Curse of the Jade Lily (10 page)

“There are at least three artnappers,” I said.

Noehring scooped up his glass, finished the Scotch, and set the glass back on the table. “So?” he said.

Jeezus, he’d do it, he really would,
my inner voice said.
He’d kill them all. And me, too.

“I’ll think about it,” I said aloud.

“Yeah, you do that. We’ll talk again.”

I did indeed think about it as I watched Noehring leave the restaurant. Mostly I thought that I had known an awful lot of cops personally—local, state, feds, you name it. Some were better at their jobs than others; some were assholes, pricks, bullies with a badge. Yet none of them had been crooks. That’s not to say that there weren’t plenty of cops with their hands out. God knows half of them portrayed on TV and in the movies are on the take. I had just never known one. Until now.

Something else I thought about—how did Noehring know where I was?

*   *   *

I didn’t know what to do about Noehring any more than I knew what to do about Hemsted. Both parties wanted me to steal the Lily for them and threatened to make my life miserable if I failed. Then there was Heavenly Petryk. God only knew what she had in mind. Not to mention Lieutenant Rask. There was no way I was going to please all these people. I decided there was only one thing left to do—ignore them and hope they all went away.

I finished the ale, left a generous tip so Emma would have nice things to say about me to Chopper, and made my way to the Jeep Cherokee parked in the restaurant’s lot. It was my intention to go home and have plenty more beers. Before I reached the car, however, my cell phone started ringing. A man passing through the lot, his head down, his face averted by the brisk wind, paused for a moment and then nodded and shook his finger at me. I don’t know if it was because he liked the artists, the song, or the irony of hearing “Summertime” in subfreezing temperatures.

The electronic display listed no name, just a number with a 312 prefix—Chicago. I had no idea who it could be. For a long time I had zealously protected my cell phone number, bestowing it on only a precious few people. Yet over time I seemed to have lost control of it. I answered just the same.

“Mr. McKenzie,” the voice said. “I apologize for calling. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“That remains to be seen.”

The caller thought that was funny.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Jeremy Gillard.”

“Mr. Gillard,” I said.

“Jerry, Jerry, Jerry, call me Jerry. The man at the insurance company gave me your number. Again, I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“Well, first I should tell you that I’m calling under false pretenses.”

“Oh?”

“The City of Lakes Art Museum, what’s ’ername, Perrin Stewart, told me what’s going on with the Jade Lily—did you know that I own the Lily?”

“I did.”

“Loaned it to the museum. Thought I was doing a good deed. That’ll teach me. Anyway, I was told about the Lily. One of the things I was told was that its recovery might very well depend on your involvement.”

“Mr. Gillard—”

“Jerry. Mr. Gillard was the old man’s name. Listen, McKenzie, I understand your reluctance. I’m on your side in this. Perrin suggested that a personal appeal from me might change your mind and I agreed to give it a go, but the more I thought about it—you’d be nuts to go after the Lily. Hell’s bells, I wouldn’t do it and it belongs to me, so why should you? Nearly everyone who’s touched the damn thing has suffered for it, including my old man.”

“I was sorry to hear about your father,” I said.

“Thank you for that. In any case, here’s the deal—if you decide to go after the Lily, I’ll match whatever amount the insurance company is offering you. But I don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks.”

“I appreciate that.”

“You need to know, McKenzie, really, you need to know—at the end of the day it’s just a really pretty rock. And it’s insured.”

At last,
my inner voice said.
The voice of reason.

“I appreciate that,” I said again.

“All right. I made the call as promised. My conscience is clear. I’m flying into the Cities tomorrow. Whatever you decide, I’d be honored if you let me buy you a drink or two or three.”

“I know just the place.”

“Excellent. I have your number. I’ll call when I get in.”

“Do that.”

“Good-bye, McKenzie.”

Gillard hung up, and as I put my cell in my pocket, I thought: Now that’s how it’s done. No threats. No insults. No sob stories. No appeals to the angels of our better nature. Just plain old-fashioned charm and sincerity. Plus a cash bonus. That’s how you make friends and influence people.

*   *   *

The sun had already set by the time I reached my home in Falcon Heights. As I turned into my driveway, the Cherokee’s headlights swept across the rear bumper of a Nissan Altima parked in front of my house. I didn’t recognize the car, and the sight of it started my internal alarm bells ringing. They became louder when I noticed my kitchen light was on. There were logical explanations for both: The car belonged to someone visiting a neighbor; I had forgotten to turn off the light. Yet that didn’t quiet my anxiety. I wasn’t usually that paranoid, but let’s face it—it had been one of those days.

I parked in my garage and made my way to my rear door. It was unlocked, an astonishing thing in itself, but the fact that my security system wasn’t screaming intruder alert and that the place wasn’t crawling with private cops from my security company or real cops from the City of St. Anthony, was what made me pause. Do I report a burglary and wait for the police to arrive, or do I go inside? The answer came with a lyrical shout.

“McKenzie, is that you?”

I stepped through the door and into the kitchen. Heavenly Petryk was sitting at the table; a white ski jacket with a fur-lined hood was draped over the back of a chair. She was drinking coffee from one of my mugs.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in,” she said. “It was damn cold outside.”

“How did you…?” I completed the question by throwing a thumb at the back door.

“The door was open and the security system was turned off.”

“No they weren’t.”

“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

“I could shoot you for an intruder.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you like me. Besides, it would be a tough story to sell. There’s no evidence of forced entry.”

I glanced at the back door again. I hadn’t been surprised by her talents as a researcher. Heavenly had a master’s degree in English, after all. But this?

“You’ve become more resourceful since we last met,” I said. “Daring, too.”

“Heavenly Petryk, fortune hunter. I’m thinking of having cards made up.”

“Fortune hunter. Isn’t that the same as gold digger?”

Heavenly spun in her chair and looked up at me. “If you were still a lowly police officer making a lowly police officer’s salary, I bet you would have married your rich, club-owning girlfriend a long time ago.”

I had nothing to say to that. I went to the coffeemaker and poured out a mug, then sat at the kitchen table across from her.

“So, Heavenly,” I said. “Where are your playmates?”

“It wasn’t my turn to watch them.”

“No?”

“Besides, I needed a break. They’re so needy.”

“I thought that was one of your requirements.”

“Only in accomplices. I demand more from my men.”

“How’s that going for you? Still seeing Boston Whitlow?”

“That ended a long time ago.” Heavenly exhaled loudly when she said it, and I wondered if it was a sigh of regret. “Are you going to invite me to your bedroom?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Geez, McKenzie, if you have to ask…”

“Didn’t we have this conversation once before? I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Only if you knocked up my mother when she was about fourteen.”

“Besides…”

“Besides, you’re still loyal to Nina Truhler, whom you haven’t married after—how many years? McKenzie, you can be had.”

“I know. Why do you think I refuse to take you seriously?”

“You took me seriously enough to sic Lieutenant Rask on me.”

“Oh, that.”

“He’s not a very nice man, is he?”

“I don’t know. His wife and kids adore him. Obviously, he let you go.”

“Why not? I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“’Course not.”

“You told him about Tatjana?”

“Yep.”

“But you didn’t tell him that I kidnapped you.”

I shrugged at that and sipped my coffee.

“See, I knew you liked me,” she said.

“What are you doing here, Heavenly?”

“Since we’re friends, will you tell me something? Why did you quit the museum? Why have you refused to recover the Lily?”

“That damn museum has more holes than the Vikings’ secondary.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I know it’s not because you‘re afraid.”

“On the contrary. I’m becoming very cautious as I get older.”

Heavenly looked at the corridor leading from the kitchen to the front of the house. “Not going to invite me upstairs, huh?” she said.

“Nope.”

“What else can I offer to make you change your mind?”

“About what?”

“About going after the Lily?”

“Not much, although your proposal is a lot more enticing than anything else I’ve heard today.”

“What have you heard?”

“Well, the State Department, for one, has threatened to make my life a living hell unless I steal the Lily and give it to a representative of the government of Bosnia and Herzegovina.”

Heavenly was on her feet in a hurry. “That’s insane,” she said.

“Any more insane than giving it to you?”

“The Bosnians stole the Lily from my client, and somehow Dr. Arnaud Fornier stole it from them, and now Jeremy Gillard has it. The Lily rightfully belongs to Tatjana Durakovic.”

“That’s not the way Branko Pozderac sees it.”

“Pozderac? That bastard?”

“You know him?”

“He’s a rapist and a murderer. He and his militia terrorized Sarajevo, terrorized half the country during the war. Do you know how many innocent people he slaughtered?”

“Well, now he’s a member of the People’s Assembly or House or whatever.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he had a great campaign manager.”

“It changes nothing, McKenzie. The Lily belongs to Tatjana.”

“Possession is nine points of the law.”

“McKenzie, you and I both know there is no specific legal ruling to support that proverb.”

“Maybe not, but time and again the person in actual possession of the property has a clear advantage over the person who doesn’t have it. Right now, the artnappers who swiped it from the museum, they own it. After they pay the ransom, the insurance company will own it.”

“I’m just asking you to do the right thing.”

“You keep saying that. Your client could invest in a good lawyer instead of hiring a couple of thugs to return her property—maybe that’s the right thing.”

“Did you just call me a thug?”

“Granted you’re more beautiful than the image the term usually conjures, still…”

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“You should hear what Nina calls you.”

“I can imagine. McKenzie, it takes years for a case like this to wind its way through the courts. Decades. You need to help me.”

“Heavenly, all day long I’ve been hearing from people who demand that I get the Lily for them. Your claim might be a little less mercenary than the others, but not by much, and it still doesn’t change the simple fact of the matter—the Lily doesn’t belong to you. Or to them. It belongs to Gillard. Funny thing is, he’s the only one who’s not a fanatic about getting it back.”

“That’s because he doesn’t want it back. He wants the insurance money.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Gillard is broke, McKenzie. His old man took a huge hit in the housing crisis, and then he lost some more when commercial real estate started going south, too. He was holding his business empire together with smoke and mirrors. All this came out when they audited his estate. Gillard’s inheritance amounted to pennies on the dollar. I mean, he’s not broke broke like you and me, well, me anyway, but a three-point-eight-million-dollar insurance claim will set him up nicely.”

“How do you know this?”

“It’s me, remember. I did the research.”

“Heavenly, if what you’re saying is true, then Gillard would want the Lily back for the same reason that Tatjana wants it—because it would sell for more at auction than the insured value.”

“All right, all right.” Heavenly held her arms up in mock surrender. “I tried to be nice.”

“So now you’re going to be not nice? I have that to look forward to?”

She shrugged like she had a secret she had no intention of sharing and pulled her jacket off the chair. When she finished putting it on and zipping it up, she placed a rose-colored business card with her name and cell number—and nothing else—on the kitchen table and slid it toward me.

“I’ll be seeing you,” she said.

“Heavenly, I’ll tell you what the guys I play hockey with would say—keep your head up.”

*   *   *

I escorted Heavenly to the front door and watched her drive away before reactivating my security system. I was wondering how much an upgrade would cost when my cell phone rang.

“Harry,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“I have some background on your target, but I have to make it quick. The wife is waiting downstairs. We’re going to dinner.”

“Give her a kiss for me.”

“Not a chance. Now, McKenzie, I checked a few sources. Your friend Jonathan Hemsted is a Foreign Service specialist attached to the U.S. Commercial Service Office in the Bosnia-Herzegovina Embassy. Before that he was stationed in Haiti.”

“What does he specialize in?”

“He’s an economics officer working to expand U.S. trade in the region. This guy Branko Pozderac, he’s involved with the privatization of state-owned entities. That’s probably how they hooked up.”