“What we have here is a very unusual situation,” Abraham said. “A lot has happened since Eli showed up at my door on New Year’s Eve and traded a bottle of champagne for a name and an address. Because you are a detective and a friend of my friend, I will tell you some of it.”
“You can trust me,” I said, glancing back toward Tom, who gave me a small wave. I hoped he would be okay until we got back. Knowing he was a big boy and could take care of himself, I decided to put him out of my mind and concentrate on the situation at hand.
We reached Northshore Road and Abraham turned right, driving toward town.
“Do you know anything about art theft?” he asked, steering around a wide curve that went steeply uphill. “Antiquities and such?”
Art theft? That certainly wasn’t what I had expected to hear.
“Not really,” I said. “I’ve read a few articles, seen some TV shows…”
“Well, I didn’t know much about it either until I got a call a couple weeks ago from Interpol.”
“Interpol? Really?”
“Yes. They have an art crimes division and it seems our little island has come to their attention. I don’t need to go into detail, but basically they believe there is a small group of people in St. John facilitating the sale of stolen art and antiquities. The group is well run and tightly knit, and so far Interpol has been unable to crack it.”
“You mean someone here on the island is acting as a fence for stolen art?”
“A fence. Exactly. They’ve got a pretty good system set up too.”
He put on his blinker and slowed, turning into the massive gates of an expensive-looking resort hotel called the Sugar Manse.
“St. John is a beautiful place, and many of our guests are very wealthy. A lot of the wealthiest ones stay in resorts like this one.”
He turned down the winding, perfectly manicured streets of the resort complex, past tasteful bungalow-like structures. I wasn’t sure what we were doing there, but I doubted we were on our way to visit Interpol agents. These rooms had to rent for at least five or six hundred dollars a night each, something no mere police organization could likely afford—even a big, influential one.
“Rich people, they love to buy and sell art. Sometimes the art is legitimate, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes the buyers don’t even care, as long as the piece continues to appreciate in value—or it fits nicely in their ‘collection.’”
He slowed to make a turn that led us behind some buildings to what looked like a service area. There was a long, low building there, with a trio of women in waitress uniforms sitting out on the curb, smoking.
“This is the dormitory,” he said, gesturing toward the building as we drove slowly past. “Some of the workers, they do triple shifts and live here. We think at least one, maybe more, are connected to the art ring. They work here as maids or waiters or whatever, and they are the contact to the buyer.”
“Clever,” I said as we pulled away, thinking that a server in a resort situation would have plenty of private access to a wealthy guest, if necessary.
“There are three parties to every transaction, of course. The seller, the middleman, and the buyer. Right now, Interpol is most concerned with the middleman. The fence.”
“What does this have to do with Eli and his situation?” I asked. “Is Dianne Streep the fence?”
“That is what Interpol suspects. Now, understand that Mrs. Streep is a legitimate dealer of art, artifacts, and antiquities. But she has been caught before trying to sell stolen pieces at auction. That can happen to anyone in this business, but Interpol suspects that things aren’t quite as they appear. They think her main business is dealing in the illegal art underground. They have started gathering evidence that should ultimately bring down the whole ring.”
“That explains the massive security on her estate,” I said, nodding. “She must be moving priceless artwork through there on a regular basis.”
“Perhaps.”
“Why do they suspect her?” I asked. “Other than the stolen pieces she was caught with?”
“Somebody somewhere started talking,” he said. “I don’t know who, but it was someone along the chain who got caught. Anyway, they have fingered Dianne Streep, saying she’s the broker who moves the pieces down the line.”
“Makes sense.”
After driving a wide loop, we ended up back at the front gates of the resort. Abraham made a left turn onto the highway, returning toward the beach where Tom was waiting.
“When Interpol contacted me a few weeks ago to talk about Dianne Streep,” he continued, “something about the whole case started nagging at me. The other day, I thought of Eli and then it all came back to me: This was the same woman he asked me to run a plate for! I don’t know how he got mixed up with her, but it seems very fishy to me that the plate I ran for him back in December belonged to the same person Interpol is focusing in on now. I tried to contact him to ask about it, but he and Stella had gone back to the States. I didn’t know how to reach him there.”
“We have his case notes,” I said. “Maybe we can tell you what you need to know.”
Abraham produced another toothpick from his pocket and stuck it between two rows of snow-white teeth.
“When Eli ask me to run the plate, he say it was for an old girlfriend he spotted. I didn’t see any harm in that.”
“That’s true, Abraham,” I said. “Back in December Eli was just trying to follow up on the sighting of a woman he used to be involved with.”
I didn’t add that the woman was a former agent for the NSA, long thought to be dead.
“And it’s just coincidence that now that same woman is the subject of an international investigation into criminal activity?” he asked.
His question sat there in the car between us. Was it also a coincidence that someone tried to shoot Eli down in cold blood? I didn’t think so. I just hadn’t figured out yet what the connections all were.
“So what’s being done to bring her down?” I asked finally, ignoring his question. I knew he might not tell me, but it was worth a shot.
“We put a woman in over at the resort as a worker,” he said after some hesitation. “A detective from St. Croix who came to help us out. Unfortunately, these islands aren’t all that big when it comes down to it. Someone else working there recognized her. We had to pull her back out.”
“And are they onto you now?”
“We hope not. The detective gave a hard-luck story to the gal who recognized her, saying she was working there under a different name because she was trying to get away from an abusive boyfriend back home in St. Croix. As far as we know, the gal bought it. But now we are left with no one on the inside.”
“What about focusing on Dianne herself?” I asked, thinking of Eli and his closet full of bugs. “Have you done any electronic surveillance there?”
He laughed.
“We got soft taps on all their phones, but they are not stupid. So far, we’ve heard a bunch of nothing.”
I nodded, knowing that a “soft tap” was one that was done through the phone company, rather than in equipment directly connected to the house. Interpol must have really done their homework, because obtaining a soft tap on a private citizen’s telephone required a lot of legal paperwork and the full cooperation of the telephone company.
“What about transmitters?” I pressed. “In the home.”
“Funny you should ask that,” he said. “They were included on the warrant. But nobody here knows how to do that stuff. We are waiting for Interpol to give it a high enough priority to send someone out. In the meantime we just monitor the phones and keep an eye on the house. But until something happen, there’s not a lot we can do. I would like to make a raid, but Interpol say there’s no way to know when the timing would be right, as far as gaining evidence goes—and then our advantage has been lost. Better to watch and wait, I guess.”
“What would you say,” I asked, “to hiring me to plant bugs in the house for you? I could eve
n supply the bugs.”
He gave me a long, sideways glance, nearly missing the entrance to the beach parking. The Gold Agency had done this type of work for police departments in the U.S., so I knew for a fact it wasn’t outside legal bounds for them to bring in someone from the outside.
“You know how to plant bugs?” he asked.
“I’m a PI,” I said. “It was part of my education.”
He pulled to a stop next to the empty rental car. Looking forward, I could see Tom out on the beach, shoes off and pants rolled up, strolling at the edge of the water.
“What would it cost?” Abraham asked.
I smiled.
“I don’t know,” I said. “A dollar, maybe? I just want to pursue my own investigation. Looks like the best way for me to do that is to help you with yours.”
He took the toothpick from his mouth and seemed to study it carefully.
“I’ll have to check with legal,” he said.
“And I’ll need a copy of that warrant,” I replied.
Reaching into my bag, I took out a business card and handed it to him.
“You can reach me at that cell phone number or at Eli’s house here.”
I opened the door and got out, thanking him for the information and for his time.
“I hope we can work together on this,” I added. “Seems to me your investigation and my investigation have run smack-dab into each other.”
“So they have,” he said, reading my card. “So they have.”
Twenty-Four
It took less than an hour to hear back from Sergeant Ruhl. He agreed to pay me $1 and give me a copy of the warrant; I agreed to try and put bugs into the home of Dianne Streep—aka Nadine Peters—on behalf of the St. John Police Department.
Once I received the go-ahead, I explained the full situation to Tom. This was better than we could have hoped, I said, because now we could do what we needed to do legally. Together, we sat out on the deck in the sun and formulated a plan. After tossing around a number of ideas, we decided the best way to get close enough to Dianne’s house with a listening station was by boat.
We needed a vessel big enough to have an enclosed cabin, but small enough to be able to handle ourselves without having to bring along a captain or crew. I called Jodi to get a recommendation on a boat rental company, and then Tom suggested we rent a 20- to 24-foot power cruiser, which sounded fine to me. I was just glad he seemed to know what he was talking about.
As for bugging the house, we both felt the simplest way to get started was with the dog bone. If it worked the way it was supposed to, I thought it would provide a quick “ear” into the place. Then we could concentrate on bugging the whole house more fully.
Our first order of business was to find out how wide of a range the bone had. We turned on the listening station, playing around with it until we could clearly hear the transmission coming through. Tom needed to drive down to the harbor anyway, so we decided that he would take the bone with him and we could measure the mileage that way. In the meantime I would stay here and go through the closet again, packing up anything I thought we might need into a big suitcase. I also started a load of laundry.
Tom drove away, the dog bone functioning almost like a one-way cell phone. I stayed back at the house with the headphones on, listening to his chatter and smiling at his jokes.
“Okay, backing out of the driveway,” he said, his voice clear and strong. “Rawhide is sitting on the passenger seat next to me.”
I turned down the volume just a bit.
“I’m driving down the hill, and I just set the trip odometer at zero. Taking Rawhide for a test drive.”
I could hear the sound of a car passing.
“Okay, we’re at one-tenth of a mile. Hope you can still hear me.”
He was coming through loud and clear.
“Rawhide is taking in the scenery. He thinks he likes it a lot better out here.”
He continued to chatter, pausing now and then to give me the odometer count. Much to my surprise, the sound didn’t fade completely away until he was one mile and four-tenths away. So now we had our range.
I switched off the transmitter and turned my attention to the other items. I was glad for the opportunity to go through the closet again, but I found myself talking out loud to Eli as I went.
“What were you thinking?” I asked him more than once. “Where did you get this?” and “What does this do?”
Tom wasn’t back by the time I was finished, so I switched my clean clothes into the dryer and then went to my bedroom to unpack everything else. Last night I hadn’t had the energy to spend much time getting organized, but now I knew I needed to be ready for any contingency. Once I had everything laid out, I packed an overnight bag for myself, just in case.
I was sorting through my toiletries when I heard some commotion at the front door. I thought it was Tom returning, but instead it was Jodi with another group of friends. I recognized the two men from last night, Zach and Larry, but otherwise these were different faces. I glanced toward the kitchen, but the pantry was closed, the cabinet locked up tight. Nothing to worry about.
“Hey, Callie,” Jodi said, hefting a bag of groceries onto the table. “I didn’t see the rental car. I figured you were already off getting a boat.”
“Tom’s doing it,” I said, joining them in the front hallway and wishing Jodi didn’t have quite such a big mouth. It was no one’s business that we were renting a boat—or anything else! Jodi introduced me around to the multiage, multiethnic group; judging by the dust on their clothes, they had all just come from the dig site.
Zach gave me a cool nod, not even bothering to remove his sunglasses.
“Hello again,” Larry said more warmly. “Hope we weren’t too loud last night. I think we had a little bit too much to drink.”
“Well,” I replied, “it’s Jodi’s house, not mine.”
Jodi pointed several others bearing groceries toward the kitchen.
“We knocked off early today,” she explained to me. “And figured we’d come here to have a barbecue.”
“Oh,” I said, and I knew my disconcertment shone on my face. In the midst of an attempted-murder investigation, she decides to throw a party? Unbelievable!
“It’s okay, you and Tom are welcome to join us,” she said quickly, misreading my expression. “Sandy and Fawn will be here soon.”
“No, that’s all right. We’ve got plans.”
“Anybody up for the hot tub?” one of the girls asked. Several others agreed, and they headed off to the deck. I didn’t even want to know if they had brought along bathing suits.
At Zach’s request, Jodi led the way into the main living room, crossing to throw open the doors of the entertainment center.
“See?” she said triumphantly. “Told ya!”
“Sweet!”
Zach bent forward to study the shelves of DVDs.
“Zach’s into spy movies,” Larry explained to me. “Espionage, secret agents, anything like that.”
“What do you have, like, every James Bond movie ever made?” Zach asked, pulling boxes from the shelves.
I smiled, knowing the James Bonds were probably Eli’s. He loved all the gadgets, though if you watched them with him he spent half the time explaining why each particular item couldn’t work in real life.
“Those are my stepdad’s,” Jodi said. “He’s a private investigator, so he’s all into spy stuff too.”
“Really?” Zach said, still scanning the titles. “Does he have a specialty, like missing persons or something? I knew a PI once. Scary fellow.”
“Oh, not Eli. He’s like a big old teddy bear. I don’t think he’s in the business any more. He retired when he married my mom.”
I gave her a significant look over Zach’s shoulder. She was blabbering for the sake of flirting. What would she say next? Callie’s a PI too?
“Jodi,” I said, “can you help me with something in the back?”
“Sure,” she said. “Be r
ight back, guys. Make yourselves at home.”
She followed me into the bedroom and I shut the door behind her.
“Was it necessary to tell them that?” I whispered sternly. “‘My stepfather’s a PI’?”
“I was just making conversation.”
“Well, I’d like to remind you that what we’re doing here is absolutely no one’s business. Do not share with them my occupation. Do not tell them we are here on an investigation. In fact, don’t even tell them what happened to Eli. Don’t trust anybody. Understand?”
“Of course.”
“Fine,” I said. She looked so remorseful I felt bad for having come on so strong. “I just don’t want to see you spilling our business to the first cute guy who looks your way.”
Her face broke into a big smile.
“He is cute, isn’t he?
I rolled my eyes.
“I thought you were still brokenhearted over Franco.”
“Franco schmanko,” she said. “You only live once.”
Blithely, she turned and flounced up the hall. Sometimes, it seemed as though she wasn’t more than twelve years old.
Ignoring the crowd, I retrieved my clothes from the dryer, went back to my room, and neatly folded everything. Once that was finished, I killed time by cleaning out my purse and then my briefcase, nearly filling the tiny bathroom trash can with the brochures and unneeded receipts that I had accumulated over the last few days. Finally, when I had done everything I could think of to do, I got out my cell phone to call Tom and see what the status was with him.
Before I could get through to him, I heard his voice out in the living room. After a moment he found me in my room and shut the door behind him.
“Just what we needed,” he said. “A party.”
“Tell me about it. How’d you make out?”
“Boat reserved and waiting at the dock,” he said softly, brushing his lips against my cheek. “And here’s our copy of the surveillance warrant from Sergeant Ruhl. How’d the dog bone work?”
“All the way to one point four miles,” I replied, scanning the document he had handed me. “Of course, with these winding roads, I’m sure you weren’t that far away as the crow flies.”
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