Never Sleep With a Suspect on Gabriola Island (26 page)

“You sure?”

“Look at it!”

She did. “How can that happen?”

He shook now, furious. “Software virus. Chaotex. Eats files, pukes up their contents in bits and pieces.” Upward through subdirectories. The Chung book; files okay. Finances, GICs, stocks— “All okay. Except for Eaglenest.” He set the computer on standby.

Kyra pulled him away from the machine and held him tight for a moment. She guided him to the living room, poured him a glass of water, made him sip it slowly.

He stared at her. “I think— Someone is not happy with me.”

“An Eaglenest someone?”

“I don't know. The calls started coming long before Eaglenest.”

“That virus attacked just one set of files.”

“I know, I know.

“Someone at Eaglenest is distressed. Who?”

Noel let out a nervous giggle. “I don't see Rose fucking up my computer.”

“Or Artemus breaking in.” She stared at Noel. “Tam?”

Noel forced control into his voice. “You'd know better.”

Kyra tried to picture Tam sneaking in. No image came. “Maybe someone they hired?”

“Exposing themselves by paying somebody to break in?”

“To get rid of what we know?”

“Everybody backs up their files, Kyra.”

“Somebody trying to scare us?”

“They just succeeded.”

Kyra considered this. “I think they succeeded earlier. With that fake obituary.”

Noel nodded. “God, this pisses me off.”

“Good. That means you're not scared any more.”

Noel wasn't so sure.

IN HIS MOTEL room Llewellyn Katz, Herm 3, considered his report.

The door to Noel Franklin's condo could have been opened by a child. It gave more easily than any Katz had encountered in Tel Aviv or Miami—or Memphis, for that matter. At 6:10 in the evening he'd crossed the threshold, shut the door, stared about and considered each detail. The place sat empty. A few minutes earlier he'd followed Franklin and the woman to the little casino, a provincial joke of disastrous proportions; recycling welfare money with such speed, government check to cash to casino and back to government, was underproductive. Consumer cash needs wide circulation to undermine crime, drugs, disease and ignorance, that was Herm 3's analysis. Then the two had gone to a restaurant. He'd have half an hour easy. Plenty of time.

Nothing about Eaglenest Gallery in the file cabinet except Franklin's final report. Five minutes in closets and chests of drawers produced only shoes and clothing, mostly men's, some female. And a curious fake obituary. Franklin wanting to die, join his partner? On the chest, three photos, two of Franklin with another man, clearly lovers, the third of the lover alone, a Chinese gentleman. Kitchen: dishwasher, sink, cabinets and fridge hid nothing of value. In the clothes washer, a Canadian two dollar coin. He left it.

The computer. The opening wallpaper had been scanned from a photo of the lover. How sweet. From an inside pocket Herm took a CD. He found the Eaglenest directory immediately, no encryption. Naive, these people. He flicked through files. Well, not so naive. Franklin had found traces of probable though not incriminating relationships between the Gallery and The Hermitage. He fed the computer his disk and set its program to invade the Eaglenest directory. Files bled into each other, names changed, files shortened to a few words, lengthened with multiple repetition. There'd assuredly be backups. But Franklin would get the message.

One more gesture, that picture of the lover. Best separate the two dear queers with a minor adjustment. He checked the condo to be sure it was all as his memory recalled it. At the door he noted the rug. It lay at an angle. Had he kicked it? He toed it square, parallel to the wall.

Now in his motel room he poured a large bourbon over ice, encrypted his report, and sent it to Rabinovich.

• • •

Kyra, awake early, felt wonderful. She dropped her feet to the floor and stood. Her legs were limber. Silence from Noel's room. She peered in. Asleep. She stepped out on the balcony, stretched, bent, twisted, a five minute workout at the railing. Feeling alive and enthusiastic.

Noel dragged himself out of his room and met Kyra at the coffee pot.

“Good morning,” she announced. “Coffee's ready.”

He watched her bounce to the fridge for milk, bounce to the cupboard for sugar, bounce for crapsake like a pogo stick up for cups. Time to go back to bed.

“Drink this.” She gave him coffee with warm milk.

“Someone broke in.” His voice was raw.

“I know,” she said, all calm, to calm him. “Phone a locksmith.”

He held his coffee mug with both hands. “The break-in tells us somebody's trying to scare us.”

“And that your lock needs replacing.” She sat. She would not let him descend deeper into this mood. Noel was right, this was a campaign of fear. They wouldn't succeed. At the same time, Noel needed a little compassion. Briefly.

He grunted.

“Eaglenest. Why?”

“Either they're trying to find out what we know, or a warning.”

“Or both.”

“It gives me the creeps. Like somebody's raped my apartment.”

“I know.” She patted his arm, then squeezed. “But some day even we may have to break in somewhere.”

“I'm not ready for this discussion.”

“In fact, I've got a lock pick in my purse. I could break in anywhere right now.”

Noel nodded. “Great. Your wanting to break and enter makes it okay for me to be broken into.” He wandered toward the bathroom but stopped. “Damn, I've got to clean out the desktop.” He searched the web and downloaded a generic Chaotex cleanser. “Shouldn't take long.”

“Shower time. Go.” She ushered him toward the bathroom.

“Okay, all right.”

She sipped her coffee. Now take the bull by whatever you can grab. She called Eaglenest. Marchand answered. She gave her name, she'd like to talk to him again. “When's a good time?”

“I don't have a single free moment.” Brusque.

“Then tomorrow.”

Marchand grudgingly allowed he had a half hour tomorrow at 12:30.

“See you then.” She hung up.

A few minutes and Noel came back, his wet blond hair plastered flat. From the fridge he took eggs, milk, bread.

Kyra stated, “An appointment with Marchand, half-past noon tomorrow.”

“We're going there? Why? To ask if they broke into my condo?”

“Among other things.” She sipped coffee.

“And no doubt they'll give us an informative answer.”

“You know, there is someone who could shed light on what they are or aren't capable of.”

“Who?”

“Lyle.”

“Wait a minute—”

“A consulting meeting. He keeps asking you to lunch. Call him, say that'd be nice.” She glanced at her watch. “Today even.”

“Why me?”

“He'd figure it pretty weird if I invited him.”

“I'll think about it.” He dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. “Hey. But I do know who I have to call.” And Albert was home. Noel began with the break-in, the obit, worked his way backwards through the slashed tires and the phone calls. “It's getting to me.”

“Yeah. But I wish you'd have left everything as it was.”

“Left my computer messed up?”

“Left your apartment till someone from here could check it out.”

“Hey, I live here.”

“Anyway, too late for that. The plastic gloves were a good idea. Now use them to slide the envelope and obit into a Baggie, put it in a large envelope and drop it off at Nanaimo headquarters. And listen, whoever's doing this doesn't sound personally dangerous to you.”

“He's fucking with my psyche.”

“Yeah, I know. But we'll get him.”

Noel told Kyra what Albert had said.

“Good. Drop off the obit after you've called Lyle. And tomorrow, Marchand. Only way to find out what's going on over there is to get on over there.”

“Right.”

And maybe, after talking with Artemus, some time with Tam? Maybe smile sweetly and say, Tam, who broke into Noel's condo? Right.

“What'll you do today?” Noel asked.

“Oh, hop over to the casino and feed some slots.”

“Great idea, Kyra.”

She watched Noel scramble eggs. “Schmidt, lucky you took your laptop to the restaurant.”

“I'm old-fashioned. I do floppy backups too. And a memory stick for good measure.”

“The Eaglenest files.”

“They were and still are in my case.”

The toast popped up. She waited as he buttered the slices and scooped on scrambled eggs. A plate in front of her, the other for him. They sat. She said, “Maybe they broke in for a reason other than a warning or to spy on us.”

“Like what?”

“No idea.” She munched egg and toast.

They finished eating. He put their plates in the dishwasher. “Let's get on with it.” At the desktop he clicked on the Eaglenest directory. It came up clean, the Chaotex undone. A breath of relief. Down to The Hermitage, down to painting, and he clicked on the paintings.

Kyra carried a chair over. “Yep, that's them.”

“Ah, recognition. So much easier than recall.”

“When I get the photos this afternoon I'll write the names on the back.”

“You don't have to. The computer labels them.”

“Oh.” The darned computer would make her redundant. She glanced at him. He was lost in the screen. “Will you stop that?”

“What?”

Now she was irked. “Turn it off, please.” Noel opened a new directory. “Noel!”

He looked up. “What?”

“It's all in bits and pieces. I can't get an overview when you've got all those files out. Come over here and sit.” His damn computer was an escape from thinking about the break-in.

He got up and sat beside her. “Okay. I'm thinking.”

“Good. What—anything, okay?—what itches at you the most about Eaglenest Gallery? Paintings, flowers, artists? Dead Dempster? Artemus? Tam? Crippled Rose?”

“No one says
crippled
since Tiny Tim. It's handicapped now. Or disabled.”

“Actually, it's physically challenged.”

“Thank you, Kyra.”

“All right, maybe not people. Challenged spaces. The handicapped house. The crippled grounds. The disabled Gallery showroom.”

“The big house?” No response from Kyra. “The garden? Tam's cabin?” A bit of an itch. Something— What? “The greenhouse?”

“Kyra! What does the house or the cabin have to do with where those paintings come from?”

An itch of memory— She found it. “Your comment, the greenhouse seeming large. The sense I had of the inside—”

“Should be full of flowers, waiting to be transplanted in the garden. There weren't many.”

“And why not?” Kyra shook her head. “No, wrong question, it's the size thing. Like we only glimpsed part of the interior.”

“Could be. Some lab to develop her flowers? What sort of flowers were there? Flats of carnations. What else?”

“Marchand closed the door too fast.” Kyra stared back to the memory.

“One blind alley after another.”

She ignored him. “What was it? Perspective?” She got up and paced. She muttered, “How can we get Rose out of her greenhouse?”

“Wait a minute. What's Rose got to do with the paintings?”

“We don't know. But what's she got in there? You noted the discrepancy of space. We have to get her out of there and have a look around.”

“Come on, what do flowers have to do with old art? Except as subjects for still lifes.”

“Did you check her out on the Internet?”

“I haven't been researching botany.”

“You never know what you'll find. Go look.”

“Oh for pissake.” He headed for the computer. “I thought you hated this machine.”

“Call Lyle first.”

He glared at her, then found the phone book and called. “Hello, it's Noel, glad you're home. I was just thinking, maybe I'm ready to go out for lunch. Interested? . . . Well how about today? Sure, tomorrow is fine . . . Yeah, something I want to talk to you about . . . Naw, I don't like Charlie's Oven, how about the Crow and Gate . . . Yeah, I really would prefer it. Twelve-thirty? . . . I'll meet you there . . . No, that's okay, I'll be out doing errands. See you.” He broke the connection and turned to Kyra. “Tomorrow at twelve-thirty. We have to figure out how to—Damn! We're seeing Marchand tomorrow.”

“Hey, it's fine. I'll deal with Marchand.”

“I don't think you should go alone.”

“If he was responsible for the break-in we have to show we don't scare.”

Noel couldn't figure a response so he sat in front of his desktop and got on-line. His mind ran back to the phone conversation. Lyle had been so brisk, no warmth there today.

• • •

The phone rang. “Hello, my darling Rose, my Peace, my American Pillar, my Queen Elizabeth—”

“Hello, Rab.” Rose varieties? Why? “Is everything okay?”

“What are you doing so I may picture you as we speak?”

“I am staring at my black
Chrysanthemum morifolium
and wondering what I could do to augment its perfection in the next generation.”

“With perfection, you must admire.”

“Do you have something complicated to tell me?”

He sighed. “I took the liberty of investigating your investigators. They're pretty good. They had files on their computer about The Hermitage, and about me. Including some facts that require serious searching and combining to find. The link to The Hermitage was supplied by the Curator at the gallery at Western Washington University in Bellingham. Your brother told the female, Kyra Rachel, about the place.”

“Hell.”

“Exactly. The detectives reported to Artemus, but then were hired by a consortium of antique dealers in Vancouver. One of the dealers is the female's father.”