2 Pane of Death (32 page)

Matt made another note. Matt was not generally a note taker, and I wondered if he was making meaningless doodles just to draw out the interrogation. If he was hoping to make Ian Gemberling sweat, so far he hadn’t succeeded. “Do you know how Madelyn Sheffield came to be chosen to assist Ferguson with his installation?”

Ian crossed one leg over the other. “Ah. Well, sir, I confess that I had a small hand in that—my good deed. I knew that Maddy was struggling with her business here, and I thought that a commission like this would be a real boost. But, to be frank, I also knew that her talents were—how shall I put it?—insufficient for the scope of the project, so I did a little research and suggested to Peter that another local artisan be called in to help her.”

“Emmeline Dowell,” Matt said.

“Yes, that’s the name. Very talented, in a minor way. Certainly more so than Maddy. And, of course, Peter knew he could call on me if things went awry.”

Talented in a minor way?
I didn’t harbor any illusions about my abilities, but I didn’t like hearing them dissed in such a contemptuous tone. Patronizing creep!

Matt looked down at his pad. “So let me summarize. You contend that you had no involvement in Peter Ferguson’s death?”

Ian sat up straight again and placed his hands flat on the table in front of him. “Exactly. If Maddy says otherwise, I’m afraid she’s deluded.”

“She claims that she called you, and you arrived at Peter Ferguson’s house after she had stabbed him.”

“Pure fiction, I assure you.”

Matt almost smiled. “Mr. Gemberling, we have a witness who states that you hired him to help remove Ferguson’s artworks from the house and transfer them to a truck owned by Chas Jenson. Let me remind you that Chas Jenson is also in our custody.”

Was Ian looking a little paler? But his tone was as smooth as ever. “I’m sorry, Officer, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Matt studied the man in front of him. “Let’s take another tack. How do you explain the events of this afternoon?”

This time Ian was not so quick to answer. “You mean, at the warehouse?”

“Yes. Ms. Dowell claims that she was forcibly seized by Chas Jenson, whom you hired, and brought to the warehouse against her will. While she was there, Madelyn Sheffield arrived, the two of you argued, and you threw Ms. Sheffield into the truck. You were overheard making plans with the trucker to dispose of both of them.”

Ian sat back in his chair once again, and I could swear that his expression held pity. I was beginning to wonder if he and Maddy had taken acting classes together at that small college in Kansas. “Officer, why would I do such a thing? I have an extremely successful business in Los Angeles. I came to Tucson to visit a client—one whom I regarded as a friend—and to touch base with a college classmate. And now you’re telling me that I’m a suspect in the murder of the first, and that the second is one of my accusers. I suggest that perhaps you should take Maddy’s accusations with a grain of salt.”

“And Ms. Dowell’s?” Matt said with great calm.

“Ms. Dowell is no doubt angry at me because I suggested that I might be able to open a few doors for her, assist her in distributing her wares, and then I withdrew my offer. As I became more familiar with the scope of her work, I came to find it rather pedestrian.”

Matt had been smart to stick me in here. If I had been in the room I would have been tempted to hit Ian.

“She said you offered her a show in Los Angeles.”

“Oh, come now, do you find that credible? I’ve exhibited some of the major names in the contemporary arts, and I’m afraid she is simply not in their league.”

“So you’re saying that both women are lying because they are trying to get back at you for dismissing them as second-rate talents?”

“It appears so.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that your old friend Madelyn Sheffield, the trucker Chas Jenson, the Tucson thug we arrested the other day, and Emmeline Dowell are
all
lying about your activities?”

Ian sat up straighter in his chair and assumed a sincere expression. “I have no idea what they have been telling you, but I assure you I am in no way involved in either the death of Peter Ferguson or the theft of his artworks.”

Matt didn’t respond to Ian’s implied question. “Then tell me, Mr. Gemberling, if this is all a fabrication, what were you doing at that warehouse this afternoon?”

I could almost see the gears turning in Ian’s head. He’d done a good job so far, cobbling together a story or evading the questions. And I had to admit, knowing Maddy as I did, I could have bought what Ian said about her. But Ian was beginning to sense undercurrents in the room. I leaned forward to see what his next move would be.

“You spoke of a trucker. Maddy uses him, and after Peter’s death he came to me and said he had some information about the missing pieces of art, and was I interested? For a price, of course. I played along, because I was concerned for the safety of the glass pieces.”

“It didn’t occur to you to contact the police or the FBI?”

“Frankly, Officer, I didn’t think you’d react quickly enough. By the time I had finished laying out my bona fides and explaining the situation, they could have been on a boat to Hong Kong. And the FBI’s track record in recovering stolen art items is less than stellar.”

I glanced quickly at Nat’s face on the screen: She looked positively gleeful.

“And the other men with you?” Matt went on. “The ones with guns?”

“I thought it prudent to enlist some colleagues. They’ve worked for me before, and they are expert shippers of art objects. There are times when that job requires them to carry weapons, which are, I might add, fully licensed.”

Matt sat back as well and looked at Ian for several seconds. “I’m impressed, Mr. Gemberling. You have an explanation for everything. Madelyn Sheffield is unstable, Em Dowell is trying to get back at you for dismissing her as second-rate, the trucker was looking to sell you information about the theft, and you’re the hero in this little farce, sweeping in with your hired guns and saving the day—or at least the art. Have I got that right?”

Ian’s face hardened. “Officer, I resent your insinuations. You have not presented any hard evidence of my involvement in either the murder or the theft, relying instead on the wild accusations of questionable individuals. I am a legitimate art dealer, and I have no need to engage in such illegal activities. Peter was my friend, and I thought Madelyn was. If you have any substantial evidence, I’d like to hear it before I call my lawyer.”

“Mr. Gemberling,” Nat purred, “it might interest you to know that your ‘friend’ Peter had serious doubts about your honesty.”

“Excuse me?” Ian favored her with an icy glance.

Nat smiled sweetly. “Oh, you’re very good. Very smart, very careful. But so was Peter. Tell me, did he discuss with you the software he was working on at the time of his death?”

The blank expression on Ian’s face was answer enough.

“Well, then, let me fill you in,” Nat continued. “All of your transactions with Peter were completely aboveboard and legitimate. But let me suggest that perhaps you had a longer-range goal in dealing with Peter. You might have thought that he was a man with a lot of money on his hands, one who was willing to pour it into a nice trophy art collection. You might even have credited him with some taste—no doubt shaped and guided by you. You helped Peter Ferguson assemble a world-class collection of glass pieces, and he paid well for it, and you received nice fees. But I think you may have had a second motive: You planned to steal it from the beginning.”

“That’s preposterous!” Ian sputtered. “You have no right to make such an accusation.”

“Oh, I think I do, Mr. Gemberling.” Nat’s voice was growing steely. “You made one mistake in your planning, although I think that can be excused since Maddy forced your hand by stabbing Peter, and you had to accelerate your schedule. But if you’d just thought to take his computer with you, you might have gotten away with it.”

Ian said nothing but raised one eyebrow, questioning.

“Unfortunately for you, you left it behind, and I gave it to a consultant to look at. Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced my consultant.” Nat nodded toward Cam. “This is Cameron Dowell. He’s a software designer and a long-term admirer of Peter Ferguson’s work. By the way, he’s also Em’s brother.”

Was it my imagination, or had Ian grown a shade paler?

“Cam took a look at the contents of the laptop, at my request, and he found some very interesting things. Perhaps the most interesting was a computer program that Peter had been working on for some time. It was intended to provide a means of identifying and tracking stolen artworks, and from what we’ve seen, it’s far superior to anything that the government law enforcement agencies are currently using.”

Ian swallowed. “I’m happy to hear that. I respected Peter’s abilities, and I’m sure this will be a valuable tool. But what relevance does that have here?”

“Peter was almost finished with his programming, and he wanted to test it. He chose items from your gallery—I assume with your permission? We found the files on his computer. Did his interest make you nervous, Mr. Gemberling?”

Yes, Ian was definitely paler now.

Nat went on, savoring every moment. “And then he started looking a little further. It seems that a surprising number of works that passed through your hands have subsequently been stolen. Maybe not immediately, or from the person to whom you sold it, but eventually. And many of those items have never resurfaced in the art market. Would you care to comment, Mr. Gemberling?”

“I think I’d like to call my lawyer now.”

“I think that would be advisable, Mr. Gemberling.”

Matt and Nat smiled at each other across the expanse of table. Ian looked miserable.

I felt great.

The “great” part lasted for a little while but was soon swamped by exhaustion and boredom. When you watch cop shows on TV, you get to see the high points: the action, the drama. In the real world there’s a heck of a lot of paperwork, and that takes time. I was kind of at loose ends: Matt had brought me here, and I had no transport. I wanted to wait for Cam and see what his story was, but he was still tied up with Nat. Matt and Nat obviously had to confer about charges and then determine what to do with their prisoners. Me—I had nothing to do but wait. I settled myself in a chair and dozed intermittently. I figured I was allowed. After all, it had been a rather harrowing day.

I was awakened some time later by a hand on my shoulder, and looked up to see Cam. “Hey, Em, want to go home?”

“About time,” I grumbled. “Everything wrapped up? What time is it?”

“For now. And it’s after five. You look beat.”

I stood up, not very gracefully, and stretched to work the kinks out of my joints. “Good, because I am. It’s been a long day. Have you got a ride?”

“Nat’ll drop us off. Then she’s coming back to talk to Matt.”

As if on cue, Nat appeared. She looked very pleased with herself. “You two ready?”

“Definitely. You look happy. Did either of our friends say anything else?”

Nat shook her head. “Not yet, but it doesn’t matter. They are so busted! And I’ll let Cam fill you in on the rest of it. Looks like our Ian has been a busy boy.”

I knew Ian was too good to be true. But since he’d called me second-rate to my face—well, not exactly, since I’d been watching it on-screen, but close enough—I was going to relish his downfall. “Let’s go before I fall asleep again.”

Riding home through the busy early evening streets, I felt as though I had been gone for a week, not just hours. Maybe I was getting old, but it was hard to keep adjusting my concept of reality where all this was concerned. Maddy was a flake; Maddy was an accomplice to murder and larceny. Ian was a respected member of his profession; Ian was a thieving scumbag who had been systematically exploiting his clients for years. I was a genius; I was a hack. Too much to handle. I took another short nap.

I woke up again when we reached my building. Cam helped me out of the car, then waved to Nat as she pulled away. I looked up my stairs, which seemed to go on for miles, but somehow we arrived at the top. Before Cam could pull out his key, the door opened and I had a second to take in the fact that Allison was standing there before I was mobbed by two enthusiastic dogs. We did a silly dance, trying to get two humans through the door while two dogs insisted on wrapping themselves around our legs. It took a few moments for the excitement to subside. Well, the doggy excitement anyway: When they released me, Allison took over, hugging me hard.

“Oh, Em, I didn’t know what to do. You weren’t there, and you’d left no message, and then I found your bag so I knew you didn’t have your keys. All I could think of was to call Cam, and he said to call Matt, so I did.”

I hugged her back. “You did good. And thank you. I wondered when somebody would notice I was missing. And thanks for looking after the pups.”