by Matt Lincoln
“Hell yeah!” I cried out and slapped the back of Xavier’s chair. Clearly printed on the lines and behind plastic was the name “Declan P. Speirs, Miami Florida, USA.” It was even in waterproof ink, as there wasn’t a smear or smudge on the letters.
Xavier and I changed our view over to Rosa’s camera to see not such a happy sight. The name tag on the wheeled case was blank.
“At least we have a little something to go on,” I sighed. “Rosa, Doc, would you mind taking that one over to the bed and opening it? We know that there are supposed to be some kind of antiques or artifacts in there. Let’s see what we find.” I sighed and waited with an anxious approach.
It must have been heavy, as they both had to lift it on top of the bed. Rosa placed one hand on the cover so that when she unzipped it, nothing would float out. Doc was watching everything, and between the two of them, Xavier and I got a remarkable view of the scene. Once she had unzipped enough to let all of us see inside, she lifted her hand off of the cover prudently.
At first, none of us could see much. The items were all in varying sizes and wrapped in several forms of packaging. There looked to be two layers, possibly, as it was a deep case, and these first items were all small and could be lifted out easily. Rosa reached for one and pulled it out, which allowed us to get a better idea of the proportions.
The one she held was slightly larger than her hand and placed in an airtight bag. There was bubble-wrap or something like that surrounding the object, so that there was no way to tell what it really was. Doc checked a few of the others, and they were all packaged in the exact same way. One that caught his interest was tall and skinny, but we could also see roundish shapes, too, inside the case.
“Is there any kind of identification on the bags anywhere?” I asked them. I mean, these looked like the sort of pieces we’d been told to find, but there was no way to be sure until we saw what was under all the packaging. But they couldn’t dare expose whatever they were to the water, and someone had obviously taken great pains to safeguard them all against that and more.
Rosa turned the item that she was holding over in her hands until Xavier told her to stop.
“Right there,” he said suddenly. “There’s a sticker on the inside upper corner of the bag.” Xavier had great eyesight because I wouldn’t have caught that from this angle or distance.
Rosa typed into her keyboard. “I see it.” She brought it up close to her own eyes so that we could get a better look, too.
Xavier sighed disappointedly. “That’s a classification code. Without the key reference and the listing, it’s kind of useless to us. Unless they have included the reference guide in the case.” He looked more hopeful with that thought.
“I can’t imagine anyone taking all of that care and time to wrap them for travel and not include a way to identify them,” I reassured him and myself. “Would it be like a book, or a thumb drive, or…?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Xavier saw some optimism now. “Rosa, don’t expose them any more than you have to. Guys, just bring up all the luggage, and we’ll figure it out up here.” We watched as they packed up the case once again and made a quick and thorough search of the cabin for everything that might have been Declan’s.
“I’d say that's the mission completed for today, team,” I concluded. “The weather up here is not too bad, but I’d like to talk as a team about the plan for the removal of the crew on the next trip out. So, let’s bring those all up and regroup. Sound acceptable?”
“I’m good with that,” Doc answered.
“Okay,” Rosa typed, and it was settled.
I made my way out to the deck to wait for them and noticed the rain was getting worse. The storm clouds were skirting around us, but the rain was just pouring down. I counted up the evidence bags that I’d gathered earlier to make sure that I had enough. Once Doc and Rosa reached the surface, I helped them get everything on deck. Xavier came out, too, and together we got everything secured and stowed away.
Rosa and Doc removed their gear, checked everything, cleaned up, and made sure that all was in order for the next time. Xavier offered to place the bags while I went off to helm Wraith and the team back home. This wasn’t the first time that we’d carried somebody back home to their family, but I could never quite get used to it. Not in this manner.
Doc sat quietly and thoughtful the entire way back to the marina, but Rosa gave a quick report about their dive.
The passageway is still in good condition, she signed off to my side. I suppose we should check out the crew cabins and the other guest quarters just to make sure that they’re cleared. Other than that, I suppose we sweep the deck to see if we can find any other bodies.
“Yeah,” I agreed. I turned to look at our silent teammate. “Doc, once we get the chance, I’d like for you to do an in-depth check on Declan’s body. We’ll have to be very careful about it, but we need to know exactly what killed him.”
We all knew the gunshot to the chest was obvious, but we still needed to treat this as a crime scene and do what we could to ensure that any kind of evidence was retained.
14
Eve
I received a call from George at about two in the afternoon. He told me that Verity had shown up at his home and was very upset about some things happening at her workplace, in addition to some statements that she’d heard and read online about the case. He asked if I’d be able to come over and explain some of what was going on to her and maybe try to ease her mind a bit.
I wasn’t sure what I could do except explain the truth of the matter, so I told him I’d be by in about an hour with everything I had to help her out. The truth was, things were tightening up around the case of fraud, forgery, and theft, and Verity, as my potential client, needed to get prepared.
This wasn’t going to be a straightforward circumstance, not with all the information I’d received and gathered from various reports, files, and incidents. The best I was hoping for was to get both Verity and her dad, George, to understand how serious this was about to become.
I got my briefcase ready and double-checked it for all the newer intelligence I had. It was raining outside, and while it wasn’t like the cold Chicago rain I was used to, I still wore a long-sleeved tunic and some leggings with high boots. I hadn’t bothered with packing a jacket, but thankfully, I did have two umbrellas with me, packed alongside my clothing.
The cab that I’d called arrived quickly, and all the way to George’s house, I arranged what I would be telling them. I had only met Verity one time before this, and she was on her way out the door at that. She wasn’t at all like her father, but that was just my first impression. And I admit that it wasn’t too fair. But today, I was more than ready to get to know her. I needed to, for the case.
George was waiting for me under his own umbrella outside of his home when the cab pulled into the driveway. I paid and tipped the driver, then made a mad dash through the rain to the front door. It seemed a bit stupid to pull out the umbrella for a three-yard walk, so I chanced it.
George was waiting for me, smiling in that apprehensive way that most of my clientele did from time to time.
“Hello, George!” I tried to greet him with a little cheerfulness. “How are you doing today?”
“As well as one might suspect.” That was a rather droll answer from him, and now I was getting worried.
He looked tired at first glance. He wore a pair of reading glasses low on his nose, his hair was brushed back, and he’d recently shaved. The last time I’d seen him, only a few days ago, he had been trying to grow out a beard.
He had still dressed as well and crisply as he ever did. George wore a pale blue Oxford shirt and a pair of tan slacks with slippers on instead of shoes. I thought to myself that this was probably as casual as he got.
“Please, do come in,” he insisted. “Verity is waiting for us in the den.”
We walked into his home, and I could immediately smell the fine aroma of coffee. The foyer still had the old-world f
eel of rock and earth and tradition. Heading into the guest sitting room, or the den as he called it, I could see Verity sitting in the armchair and staring out at the curtained window that faced the driveway we’d only just come from.
“Hello, Verity,” I called to her as I reached out my hand in a greeting. Not all women liked to shake hands upon meeting one another, but I found that people, in general, liked a professional approach when meeting with a lawyer. “We’ve only briefly met before. My name is Eve Sarabia.” I assumed that she already knew what I was and why I was here, so I skipped that part.
“Hello.” Verity stiffened when she turned to look at me and shake my hand.
I was kind of used to this reaction, though. Most people never called on a lawyer unless things were going in the way of trouble. I was used to it, but I still detested the fear and loathing I sometimes got. I was only there to help, after all.
George entered right behind me and offered for me to sit down on one of the two sofas available. I nodded my thanks and chose the one on the right, leaving him the left one. The room was splendidly clean and bright today. I’d met and sat in here several times before, and each time it looked marginally different from the last.
Today, the lighting was all on or turned up high, and the curtains were closed. That was it. These were new curtains. They were now a white and pale gray plaid pattern. My first notion was that George had turned this room into a type of informal consulting room. Maybe it was for his patients, and maybe it was for Verity’s situation. I wasn’t sure.
I still had hold of my briefcase, so I opened it and started the conversation. “So, I understand that there have been some reports or opinions that you’ve seen, Verity, that are causing you some alarm. Would you care to discuss them with me?”
Before she could start, though, George politely interrupted us. “Forgive me, but would you like a cup of coffee before you begin? I should have asked straightaway, but I’ve been a bit neglectful as of late.”
I smiled and nodded at him. “Yes, please. I would love a cup. Black, no sugar, if you don’t mind.”
This left Verity and me alone as we sized one another up. She looked frightened, and I could tell that she wasn’t sleeping well by the darkness beneath her dull eyes. Her eyes were a nice shade of blue, but I understood the drowsiness that filled them now. She was exceptionally concerned about herself and this case. It was obvious.
Verity huddled in the chair, too. She’d dressed in a yellow top and a pair of sweatpants with bows and ribbons on them in rainbow colors. Her shoes were on the floor beside the chair, and she was just in her socks. I would have ventured a guess that she’d slept in those clothes the night before, and maybe even here in this room. Her dark hair was short, and it probably fashionably covered one side of her face most of the time, if styled that way. Now, it hung in tedious locks that she tucked behind her ears.
“Back to the concerns your father explained on the phone,” I pressed forward. “Do you have any direct questions for me, Verity, or are these more just vague worries you have about the case?” I wanted her to engage. I needed her to if we were going to get anywhere today.
“I saw…” She stopped staring out the window and looked at me. “I saw an article on a lifestyle site that accused the Weir firm of federal larceny and conspiracy charges. Then I looked that up and saw that I could be facing prison time for being a part of this.” Verity shook her head at me. “But I wasn’t a part of this. Not really. I only started the job a few months ago. I only ever handled the objects to evaluate whether they were genuine and what period and location they originated from. That was all my job required me to do.”
I nodded as George returned to the room with three mugs of coffee for us. He set them down on the coffee table in the middle of where we all were and sat down as quietly as he could. He obviously didn’t want to intrude on anything that we might have been discussing, and I smiled at his thoughtfulness.
“Perhaps,” I replied, “you should start at the beginning and tell me exactly everything that you did and have done for the company. That way, I know how to best help you should it come to that.”
I knew that no charges had been filed yet, but I got the feeling that they would be soon. It was better to start her defense now before too much got out to the press, mainstream media, and consumers. Or, rather, potential jurists. Plus, I would need to hear her side before things got too far in.
Verity picked up her cup of coffee and sipped at it, holding on to it as a kind of talisman against her fears. “I began working at Weir Restoration Limited around fourteen weeks ago. They hired me to work as the Art Historian of the company. Customers come to us when they have a private collection or a piece that needs to be cleaned, restored, and evaluated. I am one of the first people to see and handle the items.”
I had pulled out a notepad and a digital recorder to keep a good record of what she was telling me. The notes were of a more personal nature. I took note of her tone, any questions I had, and anything that I felt required further explanation.
“I have to make the determination whether the item or items can withstand a thorough cleaning and inspection, first of all,” Verity expounded. “There are times when they are merely too damaged or fragile to withstand much, but we try to offer our services, regardless.”
I got the impression that they seldom turned a job away, but I could have been wrong.
“Once I have ascertained that,” she continued, “I catalog the age and origin of the piece. Sometimes, I also verify the rarity and known history of the items, if that information is of a significant sort.” Verity’s features grew a little dark. “And sometimes, the clients don’t care. They just want to know the monetary value and how to make it look prettier.”
I got a hint of some revulsion about that, but I left it alone. It wasn’t my place just yet to challenge her on her mannerisms or motivations.
“Alright, all good things to know. What happens next?” I nudged her to continue her line of description.
Verity nodded and resumed after another sip of her coffee. “Then after that, my work is mostly done. I converse with Dallis. She’s the company buyer. She’s responsible for making sure that we have the correct restoration products for each particular piece.” She must have known what I was going to ask next because she elaborated. “As distinct eras and areas used different methods to paint or dye their art, we have to make sure that we use materials as close to the originals as possible. Some material can’t be used or are too dangerous or impossible to procure, but Dallis is responsible for trying to get them all for the restoration team.”
“And who comprises the ‘team,’ exactly?” I asked. I already had the names and files of the employees, but it was also a good idea to have verification and first-person input.
“Weir does some of it, sometimes,” Verity replied. “Arwa is what I’d call the lead restorer. And Emiko’s position changes. She’s on the office side of things, but she also does some press and location services now. I don’t work much with her, but it’s a small office. We see each other every day no matter what.”
Verity’s explanation made it sound like a very tight-knit and close workplace. That could work against her claims of not knowing what was going on with the accusations of fraud and theft, let alone forgery.
At about this time, there was a knock at the door, and George got up to get it. I took the opportunity to drink some coffee and make a few more notes and questions. All of that went out the door, though, when George came back in with Jake and Xavier trailing him.
I felt like an idiot because my heart did that stupid thing when I saw him, and I just knew that I was blushing and smiling at him. I tried to look down at my notepad and jotted something practical down to look busy. But then Jake sat down next to me, and I lost my concentration altogether.
“Yeah, coffee would be great, thanks,” Jake answered a question I hadn’t heard. Xavier also said thank you to George, so I guessed that we were all going to
be sitting down and discussing something important.
I looked up and smiled at Jake, who was already staring at me.
“Hey,” I commented, not wanting to act too flustered or excited by him being here. “How’d the dive go?” That was a pretty safe topic, I hoped.
“It went… and it gave us something odd to work with.” Jake nodded over at Xavier as George came back in and handed the two new guests their mugs. “Without going into too much detail, we came across something on the dive and, Verity,” Jake turned to her, “we think you’re the only one that might be able to tell us what this is.”
That’s when Xavier handed Verity a small bundle that looked to be wrapped in layers of bubble wrap.
“It's some sort of artifact, from a personal collection,” he explained as she took it from him. “There’s a classification number up at the top of the package there, but the identification system, well, it wasn’t wrapped as well, and all the ink on the papers is unreadable. We’re drying them, hoping for an infrared scanning technique to read it, but that’s going to take some time.”
Jake took over as Verity started to unwrap the item. “We hoped that you could at least tell us what that is. So that maybe we can understand why some things going on around it might be happening.”
“That’s not cryptic at all,” Verity answered. “Dad? Can you get me a pair of gloves, please?”
George walked over to a bookcase on the back wall that was full of medical tomes and opened a small, nondescript drawer at about hip level. He came back with a pair of common latex gloves and handed them to Verity. She thanked them and put them on.
Then she unwrapped the mound so that soon we could make out the shape of a figurine. Verity was careful to place the bubble wrap on her lap and to keep the item directly over it. She managed this with a delicate and skilled hand that reminded me of her father’s work as a doctor and surgeon.