Reilly 13 - Dreams of the Dead (35 page)

She had come to two conclusions: these cold cabinets did not hold Jim Strong’s body, or any sign of it.

Also, she was finally getting to know Brinkman. He was self-disciplined; that was evident. He had an orderly mind and had sophisticated tastes. He needed to be in control.

Maybe it was nothing but a gut feeling, but she felt it strongly: Cyndi Amore was not his type. The whole situation would be too messy for him.

She didn’t really want to go any further. If she and Paul turned back now, maybe she could talk their way out of a criminal trespass charge. The house was just the home of a wealthy, austere bachelor, exactly what Eric Brinkman seemed to be in spite of Paul’s suspicions.

Paul beckoned at her from the door of the next room down the carpeted hall.

They went into Eric’s office, another large room with a long table facing the door serving as a desk. One wall of shelves made a library. There was a wood filing cabinet and another fireplace.

The bookshelves held paper and other supplies. Nina cast her
eye upon the carefully shelved and sorted books—heavy art and medical books on the bottom shelves, books on languages, science fiction, manga, a collection of modern classics. Nina’s eyes returned to the medical books, big professional texts. Paul worked the laptop, an ultrathin computer, trying to access the local airport. He looked up. “Can’t get in. If Wish were here, he’d kick this shield to shit.” Paul cursed again, picking up a file lying on the table. “Whoo. My name,” he said briefly, and flipped through the paperwork.

As he read, Nina watched his face tighten. The cheekbones stood out and his lips wrinkled as his whole face seemed to become a bastion.

“He investigated me,” Paul said, reading along, “looked for dirt. Has bank records and a credit report. Copy of my app for a PI license renewal last year. Notes on my connection to the Strong case. Notes on my connection to you.”

“And this bulletin board.”

“Obsessed with the Strong case,” Paul said. They took in the board covered with newspaper articles, photographs, and notebook speculations.

“Why would he—is it possible he’s intending to blackmail you regarding Jim? Did he know something?”

Paul examined the articles on the wall and began reading some posted notebook pages, obviously printouts from a computer, and only selections of longer ruminations. “He suspected me, for sure. It feels odd to be the prey, not the hunter.” Paul looked genuinely shaken.

Nina indicated the electronic lock on the file cabinet. Paul disabled that quickly and they looked at each other.

“Ladies first,” Paul said.

She saw her own name right away, toward the back in alphabetical order. She pulled out the file and saw herself as others saw her: medical records, credit scores, bank statements, what she had bought on her last trip to Reno at the Macy’s store. As Paul had said, she felt endangered, as if a snake were coiling around her.

What had Eric intended to do with this information?

“Here’s a file on Damien Hirst.”

Paul said, “Give me Michelangelo. Nobody’s been as good since.” He continued to rummage.

“Paul? Maybe you don’t realize this, but I don’t want to get caught. Hurry.”

Paul read through a longer notebook entry posted on the bulletin board.

“I can’t. I have a child,” Nina continued. “A son. Bob. Good kid. Needs his mother. Let’s go. Right now.”

“Nothing here to implicate Brinkman. But he’s as crooked as my grandma’s nose.” Paul scanned through every note on the board, flipped through every accessible paper. “Nothing. Nothing Damn!”

“We need to go! Now!”

Paul straightened up. “He’ll have a vault or safe or something. We need to check the bedroom, turn anything over that turns over.” Nina, stuttering and unhappy, followed him into the hall and moved into Eric’s bedroom. A fur throw lay neatly over a big bed, perfectly centered. No old socks littered the floor. Eric was preternaturally tidy. Nina checked behind the mirror. Paul ran his hand under the mattress. They moved stealthily like the couple of trespassing fools they were.

Nina opened Brinkman’s underwear drawer where all the real secrets usually hid, but all she found were neat stacks of socks and folded white silk boxers.

In the master bath, which contained a separate shower that would fit two and a jetted tub, she leaned against the towel rack. “Ow.” The rack was hot, a chrome rack beside the tub with no towels on it. For some reason, Nina turned the knob controlling the heat. As she did so, the long mirror above the marble counter that ran along one wall noiselessly slipped away, practically giving her a heart attack, revealing a small storage area about four feet high and the same in width.

“Paul, you need to see this! You aren’t completely nuts. He is—” As she spoke these words, she stepped forward one step closer to the storage area, staring, and reached into it to take something. “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

An alarm must have cast its invisible light right across her path because the light flickered, and in the distance, somewhere in the house, she heard a magnified donkey blare, the amplified song of a humpback, an alarm that would definitely notify the police.

“We’re out of here,” Paul said.

Nina had the presence of mind to turn the knob on the towel warmer. The display case shut behind her. Running, Nina said, “I thought you disabled all the alarms!”

“Two systems. Oops.”

They made it as far as the front of the house, then Paul put out a hand to stop her. “We’re caught, honey. Nowhere to go from here.” He touched her forehead. “Settle down, okay?” She struggled to contain her panting breaths. The alarm cried and cried in hysterical bursts.

Eric’s Porsche Cayenne swooped up the driveway, catching them in its headlights.

T
he Cayenne idled for a while, as if studying them. Finally, the lights dimmed and went out. Eric got out. “Hey, Paul, Nina.” He tipped his head and spoke in a loud voice over the screaming beast. “Any reason we need the police here?”

Paul spoke before Nina could think of anything to say. “We tried the front door. Guess your alarm system responds to jiggles. Sorry. Nina warned me not to do it.”

Eric took his phone out of his pocket and spoke into it, then went around to his trunk, punched a button, and watched the lid rise. Before he could reach into the trunk, Paul moved forward to see what Eric might be bringing out, but the only thing inside was a Raley’s brown paper bag.

Eric carried his groceries up to the front door. He set them down on a bench by the door and used his keys to unlock it. The alarm inside continued to racket, and now the phone was ringing, too. “Why don’t you two come on in?” Eric said, picking up a phone by the kitchen. He pushed buttons on a keypad and the alarm stopped.

“Two separate alarm systems and companies,” Paul whispered, following him inside the door, but stopping short of the kitchen. “Told you he’s got something to hide.”

“Paul, listen,” Nina said, “you’re right about that, but you’re wrong about what he’s hiding.” She fought a sudden need to burst out laughing. “I—”

“The alarm companies know which room was triggered,” Eric said, coming into the living room, eyes hard on Paul. “Systems are sophisticated these days. Strange you got as far as you did.”

“No system is perfect. Malfunction all the time,” Paul said.

“You want to explain to me why the hell you two broke into my home?”

“You have some interesting art,” Nina said.

Now his eyes turned on her. She could see he wondered exactly how much she had seen of his collections.

“Is that a real Damien Hirst?” she asked.

“My parents collected modern art, and I’ve followed in their footsteps.”

“Your home is stunning.” She knew that was an idiotic remark the moment she made it.

“I’d be complimented if I had invited you into it,” Brinkman said, cutting Nina short.

Paul did what he always seemed to do when Brinkman was around, blew up like a puffer fish. “You’re right. We came here to tell you we’ve got you figured out.”

A half smile floated at the edge of Eric’s angry lips. “How do you mean?”

“You’re a man with secrets.”

“Like all men.”

“We know exactly what you’ve been up to.”

A certain hesitation showed a decided unhappiness with how this scene was progressing. “What, exactly?” Eric asked, but Nina could see his nervousness.

“Nelson Hendricks.”

At this point, something about Paul’s tone must have signaled Eric. The half smile playing at the edge of his lips grew slightly larger. “The escrow officer for the Jim Strong case?”

“As if you didn’t know.”

“I don’t know the man well. I only know the Strongs vouched for him and seem to trust him. My own research shows he’s been in business a long time and there are no shadows on his record.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Paul said. “You two have cooked up a scheme to take that two point five million bucks tomorrow, the instant the money’s wired to escrow.”

“You’re wrong, Mr. van Wagoner.” Eric said. “I’d laugh if this wasn’t so serious. Quit wasting your time.”

“You forged documents that indicated Jim Strong was alive. You love money, obviously.” Paul looked around.

“You have nothing on me. Even you must know that. I inherited money. My father was a textile manufacturer. Maybe that annoys you? I understand your upbringing wasn’t so easy.”

“You’re obsessed with the Strong case.”

“You found my office.” Eric offered them drinks, which they declined, but poured himself a glass of amber-colored liquid. “Okay, I’ll tell you a few things that don’t reflect well on me.” He directed this comment to Nina. “This case has driven me crazy. I spent months on it, first trying to figure out who was embezzling.”

“But,” Nina said, “it was Jim, wasn’t it?”

“I’m telling you now I never had absolute proof. I suspected all along that Jim masterminded the embezzlement, but Jim was dead. I went through a lot of possibilities, that he was mixed up with Marianne, that he had a deal going with Kelly. But I never found any connections.” Eric set his drink down. “Two years I’ve considered this case and gotten nowhere. On the plus side, I met you, Nina.” He smiled fully this time.

“You stink,” Paul said. “I smell it.”

“Why don’t you get the fuck out of my house now, Paul? Nina, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

He walked them to the door.

Paul left first. Before Nina could follow him, Eric took her arm. “Whatever you know about me, I know you and Paul broke into my house. I could cause you to lose your license to practice law.”

“Don’t even try,” Nina said evenly.

“So.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. He put a $5 bill in her hand. “You’re representing me in a small matter
yet to be determined. You can’t tell anyone anything about me. I’m your client. And I won’t bring up the burglary.”

“All I took was my own property back.”

Eric rubbed his mouth. “Ah. I do apologize for that.”

She took the five and put it into her bag. “You wouldn’t want to do anything to Paul, either.”

Eric frowned. “Him, I’d throw to the dogs. You—I like.”

She walked out, wondering if it was her he liked so much or something else about her. By the time she reached Paul’s car, where a fuming Paul had taken the wheel and turned on the heat, she was chuckling.

Paul lowered his window. “What’s so funny?”

“He’s dirty. You are so right. But he’s dirty in a totally harmless way. Paul, I don’t think he has anything to do with scamming Philip out of any money. I think he’s really tried to figure out what’s going on, and he’s failed.”

Paul struck his steering wheel. “I don’t like that guy.”

“You’re jealous because he’s rich and attractive.”

“Maybe, but that’s not all. What did you mean back there, that I was wrong about what he was hiding?”

All the anxiety, the fear, that crazy alarm that made her heart beat five times faster than it should, caught up to her and she began to laugh again. She laughed until tears fell. Only Matt could make her laugh so hard, but here she was, crying with laughter.

“You’re my investigator in this, and I’m his lawyer in this, so it’s protected and confidential information, Paul. Do you agree to that?”

“Okay, okay!”

“I turned a knob in the bathroom and found Eric’s secrets.”

“What?”

“Shelves full of stiletto heels.”

Paul reeled back. “He’s a cross-dresser?”

“Not exactly. He collects shoes. He only needs one of a pair, though.”

“Holy shit.”

“He likes what they call limo shoes these days, ones where women can barely walk without help. And he had this.” She reached into her bag and held up an outrageous pump. “My January mortgage payment, a red-soled Christian Louboutin peep-toed stiletto. Soon to be reunited with its twin. I won’t wear them again around him, though.”

“His passion is shoes? That’s the big secret?”

“He has a collection. Dozens and dozens. He must steal them. I looked at the bottom of one of them and it had been worn. All of the shelves were lit tastefully like a mini-gallery.”

Paul mulled this over. “Did he ever try to handle your foot?”

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“Because that’s molesting. Sick.”

“He’s only interested in the shoe. Maybe it’s like the art. He has fabulous taste.”

Paul shook his head. “I’d almost rather he was the killer. I’m feeling confused. Men aren’t exactly men anymore. Except me, of course.” He clammed up after that.

Nina shivered. “It’s so cold. I need to go. Where will you be?”

“Out and about,” Paul answered, looking toward Eric’s house.

“Please, Paul. No more trouble.”

“Nothing planned.”

But he had a look she didn’t quite trust. “Stay in touch?”

“You bet. I’ll check in on you soon.”

W
ith a quick cell phone call, Nina checked on Bob, learning that Hitchcock had already had his evening walk and that Bob had locked up properly after getting dropped off.

Her energy was fading, but she couldn’t feel it. All she could feel was a driving worry now. She had been all too willing to go along with Paul’s theories about Eric because she badly, very badly, needed to feel that her own case was controllable, if not under control. It had been a relief to say, He’s the one, and know what to do.