Curse of the Jade Lily (33 page)

“Stop,” I shouted.

“Huh?” Herzog said.

No, wait, I didn’t shout it. I was going to, but … The voice came from my left. I looked for it and found Heavenly Petryk standing in the front doorway, her body twisted into a serviceable shooting stance, both hands gripping a compact Smith & Wesson 9 mm. She was pointing it at Von.

“Drop the gun, Von,” Heavenly said. “I mean it. Drop the gun. I’ll blow your brains out. Von. Drop the gun.”

Von dropped the gun at my feet. I kicked it away and turned toward Heavenly. She was smiling her luminous smile.

“No,” I said.

“Hi, McKenzie,” she said. “Glad to see me?”

“Oh, hell no.”

“I told you I knew who stole the Lily.”

“Sonuvabitch.”

*   *   *

Herzog and I stood outside El Cid’s tavern. The cold seemed to be affecting him more than it had before, and for the seventh or eighth time that night I said we should get him to a hospital, and for the seventh or eighth time he said, “Fuck no,” adding that only a pussy would go to the hospital for a simple bump on the head. I asked if he meant me, and he said he did.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” I asked.

“Are you going to pay the rest of my money when we done?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Burnsville Police Department had kept us answering questions for several hours. We might still be answering them if not for the intervention of Lieutenant Rask. The fact that we had cornered his cop killer seemed to go a long way with him—and the Burnsville cops, too, for that matter—especially after a preliminary ballistic examination confirmed that the Iver Johnson had indeed fired the bullets that killed both Scott Noehring and Patrick Tarpley. Determining whether Dennis or Von was the shooter was a problem to be solved later. In fact, Rask was so thrilled, he even forgave Heavenly for lying to him. He had asked that we refrain from telling anyone what happened until after the press conference the next morning, but you know how the news media is. Somehow Kelly Bressandes learned of the break in the case and broadcast the information during the 10:00
P.M.
newscast. The other stations quickly picked it up, and by the time Leno and Letterman came on, everyone who was paying attention knew that the hero cop’s killers had been apprehended and had confessed. The confessed part was a fabrication on the part of Kelly’s unidentified source, but what the hell. Soon after, I received a call from El Cid. Because of the fortuitous change in circumstances, he told me, he would be delighted to take the Jade Lily off my hands at the earliest opportunity. I asked him if now was a good time, and he said that it was.

“Here we go,” I said, and Herzog opened the door to Cid’s bar.

We stepped inside, me first. The bar was empty—it was long past closing time. Only Cid and his bodyguard were there. They were both standing in the center of the room. A table was between them. There were two medium-sized suitcases on top of the table.

“I don’t see the Lily,” Cid said.

“I don’t see the money.”

Cid and the bodyguard opened the suitcases and stepped back. Cid watched me as I approached. The bodyguard watched Herzog, who remained at the door looking as menacing as ever, despite the immense headache I knew he was experiencing. I took a bundle of cash out of the suitcase and thumbed through the bills. The cash was still wrapped in the same paper sleeves that the insurance company had used. I carefully set the bundle back into the suitcase.

“Where’s the Lily?” Cid asked.

I made a show of patting my pockets like I had forgotten something.

“Well?” Cid said.

“Two minutes.”

I walked back to the door. Herzog opened it for me. We stepped outside, closing the door behind us. The clean, clear winter air had made the full moon seem almost near enough to touch. The moonlight reflected off the weapons held by members of the Minneapolis Police Department’s Special Weapons and Tactics team that had fanned out on both sides of the door. Lieutenant Rask was standing with them, wearing an MPD windbreaker over his winter coat.

“He’s all yours,” I said.

Rask spoke into a handheld radio, and the cops rushed inside the bar. Herzog and I crossed the street and jumped into the Jeep Cherokee. We drove off before anyone came out of the bar. I never did learn the name of the place.

SEVENTEEN

The air was awfully warm and stale by the time I limped into the windowless conference room on the second floor of the City of Lakes Art Museum the next morning, heated no doubt by the thirteen bodies I found there. Perrin Stewart was sitting at the head of the long table as she had been the first time we met. Randolph Fiegen, Derek Anderson, and the other four members of the executive board of trustees had arranged themselves on the far side. Mr. Donatucci, Branko Pozderac, and Jonathan Hemsted were on Perrin’s right; India Cooper, Jeremy Gillard, and Heavenly Petryk were on her left. Only Heavenly was smiling, but then she had an idea of what was coming.

“Good morning,” I said. “Thank you all for being here.”

I stepped around the table to the side Heavenly was on. A large aluminum, foam-filled carrying case had been pushed up against the wall behind her chair.

“You should sit down before you fall down,” Anderson said.

He had a point. My sprained ankle had not improved much; nor had my broken collarbone, which was held in place by the shoulder immobilizer again. What’s more, I had cut myself shaving—you try it with one hand—and the addition of a bandage to the bruises, cuts, and scrapes made my face look like the “before” photo in an ad for plastic surgery. Still, I was in no mood to listen to his BS.

“Shut up, Derek,” I said.

“You don’t talk to me that way.”

I found Fiegen. His expression was fretful, and when he wasn’t fingering the folder in front of him, he was pressing and patting his red-orange hair. I gestured at him with my chin.

“Shut up, Derek,” he said.

Derek glared at him with an expression of amazement, like a man who had just learned that his most trusted comrade-in-arms had switched sides. I was less impressed. Fiegen and I had spent a great deal of time talking on the phone. If he was indeed going to keep his end of the bargain as promised, this was going to be a lot of fun. In fact, I said as much out loud.

“This is going to be fun,” I said. “Like those old
Thin Man
movies on TCM with William Powell and Myrna Loy.”

“Which one are you?” Heavenly asked.

“Who is this woman?” one of the trustees asked. “What is her position here?”

“I’ll get to that,” I said.

I maneuvered around the room until I was standing beneath the painting of primary colors splashed on the canvas that Donatucci had found so fascinating earlier.

“First of all, Von Tarpley and her accomplice have been arrested for the murder of Patrick Tarpley and Lieutenant Scott Noehring of the Minneapolis Police Department.”

I glanced at India while I spoke. She was dressed as if she had been called from her bed by some dire emergency and hadn’t had time to put herself together yet. Her face was pale despite her dark complexion. She was sitting with her hands folded in front of her, her eyes fixed on her hands.

“The one million two hundred seventy thousand dollars designated by the Midwest Farmers Insurance Group to ransom the Jade Lily has been recovered. Mr. Donatucci?”

“The money is being held by the Minneapolis Police Department as evidence,” Donatucci said. “Following legal proceedings, it will be returned to us.”

“What about the Lily?” Anderson asked. “Your job was to recover the Jade Lily, remember? Not solve some damn crime.”

“You know what, screw it,” I said. “Let’s deal with you first.”

I circled the table until I could look Anderson in the eye.

“Everybody, Derek here is your leak,” I said. “He’s the one who has been feeding information to Kelly Bressandes and other members of the media despite the board’s desire to maintain a low profile—”

Anderson rose to his feet. “That’s a lie,” he said.

“Bressandes is downstairs with a camera crew. We could ask her. No? Where was I? He also had an affair with Von Tarpley and no doubt fed her important information while she was involved with her husband in planning the theft—”

“No, no, no,” Anderson chanted.

I pointed at Heavenly. “Mr. Anderson was also actively involved in helping this woman embarrass the museum.” I turned to face Perrin Stewart. “Among other things, she’s the blond bimbo that Anderson wanted to replace you with. Aren’t you, Heavenly?”

“Well, I’m blond,” she said.

“Are you an art major?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have any background in museum science?”

“Not at all.”

“Wait a minute,” Anderson said.

“Why were you involved with Mr. Anderson?” I asked.

“He was helping me take possession of the Jade Lily and return it to Tatjana Durakovic, who, by the way, is the object’s rightful owner. Isn’t that correct, Jeremy?”

Gillard waved his hand slightly. “Eh,” he said.

“Wait a minute,” Anderson said. “That’s crazy.”

“He was hoping to use the controversy surrounding the actual ownership of the Lily as grounds for seeking the dismissal of Ms. Stewart,” Heavenly said. “Later, after it was stolen, he gave me information concerning Tarpley, your plans for buying back the Lily, and McKenzie’s involvement, with the understanding that I would use it to steal the Lily from the thieves.” She held her thumb and index finger an inch apart and peered through the opening. “I was this close.”

“Do you want Ms. Stewart’s position?” I asked.

“I’m hardly qualified.”

“But you told me—” Anderson began.

“Exactly what you wanted to hear,” Heavenly finished.

“Mr. Fiegen,” I said.

Fiegen cleared his throat. “This matter was brought to our attention earlier,” he said. “The other members of the board and I met in closed session, and it was agreed that Mr. Anderson should be dismissed immediately from the executive board of trustees and that he no longer be allowed to participate in any activities involving the City of Lakes Art Museum.”

“You can’t do that,” Anderson insisted.

“All in favor?” Perrin said, and five hands were raised. “Opposed?”

“You can’t do that,” Anderson repeated.

“Get out,” Perrin said. She was smiling when she said it. “Don’t come back.”

“This is bullshit,” Anderson said.

“Derek, my advice—leave quietly,” I said, “because even in my diminished state I’d be happy as hell to kick your ass.”

Anderson paused for a moment, searched the room for an ally, found none, announced, “This isn’t over yet,” and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

“I thought he’d never leave,” I said.

Mr. Donatucci grinned and shook his head.

We’re having some fun now,
my inner voice said.

Pozderac started beating on the top of the conference room table. His face was red, and the muscles in his neck were strained—I thought I could detect a few small bruises around his throat.

“Where is Lily?” he shouted. “I want Lily.”

Hemsted tried to hush him, but Pozderac would not be hushed.

“Give it to me,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said. “Keep it in your pants, willya, pal?”

“I hate you,” he said.

Yeah, that’ll keep me awake at night,
my inner voice said.

I turned toward Fiegen.

“Mr. Fiegen, do you have anything more to say?”

He gave his hair a couple of pats and looked at his fellow trustees, who all were suddenly as attentive as I had seen them.

“We are delighted that the ransom money has been recovered,” he said.

“Where is Lily?” Pozderac asked.

Fiegen flashed him a look then that made me take a step backward. Did I say the room was hot? For a moment, it felt very chilly indeed. Pozderac, that mass-murdering piece of dog crap, actually looked away.

Are you sure you want to mess with this guy?
my inner voice asked.

“Your firm no longer has any claims on the City of Lakes Art Museum, Mr. Donatucci, is that not true?” Fiegen asked.

“It is true.”

“We no longer have any claims on you, either. This document”—Fiegen opened his folder and lifted the top sheet—“clearly states that the City of Lakes Art Museum will make no claim against the Midwest Farmers Insurance Group involving the Jade Lily now or in the future.”

Gillard leaned forward in his chair. “What about me?” he asked.

“Jer,” I said.

I put a finger to my lips, the universal sign for silence. He leaned back in his chair. I took the sheet from Fiegen, limped over to Donatucci, and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” Donatucci said.

“Next…” Fiegen lifted the second sheet on the pile. “Ms. Stewart, the board of trustees has unanimously agreed to tender you a five-year extension on your current contract with the hope that you will remain executive director of the City of Lakes Art Museum. I am sure you will find the salary and benefits to be quite acceptable.”

Again, I took the paper from Fiegen and walked it around the table. Perrin’s expression flicked back and forth between delight and confusion. India looked at her friend. A smile formed on her lips; then it went away and she returned her gaze to her folded hands. I set the sheet of paper in front of Perrin.

“McKenzie, did you do this?” she asked.

I whispered my reply. “Take the job, do the job, be happy—don’t let what happens next ruin it for you.”

“What happens next?” she asked.

“Mr. Gillard,” Fiegen said.

“Hey, don’t mind me,” Gillard said. “I love a song and dance as much as the next guy.”

I moved behind Gillard. Fiegen gave him a cold stare. Gillard looked from Fiegen back over his shoulder at me.

“What?” he said.

Fiegen picked up a check.

“I will pay you three-point-eight million for the Jade Lily.” He said it like he was in no mood to haggle.

Gillard looked at me again. “You got it back?” he asked.

“Take the money,” I said.