Honest Illusions

by Nora Roberts

  “Sure.” Sapperstein summoned up a smile. “You were the best, Harvey.”

  “Well, you sure as hell never tagged me, did you? Not that I’m admitting anything, mind, but there are some that might say I handled more ice than a trio of Eskimos.”

  “Those were the days,” the second detective said between his teeth. “Now, we’d just love to sit around and go back down memory lane with you, but we’ve got work to do.”

  “I come here to help you fellas out.” Harvey folded his arms and kept his wide butt planted. “I’m doing my goddamn civic duty. And before I do it, I want immunity.”

  “Christ,” Lorenzo muttered. “Call the D.A. Harvey wants immunity. Let’s get the paperwork moving.”

  “No need to be sarcastic,” Harvey muttered. “Could be I shouldn’t be dealing with underlings. Maybe I’ll just go to the commissioner.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” Lorenzo invited.

  “Put a lid on it,” Sapperstein advised. “You got something to say, Harvey, spill it. You look tired, we’re tired, and we are pressed for time.”

  “Maybe you’re too busy to hear what I know about the art gallery heist then.” Harvey started to heave himself up. “I’ll just run along. Wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

  Both detectives’ ears perked up. Sapperstein kept his persuasive smile in place. He knew it was probable that Harvey was just blowing hot air. After all, word was that he’d been out of business for a couple years, and he could have been feeling a tug of nostalgia.

  Then again . . .

  “Wait.” Sapperstein patted Harvey’s shoulder to ease him back down. “You know something about that, do you?”

  “I know who did it.” Harvey’s smile was smug. He waited one dramatic beat, deciding he owed Roxanne for offering him the job. “Sam Wyatt.”

  Lorenzo swore and broke a pencil in half. “How come I get the crazies?” he asked a higher power. “Why is it always me?”

  “Crazy? Why you snot-nosed punk. I was passing rocks under cops’ noses while you were still pissing your diapers. You can’t show more respect than that, I’m out of here.”

  “Take it easy, Harvey. So you saw senatorial candidate Sam Wyatt steal the Clideburg collection?” This was asked with studied patience by Sapperstein.

  “Shit! How could I see him lift them?” Righteous frustration had Harvey tossing up his hands. “What? You figure I stand on street corners and look for thieves? You’re not going to hang any accessory bullshit on me. I was home sleeping like a baby when the job went down. And since I wasn’t sleeping alone,” he added with a wicked grin, “I got me an alibi.”

  “Then why do you claim that Mr. Wyatt stole the Clideburg collection?”

  “Because he told me!” Agitation and excellent projection had Harvey’s voice ringing out in the noisy station house. “For Christ’s sake, put two and two together, will you? Maybe somebody—just for hypothetical purposes we’ll say that somebody was me—used to turn over a few rocks for him now and then.”

  Lorenzo snorted. “You’re trying to tell us that you fenced for Sam Wyatt?”

  “I said no such thing.” Harvey blustered, turned red. “I said hypothetically. If you think you’re going to trick me into incriminating myself, you’ve got another think coming. I came in here of my own free will, and I’m walking out the same way. I ain’t going to jail.”

  “Take it easy. Want some water? Lorenzo, get us a cup of water here.”

  “Sure? Why the hell not?” In disgust, Lorenzo stomped off.

  “Now, Harvey.” In his best cop-as-diplomat voice, Sapperstein continued. “We’re here to listen. That’s a fact. But if you’re going to make up stories like this about a respected member of the government, you’re just going to get yourself in trouble. Maybe you don’t like the guy’s politics, and you’re entitled.”

  “Politics, balls.” Harvey let out his own snort of disgust. “I don’t give a flaming shit about his politics. But I’m telling you—hypothetically, got it?”

  “Sure, I got it.”

  “Hypothetically, I’ve known Sam for a long time. Since he was a teenager. Never cared for him personally, but business is business. Right? Anyway, he used to use me pretty regular. Before he got into politics it was mostly small time, but after, he started hitting bigger targets.”

  “So you’ve known Sam Wyatt since he was a kid?” Even Sapperstein’s patience could be strained. He took the cup Lorenzo brought back and held it out to Harvey. “Look, you’re not doing anyone any good this way—”

  “I don’t like being pressured,” Harvey interrupted. “And that’s just what the son of a bitch is trying. Look, I’m retired—hypothetically. And if I want to turn down a job, I turn it down.”

  “Okay, you turned him down.” Sapperstein rolled his eyes. “You’re not involved. What do you know?”

  “I know plenty. I get a call, right? He tells me he’s going to hit the gallery, and I tell him good luck, what’s it to me? So he wants me to start working on liquidating the rocks. I give it a pass, and he gets nasty. Starts talking about making it rough for me. You know, I had a kid by my second wife, Florence. He’s a dentist on Long Island. Well, Wyatt knows about him and says he’ll make things tough. While he’s threatening me, he’s complimenting me. Telling me how I’m the best and he can’t trust any second-rate fence with this kind of merchandise. Reminds me how we worked together before, and how this score’s going to set us both up for good.”

  Harvey drank the rest of his water and sighed. “I gotta say, I’ve been losing some sleep over this. Wyatt had me worried, and I have to admit, he had me interested. A job like this doesn’t come along every day. The commission would set me up good. I’ve been thinking about moving to Jamaica. It’s warm there all the time. Half-naked women everywhere you look.”

  “Stay focused, Harvey,” Sapperstein advised. “What did you do about the job?”

  “I played along. First I thought I might do it, then I started thinking how much heat was going to blow when it went down. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I don’t need the aggravation. So I figured I’d do the right thing—turn him in, you know? There must be like a reward or finder’s fee for that haul. I can do a good deed and make a couple bucks out of it.”

  “So he passed you the stuff?” Lorenzo spread his hands. “Let’s see it.”

  “Give me a break. I met him yesterday, at the zoo. By the ape house.”

  “Fine,” Sapperstein said, cutting his partner off. “Keep going.”

  “He tells me he’d pulled it off. He was really high about it, bragging, you know? Never smart to get that emotionally involved with a job. He told me how he’d done it, and how he had planted fakes to buy more time. And he told me he wanted them fenced right after the election.”

  “That’s reaching, Harvey.”

  “Maybe you think so, but I can tell you something else. The guy’s not right. Here.” Harvey tapped his head.

  Sighing, Sapperstein took up a pad. “What cab company did you use to get to the zoo?” He scribbled the information down as Harvey related it. “What time did you get picked up? How’d you get back?” All this could be easily verified. “Just for argument’s sake, how did he tell you he pulled it off?”

  Harvey’s heart swelled, as it would if he had a fat fish on the line, or a sparkling gem in his hand. In concise phrases he described a break-in so similar to the genuine heist that it would fall beautifully into place during the investigation.

  “Pretty slick—and high-tech. Holograms, electronic jammers.” It could have worked, Sapperstein thought as his cop’s blood began to heat.

  “He learned something of magic from these performers out of New Orleans. Lived with them awhile, he told me. They’re like famous or something now. Anyway, he used to try to do card tricks.”

  “You know, even if some of this checks out, it’s not enough for us to question Sam Wyatt.”

  “I know the ropes, kid. I got more.” With a flourish worthy
of a master, he reached inside his shirt pocket and whipped out a paper folded once. As a force of habit, Sapperstein took it by the edges.

  Written on it were descriptions of the Clideburg collection.

  “He gave that to me, to help me arrange for the fencing. But he made a big mistake. I don’t like threats, and by Christ, I’m retired.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Hypothetically.”

  “Don’t get cocky.” Lorenzo scowled at the paper Sapperstein was slipping into an evidence bag. “I guess you want me to send that to the lab.”

  “You get enough pieces, Lorenzo, you’ve just got to start putting them together. Have them check it for prints. Find out if Wyatt’s are on file. While you’re at it, see if we can come up with a handwriting sample.”

  Lorenzo heaved a gusty sigh. “I just heard they lifted a piece from the display at the gallery. Cuff link, gold. Engraved with the initials SW.”

  Sapperstein’s nose all but twitched. “Okay, Harvey, why don’t you come over and sit here?” Sapperstein led him away to a bench near the door of the station. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “I get immunity.” Harvey clutched Sapperstein’s jacket sleeve. “I won’t do time for this crap.”

  “I don’t think that’s something you have to worry about.” With a last pat on the shoulder, the detective walked away. His bland smile vanished when he reached his partner. “I’m going to get all I can on the cuff link. You tell the lab to put a rush on that paper. Bitch later, Lorenzo,” he said and there was fire in his eyes. “That old man might just have made our careers.”

  The old man sat patiently, biding his time. They were wrong, he thought, when they said revenge was sweet. It had a tang. A delicious, lingering tang. And he was enjoying this one for his old pal Max.

  “Then it’s the last act.” She gazed out the window as the wind tossed leaves along the curbs. “I wish Daddy could be here for this one.” She shook off the mood, made herself smile. “I hope this doesn’t delay our return to New Orleans by more than a day or so. I’d hate to miss Halloween at home.”

  “We’ll make it.” Lifting her hand, he kissed it. “That’s a promise.”

  Sam’s bags were packed for his trip to Tennessee. He had ten days of campaigning on his schedule, all of which would be spent hand in glove with his staff, and his wife. Justine had already given him trouble over the amount of luggage she claimed to need. She was upstairs, pouting over the ruthless way he’d slashed her four suitcases to two.

  She’d get over it, Sam mused. Once she could have Senator and Mrs. Samuel Wyatt printed on her Christmas cards, she’d get over a lot of things.

  He was sorry the timing didn’t allow him to dole out Luke’s punishment immediately. He’d thought he would enjoy stringing out the tension, but it gnawed at him. He wanted to strike quickly, finally.

  It should have pleased him that he’d been on target about the Clideburg collection. Sam had no doubt who had engineered the theft. It would be another weight on the scale if he decided to turn his documentation over to the police.

  But that would have to wait until Luke had brought him the file on Gunner.

  Then he would use these last ten days before the election to secure his place in history.

  He ignored the doorbell, leaving that for the servants. His packing was being completed by his valet, but Sam always dealt with the contents of his briefcase personally. His papers, his speeches, the condoms he used religiously in all extramarital affairs, his schedule, pens, notepads, a weighty book on economics. He snapped the locks shut as a maid came to the doorway.

  “Mr. Wyatt, the police are here. They’d like to speak with you.”

  “Police?” He caught the avid interest in the maid’s eyes and decided to fire her at the first opportunity. “Show them in.”

  “Officers.” Sam came around the desk to extend his hand to both Sapperstein and Lorenzo. It was a good politician’s shake. Firm, dry and confident. “It’s always a pleasure to entertain the boys on the force. What can I get you? Coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” Sapperstein answered for both of them. “We’ll try not to take up too much of your time, Mr. Wyatt.”

  “I’d like to say take all you want, but I’m catching a plane in a couple hours. Hitting the campaign trail.” He winked, quick and friendly. “Either of you have friends or relatives in Tennessee?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, I had to give it a shot.” He gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat, Officer . . . ?”

  “Detective Sapperstein, and Detective Lorenzo.”

  “Detectives.” For reasons that baffled him, Sam began to sweat around the collar of his monogrammed shirt. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

  “Mr. Wyatt, I have a court order.” Sapperstein took it out and paused an extra moment to slip on his reading glasses. “We’re authorized to search the premises. Detective Lorenzo and I will head the team that’s waiting outside.”

  “A search warrant?” All of Sam’s charm died. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The Clideburg collection, which was stolen from the Hampstead Gallery on October twenty-third. We have evidence that you’re involved in the theft and, by order of Judge Harold J. Lorring, are authorized to conduct a search.”

  “You’re out of your mind.” With palms that were suddenly wet, Sam snatched the order from Sapperstein. “This is a fraud. I don’t know what game you’re playing but . . .” He broke off, sneering. “Callahan sent you. He thought he could rig this whole business to shake me up. Well, he’s wrong. You can go back and tell the bastard that he’s dead fucking wrong, and I’ll bury him for it.”

  “Mr. Wyatt,” Sapperstein continued. “We are authorized to make this search, and will do so with or without your cooperation. We apologize for any inconvenience this causes you.”

  “Bullshit. Do you think I don’t smell a con? You’re meat.” Triumphant, he jabbed a finger at them. “Both of you. Get out of my house, or I’ll call the cops myself.”

  “You’re free to do so, Mr. Wyatt.” Sapperstein took the official paper back. “We’ll wait.”

  He wouldn’t fall for it. It was a pitiful ploy, Sam told himself as he called through for the office of Judge Harold J. Lorring. By the time he was told a search order had indeed been signed less than thirty minutes before, he was dragging at the knot of his silk tie. He punched the number for his lawyer.

  “Windfield, this is Sam Wyatt. I’ve got a couple of jerks who say they’re cops standing in my office with some trumped-up search warrant.” He yanked the tie off, threw it. “Yes, that’s what I said. Now get your fat ass over here and deal with it.” Sam slammed down the receiver. “You don’t touch a thing. Not one fucking thing until my lawyer gets here.”

  Sapperstein nodded. “We’ve got time.” He couldn’t help it, something about Sam set him off. He glanced at his watch and smiled. “But I think you’re going to miss that plane.”

  Before Sam could growl out a response, Justine hurried in. “Sam, what in the world is going on? There are two police cars parked in front of the house.”

  “Shut up!” He sprang at her like a tiger and shoved her toward the door. “Shut up and get out.”

  “Mr. Wyatt.” The maid was nearly swooning with excitement. “You have guests in the foyer.”

  “Send them away,” he said between his teeth. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two fingers of whiskey. He’d lost his head for a moment, but that was all right. Anyone might react the same way under the circumstances. He downed the whiskey and waited for it to settle.

  “Officers.” With his poster smile back in place, he turned. “I apologize for losing my temper. It was such a shock. It isn’t every day I’m accused of robbery.”

  “Burglary,” Lorenzo corrected, for the hell of it.

  “Yes, of course.” He’d have the man’s badge—if it wasn’t a fake. “I do prefer to wait until my lawyer arrives, just to verify t
he procedure. I assure you, you’re free to turn the house upside down. I have nothing to hide.”

  Voices in the corridor had everyone turning. When Luke shoved through the door past the maid, followed closely by Roxanne, Sam’s newly regained composure teetered on the edge.

  “What are you doing in my house?”

  “You called, you demanded I come.” Luke slipped a protective arm around Roxanne. “I don’t know what you want, Wyatt, but I don’t appreciate the tone of your invitation to visit. I . . .” He trailed off, as if spotting the detectives for the first time. “Who are these people?”

  “Cops. Nice to see you.” Enjoying himself, Lorenzo grinned.

  “What is this about?” Roxanne tossed her head up, a lovely, valiant woman obviously running on nerves.

  “I’m sorry,” Sapperstein stated, “I’ll have to ask you both to leave. This is official.”

  “I want to know what this is all about. You’ve done something horrible again, haven’t you?” She whirled on Sam. “You won’t hurt Luke.” She gripped his lapels and shook. “You used me once, but never, never again.”