Miss Fortune (37 page)

So how soon could you get it back? the detective pressed.

Well, restoration takes time, Detective, Myron said, rubbing his palms on his pants again. Im not really sure. Ill have to ask about it.

Could you let me know when you know? the detective asked, and Myron nodded. Detective Keating smiled and closed his file. Thanks so much. That would be a great help. He put the file in his briefcase and came to his feet, then stood up, leaning over the desk to shake Darwins hand. I really appreciate your assistance in this, he said, and turned to shake Myrons clammy hand. And yours, Professor. I dont think we could do this job without you.

No problem.

Im sure well be talking, he said, and walked to the door, but paused there for a moment and glanced at Myron over his shoulder. By the way, who did you say the assistant curator was who sent the Badger painting to be restored?

Ah Myron scratched his head for a moment. I didnt. Ill have to look in the files in my office.

So much for that memory, too, then, huh? Detective Keating laughed.

Right, Myron said, forcing a laugh. Ill look it up and give you a buzz, hows that?

That would be great , the detective said, and with a half salute, half wave, he strolled out of Darwins office.

Myron slowly sank into the chair across from Darwin. Then made the mistake of looking at his boss. Darwins face was ashen as he suddenly lurched forward, landing on pudgy hands atop his desk, bracing so far over that for a moment Myron feared he would come clear across and grab his throat. When did that painting go out and why wasnt I informed? he demanded.

Didnt we tell you? Myron asked weakly, and rubbed his hands on his knees again.

DETECTIVE Keating walked out to his car in the parking lot, lost the coat and the briefcase and tossed them in the backseat, then climbed in behind the wheel and grinned at Flynn. We got him.

Smashing, Flynn said, looking up from a file hed been studying.

Joe looked at the file on his lap and groaned. Are you ever going to get over yourself?

Flynn chuckled cheerfully and carefully closed the file. Naturally, I am required to report to my superiors about my involvement in other law enforcement matters, particularly when I am abroad, he said.

Oh, naturally, Joe said, assuming a really bad British accent. To the attention of Snuff and Snuff, I should be pleased to report that Ive solved a homicide for the bloody Americans, in which I proved that the husband could not have possibly done it, and with a bit of tramping about, I coerced a confession from the scoundrel who did. He shook his head and laughed. Jesus, your heads so big its a wonder you can fit it into the car at all.

Youre jealous of my keen intuition, admit it.

Joe snorted, looked out the window. Then he looked at Flynn again. So really, howd you know it wasnt him? I mean, lookitan extramarital affair, no forced entry, his dog alive and walking around, her dog dead along with her.

It was the dog, really, Flynn said with a very self-satisfied smile. Ive owned Labrador retrievers. Lovely dogs, but frighteningly useless. Once I noticed that the male dog his doghad been neutered, I was quite confident that he could be easily silenced with a generous chew bone. The female, on the other hand, was a little more curious, and, like most bitches, a little more territorial. She was not so easily swayed by a bone.

There was no evidence of any bones! Joe protested.

Thats because a neutered male Labrador retriever is also a rather ubiquitous chow hound of anything edible and many things not so edible. Theyre terribly friendly and good companions and all that, but I would imagine he trotted up and helped himself to the females chew bone without the slightest twinge of conscience.

Joe laughed, peered at the front entry of the RIHPS. So howd you figure out Reyes?

Another very simple factthe gardener told us that his son had brought help. I asked your department to run some files, and there you are, pretty as you please, a connection between Reyes, who happens to be a paroled robbernot the one we originally thought, mind youbut a paroled robber, and the gardeners son. Granted, the connection was established when the two of them were juveniles, but it was a connection all the same, so it seemed worth a bit of a chat. And then, as you know, his suspicions were raised, and he called his friend, who called his father the gardener, who, fortunately, called you yesterday morning, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Joe smiled sardonically. Ive been a detective fifteen years, and Im here to tell you, pal, that you are one lucky shit. But if you ever want to come back and work a homicide with me again, thatd be coolI enjoyed it, you lucky bastard. If youre interested, I know of an international exchange program. Basically, we send a cop to your side of the pond to learn a few things about insurance fraud, and your folks send you over here for a six-month tour of duty to learn a few things about law enforcement. Might be worth talking to your people about. Id sort of like it if you stuck around a while longer.

Careful, mate, Flynn said with a grin, or youll have me tearing up.

Shut up.

Im really quite touched

I mean it, shut up or Ill shut you up, Joe said, but he was grinning. And before you get too full of yourself, remember, we have a little bet riding on the real reason youre here. What do those Lloyds boys think of you dabbling in homicides when youre supposed to be doing insurance fraud?

Naturally, they would prefer I stick to fraud. Speak of the devilhere we are, he said, motioning with his head toward the front of the building.

It was Professor Tidwell, all right, walking quickly and purposefully out into the fading light of the afternoon, headed for his car. Joe and Flynn watched him start up, then waited for him to pull up to the exit before easing behind him, pulling onto the street and keeping a distance of a car length between them.

They followed him to a corner market and pulled over on the street as the professor got out of his car and jogged to a pay phone and made a call. Whatever his conversation, it was said with a great deal of animation, his hands punctuating what looked like an angry exchange. After a few minutes of that, he slammed the receiver down, got back into his car, and drove to a bar.

They waited outside for two hoursJoe walked down the block to get a couple of slices of pizzauntil the professor emerged again, this time in the company of a man. The two of them walked around to the tiny little parking lot, and stopped at the passenger side of an old Buick.

Hes making a buy, Joe said. Weed would be my guess.

Joes hunch proved right, as the two men remained in the parking lot, eventually walking around to the back of the other mans car, where they shared a joint. When theyd finished, they talked a little more, and the man returned to the bar. The professor got in his car.

This time, they followed him down Blackstone Avenue, to Laurel, and then Slater, the street on which Rachel lived, at which point, Flynns heart began to sink.

Hes going for the painting, you know, Joe said, his voice a little softer than normal, knowing full well how important it was to Flynn that she not be involved.

We dont know that, Flynn insisted.

Joe said nothing, just pulled up behind another parked car a couple of houses down from Rachels. From their vantage point, they saw the professor get out of his car and go inside. Joe looked at Flynn. Free access to her house?

Flynn was not going to sit back and feel Joes pity. I

think Ill just have a quick look about, he said, and got out of the car before Joe could stop him.

Hands in his coat pockets, he pulled his collar up around his face and walked down the sidewalk to Rachels house. Once he was in front, he paused, squatted down, and pretended to tie his shoe as he glanced at the house.

He noticed straightaway that Rachels car was not in the drive. So what, then, was the professor doing? With a glance back at Joe, Flynn stood, walked calmly into the drive, could almost hear Joe screaming at him to come back before he blew his cover. To hell with his coverthings had progressed far beyond a mere professional interest.

He walked the length of the drive, eyeing the long bank of windows. There were lights on, but no sign of the professor. It was, therefore, a bit of a shock when the professor suddenly emerged from the garage, and looked at Flynn strangely as he quickly shut the garage door behind him.

Ahhello, Flynn said.

Oh. Its you, the professor said, and stood, hands on hips, squinting at Flynn. His eyes were bloodshot and glassyhe looked quite stoned. Did we meet? he asked. I dont remember.

Ah, no. Charlie Windsors the name.

Windsor that sounds familiar, the idiot said, and Flynn certainly hoped that it might, given the arses esteemed status as a college history professor. But the professor shrugged, turned back to the house before thinking it through. Shes not here, dude, he said.

Isnt she?

No. He paused, looked at the house as if he was trying to remember what he was doing here himself, and put a hand to his nape, then looked at Flynn again. Okay, so you want me to tell her you came by?

Will you see her?

Ah I dont know. I thought she was with you. Maybe shes at school. Look, Ill leave her a note, but I really need to get going.

That would be lovely, thanks, Flynn said. Yet he stood firmly rooted, waiting to see what the professor did next.

The professor looked at him, terribly confused. Right, right, so Ill let her know.

Fabulous. Thank you.

Eyeing Flynn, the professor very tentatively went back inside the house. Flynn smiled, turned on his heel, and calmly walked back to Joes car.

Are you nuts ? Joe shouted before he could even get in the car. You want to blow cover or what?

My cover is quite intact. I actually spoke with our man.

Ah, fuck , Joe said, slapping his hand against his forehead.

Its quite all right, Detective Keating. He remembers me from the bar and thinks I came to call on Rachel. Shes not at home, hes no idea where she might be, and promised to leave a note that I dropped by.

You are so kidding, Joe said with a laugh. The guy cannot be that stupid.

Apparently, he can and he is, Flynn said, and slid down, watching the house.

The professor left a short time later, empty-handed, and drove to his apartment.

Joe and Flynn watched him stagger inside as if he carried some invisible weight on his shoulders.

Ill put a couple of uniforms on him tonight, Joe said. But I need to get some sleep. He looked at Flynn. And you need to get in that house.

Right, Flynn agreed, but did not offer that given the events of yesterday, that might be easier said than done.

FLYNN arrived at the corporate flat around ten that evening. There were four messages on his phone, left since yesterday morning when hed gotten the call from Joe that the homicide case had broke.

The first was from Iris. Flynn, darling, do ring me, please. Ive got some important news. Good try, Iris, old girl . She was wising up, devising new techniques to harass him.

The second message was from his mother. Oh Flynn, darling, I was so hoping youd be in, she said. Your father wants to speak with you. Please ring us, will you, so that your father might have a word. Hugs, darling!

Dear God, now Mum had roped Dad into the whole sordid affair. He felt sorry for the old man, could imagine him fighting tooth and nail to be left out of the gruesome details of Flynns love life, but nevertheless being dragged in, bit by bit with Mums shrill harping, at last giving in for just a moments peace, a whimpering shell of the man he was.

The third message was, as he had guessed, from Rachel, and he winced with each breath she took in her rather long message to him. Christ, hed really made a mess of it, hadnt he?

And the last message, the big surprise, was from his brother Ian. Hello, mate, calling from Paris. Mums been a pain in the arse and hounding me a bit, so I thought Id at least ring you up and see whats gone on between you and the dragon lady, he said, referring to IrisIan had never been shy about his dislike of her. Give me a ring when youve a moment. Cheers, he said, and clicked off.

Flynn picked up the phone and dialed Rachels number, and got the answering machine. Ah Flynn here. Rachel, Im terribly sorry about yesterday. Something rather important came up, and I was called away. Please do ring me, he said, and hung up, unable to think of how to convey how sorry he was to a blasted answering machine.

And then Flynn lay on the cheap plastic leather couch waiting for the phone to ring, not unlike he had done in his eighth school year when he had waited for Mary Elizabeth to ring up. Just like that night a thousand years ago, he had stared at the ceiling. Except it had been at a poster of Duran Duran then, not a water stain as it was now.

And he was discovering that the wait was, unfortunately, just as excruciating at thirty-four years old as it was at thirteen.

Twice, Flynn sat up and reached for the phone, determined to ring again. And twice he lay down again, debating. It was too late, well past midnight, and moreover, he didnt want to come across as some sort of adolescent stalker. It hadnt worked particularly well for him the first time.

He did, however, call again Saturday morning, when he awoke stiff and freezing on that bloody couch. Bugger, he got her answering machine again, and he was not inclined to leave another groveling message.

He was not inclined to do much of anything but mope around and feel rather sorry for himself, which he did until early afternoon.

RACHEL arrived home Saturday afternoon after her temporary stint in a very small glassed-in booth of a gas station which was really suitable for only one person, not two, but nevertheless, she had stood behind Mabel Forrester and run credit cards through the machine.

Dont know why they sent you down here, Mabel said more than once. I dont usually got no one here with me.

Maybe because of the holiday traffic, Rachel offered.

Mabel gave a harrumph at that. It aint as if I cant turn around and run them cards myself, she muttered.