“What’s this about?” she asked.
“Your grandfather did what he was accused of.”
She did a good job of keeping her composure, but her face fell just slightly. “Oh?”
I nodded. “It looks like he sold the painting and the statue, and then made an insurance claim on them. He was laundering money for the Mafia, and he had a gambling problem and needed money.”
She gauged her response carefully. “This isn’t a pleasant thing to hear, but given what I know of my grandfather, I’m not surprised.”
“There’s more to it, though.”
“What?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. But Powell wasn’t supposed to sell the artwork. Do you know why?”
“Mr. Ferguson, I don’t know a thing about any of this, so how could I possibly answer that question?”
“Did your grandfather buy stolen art?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, but I don’t like your digging into his past like this. I think you’d better leave now.”
I held up a hand. “Why? I’m just asking a few questions.”
“Please.” She stepped toward the hallway.
“What about Powell’s other son?” I asked as I followed her. “Your uncle. Is he alive? Can I talk to him?”
“I’m not going to let you bother him,” she said quickly. “He’s old and he wouldn’t remember anything. You need to leave him alone.”
I glanced toward the kitchen. “What about your husband? Is he here?”
“No, he’s gone out.”
“I’d like to talk to him.”
She narrowed her eyes. “He doesn’t have anything to say. I think you should go.”
She held out a hand and motioned toward the door. I dragged my feet but I couldn’t delay any longer. I headed out the door. It slammed with a bang behind me and I heard the deadbolt lock in place.
Interesting, I thought.
I started down the walk to the street, then glanced back. Lorraine was standing in front of the living room window, watching me. Should I sit in the car and wait for her husband to come home? My cell phone rang. I answered it as I walked back to the 4-Runner.
“Reed, it’s Ace,” he said in a whisper.
“Why are you whispering?”
“I think I saw someone suspicious.”
“Where?” I asked, as I rushed back to my car.
“Well, he’s down the street now, but I saw him go up to your place a few minutes ago.”
“You saw him?”
“Of course I saw him,” he said. “If I didn’t see him, how could I tell you I just saw him?”
Wow, he was actually making sense. And he made me look like the dunce.
“What’d he look like?” I asked as I put the 4-Runner in gear and tore up the street.
“He’s all in black. Black jeans, black T-shirt, and black shoes.”
“Great description.” It sounded like what I’d dubbed my Navy Seal look, my default wardrobe when in clandestine mode, and it was easy for Ace to remember.
“I knew you’d ask,” he said. “See, I could make a good detective.”
I ignored that. “And you said this guy is down the street now?”
“Yes. After he left, I went outside. I acted like I was checking for the mail, and I could see him in a parked car. He’s just waiting there now.”
“What kind of car?”
“A black SUV.”
That was the same car that Brad Webb had seen around his house.
“Good work,” I said. “Can you keep watching the car? I can be there in about ten minutes.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait,” he said. “But it’s kind of boring.”
I imagined Ace going outside and getting into an altercation with this guy. “You don’t want it to get exciting.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Just don’t go out there. Call me if the car leaves.”
“Okay.”
As I slammed on the gas and headed down Colfax, I called Willie.
“Hey, hon, what’s up?” she asked.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Darcy’s. I was about to get in the shower. What’s wrong?” She must’ve sensed something in my voice.
“Ace said someone came by our place and now he’s sitting in a parked car down the street.”
“Do you want me to go look?”
“No! Stay inside.”
“You don’t have to get mad.”
“I’m not mad, Willie. I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” I said.
“I’m fine. The door’s locked, and I won’t open it for anyone but you.”
“Good.” I tried to make light of the situation so she wouldn’t worry. “Maybe it’s nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” She wasn’t fooled. “What’s your plan?”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m not sure.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m a few minutes from the condo.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
I ended the call and raced toward home. Then my cell phone rang again. I checked the phone. Ace.
“What’s up?”
“He’s driving away.”
“I’m almost there.”
“He’s going north.”
That was away from me. I ended the call and hit the gas. The 4-Runner shot forward. I barely stopped at the intersection, then raced up past my condo. Up ahead was the SUV. It was turning the corner. I sped after it. By the time I got to 18th, it was a couple of blocks ahead and moving fast. I wondered if the driver had spotted me. I floored it and veered around a BMW, receiving a honk as I went by. The SUV suddenly turned on Downing. I shifted lanes and turned after it, then slammed on my brakes so I wouldn’t hit a truck that had pulled into the road. I skidded to a stop and cursed. The truck drove on down the street, took an eternity to come to a stop at the intersection, then turned right. I pulled up to the stop sign and looked in all directions. No SUV. I’d lost him.
I cursed again for good measure as I drove back to the condo. I parked in the alley behind Willie’s building and ran into the back entrance. I took the stairs two at a time to Darcy’s apartment, knocked on the door and said, “It’s me, Reed.”
Willie opened the door and I rushed inside.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Yes.” I pulled her close and kissed her hard.
“Reed.” She pushed me away. “Not now. What happened?”
“He took off,” I said. “I followed him but he lost me. I came back here and I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I was waiting to hear from you, and then I was going to take a shower.”
All thoughts of the SUV left my mind. I tugged at her robe. “I could help.”
“As tempting as that is, I don’t want to be late for work and don’t you think you should go check the condo?”
I sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.” Willie one, libido zero. “Then I’m coming back here and I’m going to drive you to work.” She began to protest, and I held up a hand. “It may be nothing but it’s not worth taking a chance.” I didn’t believe that, but I didn’t want her to worry.
“Okay,” she said.
She headed toward the bathroom, and I ran across the street and up the stairs to our place. The lock on the door didn’t appear to have been tampered with, nor did it seem like anyone had been inside. From what Ace had reported, I didn’t think that would be the case, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I locked the condo, went back downstairs, and checked in with Ace. He hadn’t seen anything else, and he was heading for work, so I left him and dashed back to Darcy’s. While Willie got ready for work, I sat on the couch and caught my breath.
Brad had been right. Whoever had broken into his house was now coming after me. That meant one thing: I was getting close to something, just as Dewey had been. But what?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dewey Webb – 1955
<
br /> The next morning, I stopped by my office at nine to check for the mail and to pay a few bills. The air in the inner office was stuffy and stale, so I opened a window. A warm breeze drifted in. I stood in front of the window, lit a cigarette, and smoked it slowly while I thought about what I’d overheard last night. I ran a finger over my cheek. It was scraped, but it didn’t hurt much. Clara hadn’t been happy to see that, and I’d had to assure her that it wasn’t anything to worry about. I touched my cheek again. The bigger worry is that I’d blown it, letting those two men see me. Now they’d know someone was closing in on them.
“Mr. Webb?”
I whirled around. A bulldozer of a man was standing in the doorway. He wore a three-piece brown suit and a blue silk tie, and he carried a flat-topped straw hat in his hand.
“Mr. Showalter,” I said. “Come in.”
He lumbered into the office and squeezed his bulk into one of the club chairs across from my desk. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, then took his hat and began fanning his sweaty face. “Lord, it’s hot already.”
I nodded as I sat down. I crushed my cigarette out in a glass ashtray and looked up at him.
“You called my office yesterday,” he said.
“Yes, I did.”
“I’ve called numerous times since then.” He frowned at me, then made an effort to glance over his shoulder to the tiny outer office. “Don’t you have a secretary?”
“I don’t,” I said. I didn’t want to admit that I really couldn’t afford one, so I waited in silence.
He grunted. “You have something to report?”
I hesitated. He was not going to like hearing this. “Your wife is seeing someone.”
The hat stopped moving. “You saw her?”
I nodded. “I took pictures. I’ll have them developed soon.”
“And the man? Do you know who he is?”
“Felipe Moretti. Have you heard of him?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Should I?”
“He’s with the mob.”
“Oh, Lord.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “What is she thinking?”
I stayed silent. What do you say to a man whose wife is cheating on him?
He swiped his face again. “Is it just him?”
“As far as I know.”
“Well, that’s something.” He gave me a pensive look. “What about Moretti?”
“What about him?”
“How do I find him?”
I was taken aback. “You want to find Moretti?”
“I want to know what he thinks he’s doing with my wife.”
“Mr. Showalter,” I said, “take it from me, you don’t want to mess around with a mob guy.”
“He may have powerful friends, but so do I.”
I knew that was true, but it wouldn’t help him. Showalter wasn’t as tough as he thought he was. “I would leave this alone, sir.”
“Can you find Moretti for me?”
I hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t want any part of the mob, do you?”
“No. And you don’t either.”
Showalter looked past me, then shifted his eyes back to me. In them was a decision. With effort, he pushed his significant frame out of the chair. “Our business is concluded.” He reached into his coat pocket and extracted a wallet. He pulled some bills from it and laid them on the desk. “That’s the fee we agreed upon. I thank you for your time, sir.” He eyed my scraped cheek. “Watch yourself.”
“I will.” I got up and shook his hand. He held my gaze for a moment, then turned and left. I picked up the money, counted it, and stuffed it in my pocket. That wrapped up this case, at least for me. Who knew what would happen with his wife. If he was smart, he’d talk to her and leave it at that.
I lit another cigarette, then called Sterling Vederman and asked to meet him. He said he would be at the Denver Club in an hour to have lunch and play squash, so I took care of a few bills and paperwork until it was time to meet him.
***
The Denver Club building had been built just a year before. It was Denver’s first skyscraper, replacing the club’s impressive Romanesque Revival brownstone at 17th and Glenarm. The club had originally been the hub of social activity for Denver’s elite families, including the Palmers, Cheesmans, Moffats and Tellers.
I parked on Glenarm and walked into the high-rise. It wasn’t the same as the old brownstone. With its arched doorways and windows, rusticated stone masonry and dormers, the brownstone had been more interesting than what was there now. I crossed a marble floor to an elevator and rode it to the top where a restaurant was located. A host in a tuxedo escorted me to a table by a window where Sterling Vederman sat, holding a cup of coffee with his delicate hands. He glanced up when he saw me.
“Mr. Webb. Please, sit down. Mr. Beauchamp will be here shortly.”
I sat down, took off my hat and set it on my knee. I glanced out the window. I had to admit, the view from here was incredible. I could see much of downtown Denver and the mountains to the west.
A waiter materialized from nowhere. “Can I get you anything?” he murmured.
“Coffee,” I said.
Vederman sipped his coffee while he studied my face. “Did you have a run-in with a truck?”
“The ground,” I muttered.
He tipped his head. “I take it you’re making progress?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
The waiter returned with coffee. Behind him, Irving Beauchamp entered the room. In his lightweight tan suit and matching hat, he was a summer fashion plate. He adjusted his tie as he looked around, then swept off his hat with a flourish. He spotted us and didn’t wait for the man in the tuxedo, but marched directly to our table.
“Coffee for me, too,” he said as the waiter rushed over to the table. The waiter bowed slightly and scurried away. “I’ve got a busy day,” Beauchamp said as he eyed my face. “What have you got?”
“Powell did what you think,” I said. “He sold the Chinese statue and the painting.”
Beauchamp slapped a big hand on the table. “I knew it!”
Vederman glanced around nervously, aware that other patrons were staring at us. “Are you sure?” he said in a pinched voice.
“Pretty sure,” I said.
“What proof do you have?” Beauchamp asked.
My eyes darted from him to Vederman and back. “I’m a little short in the proof area.”
Beauchamp growled. “Then how do you know?”
“I overheard some things.”
“What things?” Vederman asked.
“How Powell sold the art,” I said.
Beauchamp smoothed his mustache. “Surely Powell didn’t sell the items himself. Frankly, I’d give him more credit than that.”
I shook my head. “No, someone named Jay handled the transaction.”
The two men exchanged a glance.
“What?” I asked.
“Does he have a scar on his cheek?” Beauchamp asked.
I nodded, remembering Morten Gresham’s coerced description.
Vederman sighed. “Jay. It’s not a first or last name. It’s short for Johnson. He works for Powell.”
“What the hell is Powell thinking?” Beauchamp snapped.
Vederman held up a hand, then turned toward me. “Can you get us something concrete? Receipts of the transaction, maybe?”
I had to suppress a laugh. “In these types of situations, sir, receipts generally aren’t given.”
“Yes, of course.” Vederman’s face flushed red.
Beauchamp looked at Vederman. “But if we know Powell sold the art, that is enough.”
“Maybe,” Vederman said. “Powell’s in a hard spot right now.”
Beauchamp thought for a minute. “We’ll call a meeting with Powell and tell him what we suspect. I don’t think he’ll want any of this to come out, so I’m sure he won�
��t fight us.”
“Wait,” I said.
They both stared at me. “What?” Beauchamp finally asked.
“There’s more to this,” I said.
“What?” Beauchamp repeated.
“I’m not sure what, but Powell is involved in more than just trying to get money from your insurance company.”
Beauchamp placed his big hands on the table in an act of great patience. “What exactly is he involved in?”
I shrugged and endured an icy stare from Beauchamp. “I’m not sure yet, but if you talk to Powell now, I’ll never find out. Give me a few days to follow some leads. Once I know what’s going on, talk to Powell then.”
Beauchamp glanced at Vederman. Vederman’s shoulders went up in the slightest of shrugs.
“Two days,” Beauchamp pronounced. “That’s what I can give you.”
“Fine.” I gulped down the last of my coffee and stood up. “I’ll be in touch.”
I felt their eyes bore into my back as I left the restaurant. Beauchamp in particular wasn’t happy about waiting. I hoped he would keep his word and not say anything to Powell before I figured out what he was up to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Reed – 2015
“So Felipe Moretti was a dead end,” I muttered. But that didn’t mean that Powell wasn’t tied to the Mafia. And what about Lorraine and her husband? Were they involved in hiding her grandfather’s nefarious past?
“Okay, I’m ready to go,” Willie said as she came into Darcy’s living room in scrubs and clogs. She saw me sitting on the couch and cocked her head. “What? You look deep in thought.”
I sighed, then stood up slowly. “It’s this case. I’ve got all these pieces but none of it’s making sense.”
She came over and kissed me. “You’ll figure it out.”
“I’m going to take you to work.”
Worry crept into her eyes. “Uh, okay. You really think it’s necessary? They’re watching the condo, not here.”
“I’m not taking any chances. I love you and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
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