The Apostrophe Thief (27 page)

“But they're not
married
! He could—”

“Listen to me. Ian and Abby belong together. Accept that, accept it right now. He's not going to leave her for you. Not ever.” Another wail. “I know he's big and beautiful and he carries himself with authority … and he's old enough to be your father.” Marian took a breath. “Xandria, you're young and pretty and talented. You're better equipped to take care of yourself than most girls your age. So do it. Rely on yourself. Stop looking for Daddy.”

She sat up straight in her chair, the washcloth falling from her eyes. “I am
not
looking for Daddy!” she said, horrified.

“Aren't you? You're impressed by an older man who's in control in the adult world that's still new to you. Of course you're attracted to him. But you don't know how lucky you are that Ian's a decent man who'll never take advantage of that starry-eyed innocence you work for all it's worth. Xandria, it's time to grow up.” Marian went to the dressing room door. “I'm not going to say anything to him about the shaving mug. You know what's right to do.”

She left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Today's my day for giving lectures
, Marian thought.

Something she was supposed to do? Oh, yes. She stopped by Ian's dressing room; he wasn't there, but she saw him coming out of Mitchell Tobin's dressing room.

“I'm out of pancake, so I filched one of Tobin's,” he said. “I don't know why I'm using the stuff up so fast.”

“Hm. Did you want to see me about something?”

“Not really. I wanted to get a certain message across to Xandria, if you know what I mean, but I didn't want to be rude to you too. Oh—there is something. Abby says call her after you catch the villain. She wants to get better acquainted.”

“Good! I will.”

“You
are
going to catch the villain, aren't you?”

“Count on it. Maybe even today.”

He looked surprised and pleased. “I'm glad to hear that,” he said in a quieter voice. “You don't know what it can do to a play, having something like this hanging over our heads.” Back to his stage voice. “You didn't happen to see Leo Gunn, did you?”

“Yes, he's on the other side of the stage.”

Ian waved goodbye with his eyebrows and went looking for the stage manager.

Marian decided to take a look in the director's office. John Reddick wasn't there, but the door was open. She stepped inside and looked toward the corner; yes, the safe was still there. Dumb: where else would it be? She squatted down in front of it and gave the dial a spin. Were there precious gems inside? She wondered what was taking Murtaugh so long; he should have been able to get through to the Sûreté by now. Maybe he was having trouble locating Gene Ramsay.

This time when she went back to the dressing rooms, Kelly had arrived. She was standing outside her door, watching Ian Cavanaugh, as were a number of other members of the cast. Ian was practically doing a jig, he was so happy. “Sergeant Marian!” he called. “Look!” He held up the shaving mug.

“Your shaving mug?” she asked innocently.

“My grandfather's shaving mug, my father's shaving mug,
my
shaving mug! It walked in all by itself and sat down on my dressing table! Isn't that glorious?”

“Wait a minute—it
walked
in …?”

“It must have. When I got back from talking to Leo, there it was!” He gave the mug a kiss.

The others were laughing, pleased for him. “Congratulations!” Kelly sang.

“Thank you!”

“All that fuss over an old shaving mug,” Xandria Priest said with a pout, and went back into her dressing room.

Ah, me
. “I'm glad you got it back,” Marian told Ian sincerely.

“I am too. Funny how attached you can get to old things. I really missed this mug.”

Just then one of Leo Gunn's assistants came up. “Sergeant Larch? There's a police captain here to see you. He's in Mr. Reddick's office.”

About time
. “Thanks.” She turned to Kelly. “I'll be back later.” Kelly nodded.

Marian hurried back the way she'd just come. The door to John Reddick's office still stood open. She started to go in … but stopped dead when she saw who was sitting there.

“I knew you'd show up sooner or later,” Captain DiFalco said. “Come in and shut the door. We have a lot to talk about.”

18

“How did you know I was here?”

Captain DiFalco grinned. “I told the stage doorkeeper to call me the next time you showed up. Sit down, Larch. We're going to straighten out a few things.”

Her mind racing, Marian took her time closing the door to John Reddick's office. She picked up a stack of file folders from the chair facing the desk and sat down. DiFalco's appearance at the eleventh hour of an investigation always meant one thing: he was getting ready to horn in. How could she stop him? She knew she was broadcasting anxiety, but she couldn't seem to stop it. And that bastard DiFalco was enjoying her discomfort. Where the hell was Murtaugh?

“Vacation's over, Larch,” DiFalco said. “You're coming back to the Ninth. And the Nordstrom case is coming with you.”

“What!”

“Monday morning your Captain Murtaugh will get a letter from the Chief of Detectives ordering the transfer. Since the detective in charge of the case is a Ninth Precinct cop, the Nordstrom murder is now a Ninth Precinct case. Just the way it should have been all along.”

“Monday morning,” Marian repeated, trying not to feel panicky. “But until that letter arrives, I'm still under Captain Murtaugh's command.”

He smiled ferally. “You're that close to cracking it, are you? Nailing it down this weekend? All right, Larch, fill me in.”

She licked suddenly dry lips. “I think we'd better wait until Captain Murtaugh gets here.”

He leaned toward her across the desk. “I've had just about all the prima donna behavior from you I'm going to take.
I'm
in charge here, Sergeant. I gave you an order.
Fill me in
.”

Not seeing any immediate way out, Marian started telling him what she'd done and what she'd learned, going into more detail than necessary, stretching it out as long as she could. Where the
hell
was Murtaugh? She told DiFalco how the burglary had been staged to get one specific item out of the Broadhurst, and how Ernie Nordstrom had been killed for that item. How the killer had taken more than one item with him when he left Nordstrom's apartment.

“Uh-huh,” said DiFalco. “Muddying the waters?”

“That's what we thought.”
At first
.

“Okay, what was missing?”

Marian told him, including the notebook computer and the shaving mug—after all, they were not found in Nordstrom's apartment. The fact that they had never been in Nordstrom's apartment didn't alter that.

“What costumes?” DiFalco wanted to know.

“A jacket, a dress, and a fur coat.”

“Real fur?”

“Two people say not.” Marian cleared her throat. “Based on the label.”

“The label saying it was synthetic? Maybe it was the label that was fake and not the coat. Labels can be changed.”

“Captain, I don't
know
that's what happened.”

He leaned even closer. “But that's what you think.”

“I didn't say that. I have no evidence the labels were switched.”

“But if they were …” He mused a moment.

She helped him along. “It doesn't seem likely that only one coat would be involved. But I can't prove anything illegal about the coat.” Which was true.

“Fur smuggling?” DiFalco said. “With phony labels sewn in to disguise them as fakes? And one coat accidentally gets sold and ends up being paraded on the stage of the Broadhurst. Yeah, I like it. The fur that got away … it could blow the whole racket.”

Marian said carefully, “Do you understand I am
not
saying a fur-smuggling operation is using New York as either a conduit or an outlet? I have no proof of any such operation.”

“Yah, yah, I got it. But there's such a thing as being too careful. More likely an outlet than a conduit—big market here.”

“Which brings up the problem of where the contraband furs would be kept—if there are any, I mean. Real fur needs cold storage.”

“That's right, it does. Have you checked out all the cold-storage places in town? Sure you haven't missed one or two?”

“Captain, I haven't had a chance to check
any
of them!” Which was also true.

He gave a contemptuous snort. “What kind of chickenshit operation is Murtaugh running? You'll start on that Monday, and you'll have help. Murtaugh's coming here this afternoon?”

“He should be here any time.”

“Why? What are you two planning to do here?”

Careful
. “He's trying to get some evidence linking the play's producer with the stolen item.” There, that was accurate.

“What's the producer's name?”

“Gene Ramsay.”

“Ramsay … okay. Is he here now?”

“Not unless he came in during the last ten minutes. He's rarely here before the performance.”
Or during. Or after
.

DiFalco scowled. “And if Murtaugh does show up with this evidence, you're just going to ask Ramsay politely to tell you where he has the goods stored? Dumb move. He's not going to tell you anything about those furs.”

“I agree,” Marian said honestly.

A grunt. “At least we see eye to eye on that. You have to locate the goods first.”

“No argument there. Without the goods, we've got nothing.” She was careful not to look at the safe in the corner.

DiFalco stared at her a long moment. Then he got up and walked around the desk where he could tower over her. “Larch, if you're lying to me, I'll have your ass.”

“I've told you the truth, Captain.”

“Because if you've been feeding me a line—”

“If you have a polygraph on you, I'll take a test. I haven't told you one single lie.”

He grunted again. “Has Murtaugh made any announcement to the news media?”

“No.”

“Is he going to?”

“He didn't say. I don't think so.”

That's what he wanted to hear. “All right, when Murtaugh gets here, you tell him about the letter from the Chief of Detectives and that you briefed me. I can't give him orders, but I would
prefer
that he didn't talk to this Ramsay today. No point in spooking him and giving the game away. And Larch, I'm counting on you to make sure he understands what my wishes are.”

“I'll give him your message,” she promised wholeheartedly.

DiFalco indicated they were through and opened the door, to find John Reddick waiting outside. The director placed a finger over his lips and said in a low voice, “The performance has started.” DiFalco nodded and walked away softly; Marian ignored the curiosity on the director's face and followed the captain.

They stopped for a moment to watch the scene being played; there was Frieda Armstrong on the stage, resplendent in her fake fur. DiFalco whispered, “That's not a real fur?”

“Don't whisper,” Marian said in the same low voice John Reddick had used. “Whispers carry. That's a fake.”

“You could have fooled me,” DiFalco said softly. “Doesn't that look like real fur to you?”

“I don't know anything about fur,” Marian replied truthfully.

Onstage, Ian Cavanaugh turned his back to the other actors and surreptitiously dropped a key into the fish tank. Marian and DiFalco watched for a few more minutes, and then the captain turned to go. Marian followed him to the stage door, and only when she saw him leave the building did she let out the breath she'd been holding. She sank down on the doorkeeper's chair and gave in to a moment of trembling. Close. Damned close. And when DiFalco found out about the Bernhardt jacket, he was going to come looking for her with a shotgun. And if he called a news conference and made a fool of himself talking about a nonexistent fur-smuggling ring … somehow the thought of that cheered her more than it frightened her.

When she'd calmed herself, she went back and watched the play from the wings, being careful to stay out of Leo Gunn's way. Marian tried to keep the little knot of excitement in her stomach under control; she didn't want to make a mistake this close to winding up the case. Intermission finally arrived, and all the actors came rushing off the stage, adrenaline pumping. Kelly grabbed Marian's hands and did a little dance. “Come on—I have to change.”

John Reddick intercepted them before they got to the dressing room. “Ah, Kelly, that was magnificent! Keep up that level for the second act and you'll have the rest of the cast flying with you!”

“Thanks, John,” Kelly said, and pushed Marian into the dressing room ahead of her.

“And don't worry about Xandria,” John went on. “I think I've got her straightened out.”

“Good, good.” She closed the door before he could come in. “Whew.”

“Problem?” Marian asked.

“No problem.” Kelly started taking off her costume. “I just don't want him hanging around, that's all.”

“I thought you liked John.”

“I do, but not as much as I used to. He drinks too much, for one thing. And he's getting to be a pest. Would you mind hanging this up?”

Marian took the costume from her and put it on a padded hanger. “Be gentle.”

“I
was
gentle! Didn't you see me being gentle? I didn't tell him to get lost, did I?” Marian laughed. Abruptly, Kelly asked, “Marian, why are you here? I mean, you had a purpose in coming this afternoon, didn't you?”

Marian could see no reason not to tell her. “We're close to wrapping up the case. If some evidence I think exists comes through, we'll make an arrest before the day's over.”