“No. I’m not stupid. Especially after the painting went missing. There was a lot of heat and I didn’t want my name near any of it.” He sat forward, his forearms resting on the table. “Jewelry, that’s easy to turn over. Art, that’s more complicated and takes time. And the clothing? Who would want it?” He shook his head. “No, man, it wasn’t me.”
Mitch collected the watch and the file. “We’ll talk again.”
Viktor smiled. “No, Mitchell, we won’t. I’m for LA. Enough of these backwater little places. I’m going where there’s some action. And you won’t be going with me. Or haven’t you heard? I’m getting a whole new security team.”
Mitch stood on Chappie’s porch listening to the faint chimes resounding in the house. After a few minutes Chappie came to the door. He still wore the suit and vest he had on earlier in the day, minus the coat. A pair of reading glasses rested on the end of his nose.
“Deputy Lawson.” His eyebrows shot up. “Three times in one day. I’m beginning to think I should have the spare bedroom made up for you.” He gestured for Mitch to enter and he closed the door. “What now?”
“Debbie Williams.”
“Oh, that creature!” Chappie waved his hand as if swatting a fly. “Totally useless. I don’t know why Weatherby has her in claims. She doesn’t know anything about anything.” He started off down the hallway and motioned for Mitch to follow. “I’m just in the study trying to make heads or tails out of the jumble in here. Adoni usually takes care of things and I need the number for the moving crew.” He sighed and took a seat behind a desk. “You can’t have just any Jake leg off the street to handle museum quality pieces.”
“You reported the theft to Miss Williams?”
“Well, I called Weatherby first. You can imagine my reaction when the staff opened an empty crate.” He moved some papers around on the desk, his eyes darting from first one thing to another. “But the old man told me to call the claims department.” Chappie scowled. “A quarter of a million dollar policy and I’m just supposed to call the claims department.”
“What happened when you called?”
“Nothing.” He threw the scraps of paper in his hand onto the desktop. “The damn woman took my name and phone number and that was all. I had to call back the next day. I got lucky and Peter Ryder was in the office. He didn’t even know about the theft.”
Mitch moved to the window overlooking the formal garden at the rear of the house and at the bottom of the lawn, a garage apartment over the open parking bays. The hunter green Jaguar didn’t appear to have moved. The space next to it still stood empty.
“Where’s your butler?”
“Damned if I know. But you can bet I’ll find out when he returns.” He fell against the high back of his chair and sighed. “I’m useless with all this,” he gestured at the files and odd circulars and papers on the desk. He placed two fingers of his right hand against the artery in his left wrist and sat quietly for several seconds. He released his wrist. “See what it’s done to my blood pressure?”
“Does your butler know Miss Williams?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He paused for a moment. “He probably spoke to her about the claim. This has been a real problem since we discovered the loss two weeks ago and honestly, that’s what I have him for, to deal with the little difficulties in life.”
“When was the last time you discussed the claim with anyone?”
“Tuesday, I think. Ryder came to the house. Wanted me to describe blow by blow what I saw when the crate was opened. How the packaging looked, had it been tampered with,” he waved his hand, “as if I would know.”
“Does the museum still have the crate?”
“I don’t know. The police looked over everything, wrote a report, took a ton of photographs, and told me to call the insurance company. Ryder asked the same thing when I first talked to him on the phone. I suppose he could have it.”
Mitch turned from the view out the window and realized Chappie was watching him.
“Would you like a drink, Deputy? You look like you could use one.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” He crossed the room to the study doorway. “If the butler shows up, ask him to call me.”
“It’s not a matter of if, Deputy, it’s a matter of when. Adoni does have his appetites.”
“Good to know.” He turned to leave. “I’ll see myself out.”
Julia studied the legal pad on her lap. She was curled up on the sofa, Trouble warming her feet, and the detritus of the three insurance claims strewn all around her. The pad contained several lists. She had spent the time since Aunt Ethel left trying to arrange the facts to prod her subconscious. It was a trick she learned during her decorating career. Put something in and take something away. After a while the remaining pieces fit to create a beautiful picture.
Today the exercise wasn’t working. She flipped to a new page and stared at the empty lines. What was the common denominator in all the cases? At the top of the page she wrote the Weatherby Insurance Agency. All the stolen objects were insured by the same company. What else? Two insurance policies had been written by Viktor Letov and one by Mr. Weatherby. Not enough consistency there but she drew a down arrow on either side of the page linking them. In one column she listed the Fechin and the clothing. In the other she listed the jewelry heist. What else? Peter Ryder had worked the initial phase of all three claims. She added his name to the list with an arrow directly to the agency.
She stared at the diagram and after a few minutes she put an X through the jewelry heist. That issue had been resolved, she was sure of it. Retrieving the stolen items might prove to be a problem but the who of that mystery had been resolved to her satisfaction.
After a while she realized nothing else was going to filter through her weary brain. She tossed the pad onto the coffee table and began to randomly pick up pages from the various files: Youngblood’s signature page on the old original policy; a notarized certificate of authenticity on a document relating to the Fechin portrait; a pink message slip from Reginald Horchow’s original claim. None of it sparked that intuitive fire that usually led her in the direction her mind needed to go.
Julia sighed, laid her head on the pile of cushions stacked against the sofa arm and closed her eyes.
The sound of the door softly closing caused her to open her eyes. Mitch came strolling into the room with that walk that sent her heart racing. She heard the door open and close again. The security guard stepping out to allow them some privacy, she decided.
He came to sit on the edge of the sofa where she lay. “Alone at last.”
She smiled. “How on earth did you manage that?”
“I have friends in high places.” He grinned. “And I carry a gun.”
“What now?”
“I would like,” he sighed, “to kiss you just once without an audience.”
“Be still, my heart. I don’t know if I could stand it.”
“It’s powerful stuff, I admit. But I think you’re up to it.”
He was right. It was powerful stuff. He is the one, she thought, as Mitch proceeded to show her what an old fashioned necking session was all about. But she would have to take it slow. She knew instinctively he wasn’t the settling kind of man.
They broke apart and she laid her cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you missed me.”
“Only collecting my just rewards.” He moved his lower jaw side to side. “You owe me.”
“How long are you going to play that card?”
“Are you trying to negotiate out of it already?”
“I don’t know. I might need persuading that there’s something in this for me.”
“It’s an onerous chore, I admit, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
He was about to kiss her again when Trouble decided he’d had enough of these shenanigans. He hopped onto the coffee table and said, “Yeow!”
Mitch scooped him u
p and cradled him in his arm. “You’re always putting a spanner in the works.” He scratched behind Trouble’s ears and stood. “Damn cat.” It was said with affection but the interruption served to bring both Julia and Mitch back to earth.
“Your parents expect me to have you safely home before dark.”
Julia rose from the sofa, tugged gently at Trouble’s ear and went toward the bedroom. “I won’t be but a few minutes.”
She changed out of her sweatpants and tee shirt. Her overnight bag was already packed. With a quick brush through her hair and a dash of lipstick she was ready to go.
When she returned to the living room Mitch was looking through the yellow legal pad at her scribblings.
“Trying to make the pieces fit together,” she said, “but no luck so far.” She gathered up the files and notes and stuffed them into her briefcase. She handed the overnight bag and briefcase to Mitch and lifted Trouble from the coffee table. “Ready.”
The early evening traffic was light and it took them no time to arrive at the 45th Street home of Julia’s parents. Mitch helped her out of the passenger seat of the car as he scanned the tudor mansion in the heart of the Chatom Crescent neighborhood. Directly across the street was Guckenheimer Park. “Nice digs.”
Julia blushed. “It’s home.”
“Uh huh.”
A butler opened the door when they were a few feet from it. He could easily blend in with the Secret Service detail for the President, Mitch thought. He noted the ear piece wire trailing down into the collar of his shirt.
Her parents, they were informed, were out by the pool having drinks. Mitch followed after Julia through the house, taking in the subtle details of wealth. He let his gaze travel over the artwork, softly lit by an unseen source, silver that gleamed in the low light of lamps, rugs that were faded and worn. Nothing over the top, almost homey in the sunroom.
Julia handed Trouble off to a maid who had a crystal bowl filled with what looked like pate waiting for him on a placemat on the floor by the door to the pantry. He offered up no objection.
The pool looked deep enough to get a good workout. The layout of furnishings around it invited you to sit and relax. He noted the wrought iron fence, the two-car garage, a carriage house overlooking the area. A glimpse of movement told him the second story of the carriage house was a look out point for security. It was positioned to give a good view over the street beyond as well as the entire outdoor space at the rear of the house.
Mrs. Hampton offered Mitch a drink but he declined. He could tell from the look on Woodrow Hampton’s face that he was still in the doghouse. That was fine by him. He didn’t feel he could breathe in this setting.
“Stay for dinner, Mitch.” Julia’s eyes pleaded for him to accept the invitation although her voice revealed nothing more than the courtesy that it was.
“Another time,” he said as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and read the text. “I have to get going anyway. Duty calls.”
“What?”
“Nothing but paperwork.” He said good night to the Hamptons.
Julia walked him to the front door. “What?”
He shrugged. “Nothing to worry about. They’re shipping Viktor off tonight and if I want another crack at him I need to get back.”
“Do you think there’s anything more he can tell you?”
“He’s observant, always out for the main chance, so he might have seen something that would be helpful.” He took her hands carefully in his and rubbed his thumbs along the backs of them. “I won’t know unless I try.”
“Okay. But you’ll call me if there’s anything new?”
“Sure.”
“And Mitch…”
“Yes?”
She started to speak but changed her mind with a little shake of her head. As she turned to close the door, she called after him, “I’m going home tomorrow morning. I’d like it to be with you.”
“Good to know.”
Mitch stopped with his hand on the door handle of the car and gave Julia’s home a good look. It was impressive in a low key kind of way. But then, that’s how the truly wealthy lived, he decided. He bet none of the Hamptons even knew what Ramen noodles were, much less that they’d ever eaten them.
He got into the black service sedan and took out his phone. The message was from Gerty. We have a floater.
Mitch turned the key in the ignition and set out for Fort Pulaski, his headlights probing the early dusk.
Tourists roaming around Cockspur Island in search of a picnic spot in the late afternoon had discovered the body trapped in the rocks used to beef up the shoreline.
Flood lights and the white privacy tent marked the spot. They were lucky. If it had gotten beyond Goat Point it would have been lost to the ocean. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Most of the back of the skull was missing. The ME was wrapping up his initial examination of the corpse when Mitch arrived.
“How long has he been in the water do you think?”
“Three or four days, at least. Maybe more.”
“Any ID?”
“We should be so lucky. I’ll try for prints when I get him back to the lab. Can’t promise any results. The body’s too far gone. And it’s Saturday.”
Mitch noted the medical examiner’s golfing attire and grunted. “It’s the life.”
“Ain’t it just.”
Gerty was waiting for him by his car when he hiked up from the riverside. She had her laptop resting on the hood of his car.
“I think it’s Ryder,” she said. “The height is good, he has the gray hair and a beer gut.”
“Did Ryder have a beer gut?”
“Probably,” Gerty said. “Old guy, living alone, giant screen TV, and not much else. I’d say most likely.” She pulled up a photo of Ryder but it was only a head shot. “Can’t tell much from the extremities, too much bloat. Doubt we’ll be able to get prints.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
The body had been loaded into the van. The harbor police had begun to dismantle the crime scene paraphernalia. They knew they wouldn’t learn much from the location. Whoever it was had floated from somewhere upstream along the Savannah River. Mitch stood and looked east to the sea. Nothing but empty darkness. To the west a rosy glow hugged the skyline of Savannah. Another day in the books.
Gerty had been waiting patiently beside him. He glanced at her. “Call it a day, Gerty. It’s been a hard one.”
She closed the laptop. “It’s the job.”
Mitch grunted. “What the latest on Letov?”
“Gone. And good riddance, I’d say.”
“Yeah. He’s not our murderer. At least not these murders.” He felt weary to his bones. “What about the Land Rover?”
“Nada.”
It had indeed been a long, hard day and Mitch couldn’t remember when he’d last slept. He thought of Julia safely at home in her ivory tower then turned his mind from the memory. Best not to go there tonight when he was weary and frustrated. Tomorrow was another day.
He got into the sedan and turned the car in the direction of the sparse, small garage apartment he called home.
Chapter Twelve
Tired as she was, Julia didn’t enjoy a restful night’s sleep. It had nothing to do with the murder of Trip Youngblood or the theft of Russian artifacts. It was the look in Mitch’s eyes as he helped her from the car and surveyed the irrefutable evidence of her life.
Living as she did in an apartment upstairs from her office had lulled her into thinking she could be someone other than Julia Mercer Hampton. Though he had known who she was, the full impact of what that meant hadn’t been real to Mitch until he stood before the family pile.
The morning was ebbing away and just when she decided he wasn’t coming to collect her, Gerty arrived at her door. Julia found this more telling than any looks or polite excuses.
She took a deep breath, smiled at Gerty, and invited her in.
“I’ll wait by the car.”
Gerty’s comment was no less telling than if it had been Mitch saying the words. The message was clear. This was not the world of a Deputy Marshal. Julia refused to let her feelings show in her expression or her voice. “Okay. I’m ready. Just let me grab Trouble.”
They drove in silence after the initial how did you sleep, are the hands feeling better, have you had breakfast, conversational gambits. When they pulled up before her door, Julia turned to Gerty. “I’m going to run upstairs and leave Trouble. I won’t be a minute.”
“Where are you planning to go?”
“To the Telfair Museum. I need to check some things.”
Gerty shook her head. “No, no, no. Mitch said to bring you home and sit—not to leave your side. That’s what we’re doing.”
“If that’s what you’re doing, then it’ll have to be at the Telfair Museum because that’s where I’m going.” Julia hopped out of the car and ran up the steps to her front door with Trouble struggling in her arms. The door opened as she reached it and she nodded at the security guard who closed it firmly behind her.
Trouble wriggled free of her embrace the moment she entered the apartment. He tried to make a break for it back onto the stairwell landing but she caught him in the nick of time.
“Forget that, mister. You are supposed to stay calm and quiet and heal. No more climbing out windows, sneaking up on the mafia, or general mayhem. You’re staying put.”
Julia put water in a bowl for the cat, grabbed a charger for her cell phone, and slipped through the apartment door and down the stairs. She could see Gerty on her phone through the sidelights of the front door. By the time she reached the car the phone was nowhere in sight.
“I’m sorry, Gerty. You don’t have to do this. I have plenty of security to trail around after me. I’m probably safer than the President.”
Gerty shook her head in a defeated manner, started the car, and pulled out into traffic.
The museum was only a few blocks away but the tourist traffic of a Sunday morning had the streets clogged with tour buses and day trippers. When they arrived Mitch was there, leaning against the hood of his car, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Trouble in Dixie (Familiar Legacy Book 2) Page 16