restaurants. He said a metal like silver was a tried-and-true hedge during economic downturns, and in a recession middle-class families, the ones who frequent family restaurants, can't afford to eat out.” Stefan raised his eyes to the window and stared out over the pond for several seconds. “He never told us when to sell. The market for silver plunged as consumer confidence rose, and when Mom and Dad feel more hopeful about the future, they take the kids out to dinner.”

“How about now? Has your luck turned?”

“It's not luck we're talking about. We're talking about smarts. And no, I haven't grown any smarter.”

“How bad is it? Three million bad?”

“No, thank God. Even paying off my mortgage … three million would put me on solid ground again. I'd be left with enough, and I'd stop this foolishness.”

“You mortgaged your house?”

“I had no other option. That was last fall. I mortgaged the house I'd worked thirty years to pay off to get cash to live on, then stupidly followed Jason's advice to buy a pharma company's stock. He said it was about to receive FDA approval on a new drug. Except it didn't receive the approval, and I lost that money, too. I was busted flat.”

“Oh, Stefan. I'm so sorry.” I sighed again. “That explains why you drove to Rocky Point—you couldn't afford the plane fare. Why did you rent a car? Why not drive your own?”

“I've cut back on everything. Including maintenance on my own car. I was afraid it wouldn't make the trip.” He snorted, a self-deprecating sound. “It's humiliating. You must promise me you'll never let Ana or Peter know.”

I sighed empathetically. “I guarantee you they won't learn about your situation from me.”

“Thank you, Josie.” He stared out the window. “I can't believe we're having this conversation. How did you find out about my loan?”

I shrugged, faux-embarrassed on his behalf. “I know about McArthur. I spoke to him.”

Stefan slapped the chair arm. “What!”

“Don't get mad at him. He didn't give you up.”

He stared at me. “What are you saying?”

“Let's see what we can work out. You had the snow globe copied. How did you choose an appraiser?”

Stefan leaned back and closed his eyes. I glanced at Dawn. She was smiling, looking at her phone. After a moment, she felt my eyes on hers and flicked me a glance. I turned toward where I'd last seen Stan. He wasn't there. I looked around and spotted him sitting about ten feet away, still flipping through a book. I looked back at Stefan. His eyes remained closed. After a few more seconds, he sighed deeply and opened them.