by Julie Hyzy
Bill leaned forward. “You don’t need to know.”
Pete’s fingers worked their way to his mouth and he bit at one fingernail before realizing it. Pushing his hand away, he tried again. “What kind of evidence?”
The detectives looked at one another. “We’ve got Gary Randall’s notes.”
Pete felt his body go limp. He’d begged Gary not to write that shit down. Told him it could be used against them someday. But Gary had insisted. His only concession was not taking the notes with them during the burglary. They’d stopped at Annie’s, where Gary assured him he’d hidden them in a place where nobody’d ever look.
After escaping the DeChristopher house, Pete had headed back to Annie’s, frantic, looking everywhere for those damn notes. Everywhere he thought Gary might have hidden them—but he came up empty. At that point, he should have made the decision to keep the drawing with him, but hiding it at Annie’s had seemed safer for something that valuable. Like not putting all his eggs in one basket. This should have been the take that would change his life. Missteps. So many missteps. This one could have been beautiful.
Visions of his life down in Mexico, living like a king, evaporated before his eyes to be replaced by life imprisonment if he was convicted of murder. Why hadn’t he figured that the rich bastard would manage to come out scot-free? He played out the scenarios in his head. The two men across the table watched him as he looked up. Well, he reasoned, he wasn’t going to go down on a murder rap.
“I could use a cigarette,” Pete said, leaning forward, his arms in front of him on the table. Detective Lulinski pulled out his pack and slid one over, holding up his lighter, leaning forward.
Taking a deep drag, Pete decided. These weren’t the big boys he’d hoped to play with, but at least he still had the ball.
“I might have something to trade,” he said.
* * * * *
“Chat?” Annie asked.
Her face must have registered surprise, because he tilted his head and said, “You don’t mind.”
“No, of course not,” she answered automatically.
He reached into the closet to pull out two folding chairs and proceeded to set them up next to each other in front of the open door. Settling himself in one, he smiled. “Wonderful. It’s about time we get to know one another better. Now that your project is nearly complete, it behooves me to find some other venue to utilize your talents. I don’t want to let you get away.”
Timothy appeared at the door with two large glasses filled with ice and a pitcher of cold water. He didn’t move until Richard stood up to allow him passage. He set the three things down on Annie’s makeshift table and headed back out the door. Richard replaced his chair in front of it and took his seat. “You’ll stay nearby, won’t you, Timothy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Thank you.”
Annie eyed the other chair. Did he expect her to sit down? Moving to the far wall, she opened the small window; it was getting stuffy in here. And she wanted as much distance between her and Richard as possible. Near the window was her T-Rex. This was the last section that needed polish.
At the table, Timothy had poured two glasses of water, the iciness causing droplets of condensation to gather on the glasses. Choosing one, she took a long, cool drink, watching Richard watch her.
“Anne.”
Richard’s voice, mellow and soft, still pierced the silence with intensity. She glanced up at him.
“Have you ever been in my upstairs study?” he asked, his face passive.
Annie heard barely controlled anger under the otherwise genial tone. “Yes,” she answered, her throat feeling suddenly tight. “I have.”
“And what did you think of it?”
Taken aback, she answered, “It’s beautiful. Stunning, actually. You have an impressive collection.”
He nodded in acknowledgement. “Thank you. I’m quite proud of it, if I do say so myself.” Looking upward toward the ceiling for a moment, he pointed. “Your clouds are excellent. I could almost believe I’ve died and gone to heaven when I sit here and stare upward. Do you ever wonder what death is like? Is it all beauty, like your clouds here? Or is it existence in a state for which we mere mortals can’t possibly imagine?” He seemed to muse on the question for some time. “In any case, the clouds are lovely.”
“Thanks.” She could barely get the sound out.
“Now,” he said, and the word came out slow, yet precise, “I have a most difficult question to ask you, Anne.”
She leaned on her fingertips against the top of the table.
“You didn’t take anything out of my study, did you?”
Annie’s mind raced even as she answered, “No!” with vehemence. So someone had broken in. Was it Gary? Or the person who’d killed him? She swallowed, shaking her head, wanting to look innocent but realizing that the thoughts running through her mind made her look anything but. “Something’s missing?” she finally asked.
“Yes. Something is . . . missing,” he said.
“What . . ?” she cleared her throat, “What is it? What’s missing?”
“Some Faberge eggs. Very unusual, very old Faberge eggs. Each worth more than I make in a year.”
Annie let out a breath of relief. She’d let her imagination run away with her. She’d immediately assumed he was talking about the missing artwork from the Art Institute, the Durer drawing. Richard watched her, curiosity on his face, as though he could sense her relief. That really wasn’t the reaction she wanted to project. “That’s terrible,” she said.
“Yes, it is.”
Annie shook her head again, her composure returning in welcome waves. “I didn’t take them. I wouldn’t ever take anything.”
“I was sure you wouldn’t. You’re a woman of high morals. I can sense things like this,” he said with a dismissive wave, “and, I would venture to guess, high ideals as well. In any event, although such trinkets are beautiful, you’re much too strong of an individual so succumb to trifling temptation.”
Annie stood there wondering what would come next. She could hear the seconds tick by in her head. Richard’s fingertips, spread out before him, tapped together in a slow rhythm, his face the picture of concentration.
“But the eggs are missing nonetheless. I have interviewed our maid and believe her to be innocent as well. The only other possibility is that we had an intruder the night Gina and I attended the Citizenship dinner. And since you were working here that day, I thought perhaps you could shed some light on what might have happened.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she said, fighting the urge to tell him about Gary having access to the front door with the key and knowing the burglar alarm code.
“You didn’t see anything unusual? Hear anything?”
“No.”
“Odd,” he said.
“What?”
“How did you get in?”
“How . . . what?”
“How did you get in that day? As I recall, you weren’t here when Gina and I left in the morning. I came back, briefly, but still didn’t see you.”
“Maybe . . . I wasn’t here that day.”
“Ah, my dear, but you were.” He stood up. “A man doesn’t get to the level of success I’ve achieved by losing track of details. As it happens, I’d come up here that morning, just to see the progress. Gina wanted me to.” He lifted his hands in a mock gesture of defeat. “I was impressed. Very impressed. And . . .” he wandered over, nearer to Annie, but farther from the door. She eyed the exit, mentally calculating the odds of getting there before him. He stepped up to her, blocking any path of escape. “I looked at this dinosaur.” He pointed, moving closer to her. “This very dinosaur. What is it called?”
She blanked out for a second, then remembered. “Brachiosaurus.” Each syllable was a labor.
“Thank you. And I thought how odd it looked without its eyeball painted in. Blind, you understand?”
Annie’s legs weakened under his glare.
&n
bsp; “And this. What do you call this?”
“Pterodactyl.”
“You are a clever girl, aren’t you? This pterodactyl wasn’t here. I specifically remembered thinking about the large blank space over this creature’s head.” He tapped the wall again, as he looked at her. “The interesting part comes after the break-in. Yes, there was a break-in. We both know that, don’t we?” He was calm, frighteningly calm. “After the break-in, I went through the house. Every room. I wanted to be sure I knew precisely what had been taken and how the thieves had gained access.”
Annie bit the inside of her lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood.
“And to my great surprise,” his voice rose an octave as his hands came up for emphasis, “I had a new pterodactyl. And my brachiosaurus could see.” His hands extended upward and his eyes glittered as he widened them, as if amazed. “It was a miracle.”
Annie’s stomach clenched. “I swear,” she began to say, “I didn’t take anything.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Richard’s face tightened. “But we both know who did, don’t we?”
Annie’s mind raced. He knew. He knew it had been Gary.
“Where is it?”
“It?” she asked. “You mean the eggs?”
“The drawing.” He said it so softly it was almost as though she felt his answer rather than heard it.
My God, Annie thought. Sam was right. The Durer. That meant Gary had gone through with it. She looked up into DeChristopher’s dark eyes and knew at that moment what had happened to Gary. Sounding almost graceful in her head, the pieces fell into place, one after another. Gary dead. Evidence that his body had been moved. The new carpeting in the DeChristophers’ foyer. The missing artwork. Pete showing up at her house this morning. Her face must have registered her shock when she realized the implication of Pete’s visit.
“What?” DeChristopher asked. “What do you know?”
Annie shook her head, her hand up to cover her mouth. Ten minutes, he’d asked for. Ten minutes to get something. The drawing was in her house. Gasping, she felt light-headed, but fought the dizziness. If this man was capable of killing Gary, he was capable of killing her. She needed to get out. If only she’d listened to Sam.
* * * * *
“Where’s Annie now?” Detective Lulinski asked as he strode into the room. Sam looked up, surprised that he’d used her first name. It’d been “Ms. Callaghan” or “Ms. Randall” all along.
“She’s home.”
“You’re sure?” Now at his desk, he reached for the phone.
“Yeah, she was supposed to paint again at the DeChristophers’ but called them and said she couldn’t make it today.”
Lifting the receiver, Detective Lulinski handed the phone to Sam. “Call her.”
Sam shifted in his seat, surprised. “So, you believe me?”
The detective didn’t answer. His mouth was set in a thin line. “Call her,” he said again. “Tell her we’re sending a squad car to pick her up.”
“Listen,” Sam said, getting up. He couldn’t read this guy. Something about his manner had changed though, and Sam berated himself for coming down to talk to him at all. Doing that had somehow made Annie’s situation worse. “I’m telling you she didn’t have anything to do with this.”
George’s voice lowered. “Mr. Morgan. We’ve got Pete in custody. There’s a lot more going on here than you even suspected. If Annie’s home alone, she could be in serious danger. Call her.”
Sam didn’t need to be told again. He dialed Annie’s number at home. It rang several times before her answering machine kicked on. He listened to her message, “Annie? It’s Sam. If you’re there, pick up, okay?” He waited a couple of seconds. “Annie?”
Sam replaced the phone with both hands, and looked up at Lulinski.
“Not home?”
“She told me she wasn’t going to leave today. Let me try my restaurant. She might have gone there,” Sam’s voice was unconvincing, even to himself. A trickle of worry began to creep into his chest as the phone rang.
“Jeff? Sam. Have you heard from Annie?”
Sam felt the color drain from his face. He turned to Lulinski. “She’s at the DeChristophers’.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Who was with your husband that night?”
Annie shook her head. She needed to think before she gave up information.
“You know something. I can see it in your face.”
Annie tried to keep her thoughts clear. He wanted the drawing. “What if,” she asked, her voice in a pitch so low it sounded as though she was ready to break down, “what if I could get you the drawing?”
DeChristopher’s eyes lit up. He advanced on her. “Don’t try to tell me you were in on this. I know better. I’m looking for the fellow who was with your husband that night. That’s it. He hands over the drawing, you go free.”
“No, I won’t,” she said, the bleakness of her predicament making her brave. Her voice strengthened. “You get the drawing, I’m dead. That’s how it’s going to work, isn’t it? You killed Gary, didn’t you?”
A corner of DeChristopher’s mouth turned upward. “As a matter of fact, I did not. It was handled before I got here.”
Handled. Annie fought the tears of anger as she pulled her lips inward, biting them in an effort to stem the rising tide of emotion. She needed her wits about her right now and couldn’t afford to let her fears weaken her. She didn’t want to be “handled.”
“The drawing’s at my house.”
DeChristopher narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
“The other guy, the one you’re looking for—his name’s Pete and I swear I don’t know his last name.” Annie’s words tumbled out, her panic rising as her voice attempted calm. “He came to my house this morning. He was looking for something. But he left fast, really fast, when your bodyguard showed up.”
Annie watched as DeChristopher’s face underwent a change, going from incredulous to skeptical, his eyes searching hers, as though looking for a sign of deceit. “You’re telling me that you have the Durer.”
Annie’s body trembled as though cold, but sweat was pouring down her back, forming into beads near her hairline. She brushed her bangs away with the back of her hand, then rubbed her hands together to get rid of the wetness. “I don’t know where exactly, but it’s there. It has to be. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Let me go home and look for it.” Even as she said the words, she knew he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. “And I swear I’ll get it to you.”
Richard lowered his head, lifting his hand to rub his eyes. He chuckled to himself. “Give me your keys,” he said, looking up.
“What?”
“The keys. To your house. Once the drawing is back in my possession, we’ll discuss your future.”
“You’re going to my house?” she asked.
He grasped her elbow and pulled her toward the door. “We’re going together, but don’t worry,” Richard said, chucking her under the chin, “You’re safe. For now.
”
* * * * *
“You’re not coming with us,” George told Sam, as he strapped his bullet-proof vest on.
“The hell I’m not.”
“Listen, she’s probably fine. If what this guy told us is true, then I want Annie out of there because DeChristopher is a dangerous fellow. But we know she’s been working there all along without incident. He may not have made the connection between her and Gary Randall. And if he didn’t, she’s safe. For now.”
“Then you’re not expecting a confrontation.”
“No. Not at all. We’re just going to ask him a few questions.”
Sam watched as he and Bill covered their vests with shirts and jackets. Fear for Annie’s safety grabbed at his heart, not letting go. Fear of not knowing what would be going on was even worse. “So, this is just a routine visit?”
George nodded.
“Then there’s no reason why I can’t come along.” He w
atched Bill and George exchange a look. Sensing an opening, he persisted. “Come on, I won’t get in the way. I just need to know what’s going on. You can understand that.”
“Go home, Mr. Morgan. We’ll call you when we know anything.
”
* * * * *
“But . . .” Annie said, trying to wrench her arm out of DeChristopher’s hold, to no avail. “You can’t just kill me. Too many people know I was coming here.”
Richard held tighter as they neared the second level, preventing her from falling as the inertia from her futile movement caused her to stumble. He pulled her close as they reached the landing. Over his shoulder Timothy stood back, watching passively. Holding both her upper arms in a tight grip, Richard’s face was inches from her own. “You disappoint me, Anne. And I was convinced you were a creative thinker.” His eyes bore down on her and she felt his hot breath as he spoke. He tugged again at her arms, pinching till she nearly cried out. “There are many options available to a person of my position.”
Turning behind him, he spoke again, “Timothy, why don’t you bring the car around? We’re taking a field trip to Annie’s house.”
With a nod the giant was gone.
Annie thought fleetingly of the baby she carried. Too afraid to cry, the thought of never being able to see her own child galvanized her and she kicked out at DeChristopher, kneeing him in the groin. It wasn’t a solid hit, the disparity in their heights making the blow less intense, but his grip loosened and she managed to pull out from his grasp and head for the stairs.
She could hear the sounds of the garage door opening. That meant Timothy wouldn’t stand in her way out the front door. DeChristopher lunged for her, missed, although she could feel the tips of his fingers as they grazed the back of her shirt. In the scant four seconds that it took her to reach the bottom of the stairs, she mentally calculated how best to grab the doorknob and unlatch the deadbolt at the same time.
DeChristopher stumbled behind her, but then she tripped over her backpack, still lying at the bottom of the stairs. Half a stutter-step later she reached the door, knowing she’d made it. Her fingers flew to the deadbolt, but in a second she was grabbed from behind. Her arms pinned back, she was lifted bodily into the air. Timothy had her in a steel grip, heading back up the stairs. “We got company, boss,” he said.