She stole a glimpse in Gerty’s direction then opened the desk drawers one after another. The first one was where he kept his gun. It was lined with a soft felt cloth. A partition midway in the drawer separated the space into a second compartment with ammunition and nothing else. The lock was substantial.
In the next drawer she found a pile of small spiral-bound notebooks. She took a couple of them out and flipped through them. Case notes, she realized, in an abbreviated code probably only known to Mitch. The only identifying information was the occasional date or a name. One of them was simply a list of times going on page after page.
There wasn’t much of interest in the other drawers until she came to the bottom one. Inside she found envelopes addressed by hand to Mitch, many with foreign return addresses. At the bottom of the drawer was a photograph of a man in full dress military uniform. It was the image of Mitch but the age and sepia tones of it suggested otherwise. She studied it until a clerk came walking through the row of desks with papers in her hand. Julia slipped the photograph back in place and closed the drawer.
Two other deputies worked at their desks as did Gerty. Otherwise the room was quiet. Julia glanced around to ensure no one was paying her any particular attention and she booted up Mitch’s computer. There was probably a long list of regulations prohibiting a civilian from accessing the Marshals’ network but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to see what their evidence was.
The computer was password protected. Julia sat back in the chair and thought a minute then she opened the middle drawer of the desk and rooted around in the clutter of paper clips, extra staples, pens, pencils, and rubber bands until she found a computer tech’s card. She turned it over, typed in the numbers and letters written on the back, and watched as Mitch’s computer screen came to life. Men, she thought. What she saw as it booted up was an image of herself standing on the sidewalk, a glimpse of Viktor Letov’s damaged car barely visible in the foreground.
It was what she saw in her expression in the photo that stilled her fingers from moving past the image. She stared straight into the camera, her lips slightly parted, one hand capturing a wisp of hair back from her face. It was as if she’d been caught in a moment of revelation. Perhaps awareness was a better word. She wondered what Mitch saw when he looked at it.
She shook off the feeling of being exposed and began to scroll through the photographs. There were quite a few of them, starting with the damaged car, her house from different angles, numerous shots of Viktor Letov at different locations. Toward the end of the file were shots of the warehouse on the docks, the shipping container where she had been imprisoned, and the last one, a photo of the yellow legal pad sheet she had been doodling on the previous day.
“Huh.” What about her doodling had been interesting enough for Mitch to photograph it? She lifted her briefcase onto the desk and took out all the files on the three cases. After staring at the page for several minutes, Julia realized there was no message there to discern. Half the equation had been resolved with the arrest of Viktor Letov. How much of the Youngblood jewelry would be recovered remained to be seen. She scratched through the left side of the diagram, marking out the jewelry. Then she drew a line through Peter Ryder’s name. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind that the body in the morgue would prove to be Peter.
What she was left with was the Weatherby Insurance Agency. She turned to a fresh page and listed the agency on one side at the top. Beneath that she started adding anything and anyone associated with the agency. Mr. Weatherby didn’t seem like a suspect for murder but she included him anyway. Also on the list were Sandra, Debbie, Viktor, Chappie, Mr. and Mrs. Peltier, Reginald Horchow and Tallulah Youngblood. Fechin, King Christian IX, Valentin Serov, Rolex, and jewelry comprised a sub list.
On the opposite side of the page she made the heading Russian / Russian Art. Beneath this she listed Fechin, King Christian IX, and Valentine Serov. She was making a sub list of people with a connection to this category, starting with Viktor Letov, when Mitch strolled into the office, stopped beside her, and read over her shoulder.
“What thing is not like the other?”
“Something like that.” She threw the pen onto the pad and sat back in the chair. “Was it Ryder?”
Mitch nodded. “Dental records proved our worst fears.”
“Two people dead. That is so awful. And all for art.”
“Art may be the ultimate goal but greed is the catalyst. We just need to find who would most benefit financially from the sale of these items.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“Let’s start with your list.” He gestured toward his desk chair and she stood and stepped aside. Mitch moved the mouse and the computer screen sprang to life. He looked up at her. “Naughty girl.”
“I was bored. Besides, leaving your password on the back of the tech’s business card in plain sight isn’t the most secure way to protect your computer.”
“In plain sight?”
“Pretty much.”
“Uh huh.”
Julia pulled the visitor chair around and sat beside Mitch as he instigated a search of the people on her list. All kinds of institutions began popping up from banks to the IRS. “You can do that? Don’t you have to prove cause or something?”
“This is just preliminary stuff. You’d be surprised what records you can access if you know the right key strokes.” He opened a separate screen while those searches were running and showed her a list of files already reviewed by his staff since the beginning of the investigation. It was an impressive list from phone records and social media to property holdings.
On the face of it Chappie and the Peltiers looked like the financially sound and upstanding citizens they claimed to be. Reginald Horchow’s file was slim but it didn’t suggest anything suspicious. Tallulah Youngblood had more money than God. If Mitch’s hypothesis was correct, then none of these people were suspect from a financial viewpoint. But could they be involved because of the other side of the coin: art for its own sake.
Mitch sat back in his chair and studied Julia’s list. “Letov is the only Russian listed.”
“He’s the only Russian involved to my knowledge unless you count his step-sister, Renee Slovaska.”
“You listed Trip Youngblood.”
“His Russian painting was stolen. The Peltiers are listed for the same reason.”
“Why isn’t Tallulah Youngblood on the list?”
“I wasn’t finished, but I don’t think she fits. I’m not sure who in the family will inherit Trip’s estate but if she wanted it, she could have worked out the possession of the Serov with the family.” Julia let her gaze run down the list. “Besides, it wasn’t a real quality piece. Tallullah has a bit of her grandmother in her. She only wants the best.”
“Who’s her grandmother?”
“Aloyis Mercer Youngblood.”
“You’re an incestuous lot around here, aren’t you?”
“Well, she really isn’t a Mercer. She married one but there were no kids from that marriage. She also married a Higgs and finally a Youngblood.”
“Earned her money the old fashioned way, did she?”
“No. Higgs was the first husband. She married him for love, they say, and he married her for her money. The others were all about sleeping with the company you plan to keep and producing an heir.”
“Uh huh.”
Julia could have bitten her tongue off. What made her say such a thing? There were times when Aunt Ethel just popped out of her mouth. She was glad Mitch continued to stare at the list because she could feel the heat in her face. There was no way to retrench from her faux pas so she decided the only way out was forward. “Tallulah and her brother are the children of Aloyis’ only child.”
“And which Youngblood would that be?”
“Satch. Trip’s uncle.”
“Satch? What kind of name is that?”
“Satchell is a name from Aloyis’ side of the family.”
“O
f course it is. I suppose there was money there as well.”
“Tons.”
“So now Tallulah has it all?”
“No. As Trip said, there are Youngbloods all over Georgia and along the east coast. But Satch and Aloyis were at the top of the heap of their generation as far as money went. I imagine most of Trip’s wealth will go to Tallulah and her brother but there’ll probably be some smaller bequests to other members of the extended family. Trip never married.”
“How do you keep all this stuff in your head?”
Julia shrugged. “The port of Savannah may be the fourth largest container seaport in the U. S. but the city itself is a small town at heart, regardless of the population. At its core are people who have known each other for generations. It doesn’t seem complicated to me but I suppose it is something of a tangle for others.”
“I guess you’ll have to be my genealogy source for this maze. Right now it doesn’t look like there’s much of the immediate family left.”
“No.” Julia was quiet as the memory of Trip’s body lying face down on the carpet of his library popped into her head as vivid as if it had just happened. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and opened them. “Tallulah hasn’t lived here, or even in the states, for at least a decade.”
“What about the brother? What’s his name?”
“Satchell.”
“Junior?”
“The fourth.”
“Christ.”
“Just be glad you’re not having this conversation with Chappie. He can tell you about both sides of the sheets, whether true or not.”
Mitch let his gaze wander to the window on the far side of the room. Julia watched him as he did his mental walkabout. It was as if he became a little more distant with each word out of her mouth. The chasm between their worlds grew larger with each tidbit of knowledge. She wanted to shake him and shout that this was not her but she knew in her heart the lady doth protest too much.
Finally, he stirred, glanced at her as if just remembering she was there and rose to his feet. “I think we need to pay Chappie another visit.”
* * *
Chappie opened the door, a highball glass in one hand, and a decidedly unhappy look on his face. “Come in, come in.” He gestured as if he no longer had control over the vortex of events swirling around him. “The rest of your crew has already been and gone. Why don’t I just give you a key? Huh? Save us all a lot of trouble.”
“Sorry about the inconvenience, Mr. Chapman, but your butler has been missing for two days. With your car, I might add.”
“I’ve told you, Deputy, Adoni does this on occasion. He finds living in a sleepy little place like Savannah a bit of a bore. He’s accustomed to the more stimulating life of the European jet set.”
They went into the morning parlor and he waved them toward the sofa. He lifted his glass in invitation but Mitch shook his head. “A little early for me.”
“A little early for me too, if you must know, but all these histrionics about Adoni’s whereabouts, the myriad loose ends for the exhibition, and that useless woman at the insurance agency would make a saint turn to drink.” He had been pacing about the room as he spoke but after a gulp of his drink at the end of this diatribe, he sank into an armchair. “He couldn’t have gone catting at a worse time.” He sighed. “I blame it on Tallulah. He was part of her entourage in Milan and Paris. Her visit stirred all this up. Nothing more.”
The look in Chappie’s eyes belied his words. Mitch could see that he had doubts about the disappearance of his protégé. Did he fear Adoni had returned to his former life, or was there something else that made him so restless?
“Tell me about Aloyis Mercer.”
The question, so out of the blue as it was, caused both Chappie and Julia to turn to him in unison.
Chappie sat up straighter, a spark in his eyes. “Aloyis Mercer Youngblood.” He placed the highball glass on the side table. “Well, now Deputy, that is a story. One of our more flamboyant citizens if you discount Mame. She was married three times. Scandalous in and of itself for her time. The divorce from Higgs was the catapult that secured her reputation. Savannah is a southern town, after all.” He crossed his legs and settled more comfortably in his chair. “What is it you wish to know, precisely?”
“I’m not sure. You mentioned her the other day and the name stuck in my head.”
“Did I?”
“Something about art.”
“Ah. Now I remember.” He swung his leg back and forth and watched Mitch, a hint of a smile playing around his lips, a knowing look on his face. “Well, where to begin. Aloyis wanted badly to redeem herself in the eyes of the hoity toity of her set. She decided that if she became a great connoisseur of art her behavior would transcend into that realm of the eccentric.” He smiled at Julia. “But of course, she was no Mame, was she?”
“How did she go about this transformation?” Mitch asked.
“She married Mercer after the debacle with Higgs. She thought an attachment to such a cornerstone of Savannah society would do the trick. But she was impatient and when she was still being snubbed by polite society, she left her husband manning the home fires and went to Paris to hang out with the artistic set there. She followed in the footpath of other American ex-pats.
She lived on the Left Bank near Luxenbourg Gardens but she never quite made it into the coveted circle of Gertrude Stein. What allowed her into this lifestyle at all was her money. She had money, lots of money, so ex-patriots from all over the continent curried favor with her. She chose art over the literary world. Perhaps so as not to compete with Stein, as if she could.”
“What does this have to do with anything?” Julia looked from Chappie to Mitch.
Chappie smiled. “Russian art. Am I right, Deputy?”
“It did occur to me when I was looking at your list, Julia. Why Russian art and why Savannah? What was the connection?” He smiled at her. “And after the genealogy lesson, I realized we needed to go back to the beginning. That would appear to be Aloyis Higgs Mercer Youngblood.”
“She’s been dead for nearly twenty years.” Julia frowned. “How is that relevant?”
“She left her imprint on Savannah, and according to Chappie, on art. It occurred to me that perhaps she had a penchant for Russian art.”
“Well, well, Deputy. Aren’t you the shiny penny.” Chappie took a sip of his bourbon. “Russian art was near and dear to her heart. She donated a large part of her collection to the Louvre. There are even a few pieces in the Telfair Museum as well as several little boutique museums here and abroad.”
“I see the thread, but don’t see how it connects to the missing art we’re looking for. Her collection was all over the place from realism to cubist. The stolen pieces tie together because of their historic period.”
“And who, in Savannah, would know, from among all the Russian art in the area, where to find what the thieves were looking for? What was here, what was in the pipeline?” Mitch stood and retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket. “And how better to steal a valuable piece of art than when it was in transit, before it was under lock and key and tightly monitored.”
Chappie and Julia spoke in unison, “Rocco.”
“Aloyis Mercer Youngblood’s protégé.” Mitch stood staring at his phone. “Her word lifted him from the world of junk dealer to an authority on art. My guess would be that his discovery was of a Russian artist.”
“Kazimir Malevich. One of the pioneers of geometric abstract art. He called his work suprematism. It was a huge innovation in art.” Julia couldn’t believe she had missed the connection. She was on the case because of her art background and yet she had missed the most glaring piece of evidence.
Mitch did a quick search on his phone then looked up at Chappie. “You’re right. The back-of-the-hand stuff is more enlightening.” He extended his hand to Julia and they left Chappie happily ensconced in his chair, sipping his bourbon.
* * *
Rocco Sullivan’s shop on
Bull Street had that understated look that made the run of the mill tourist shy away from its door. There were no trinkets to be found within, no postcards to send home, and definitely no tee shirts or coffee mugs.
When Mitch and Julia entered the shop, a faint chime resounded through the space. Rocco Sullivan appeared from the rear of the establishment, impeccably dressed in a Savile Row suit. Mitch doubted there was a casual Friday dress code.
Rocco paused a beat when he saw them. Then he came forward. “Julia. How are you?”
“Hello, Rocco.”
He glanced at Mitch and gave a little grunt. “I don’t suppose you’re here to shop so what can I do for you?”
Mitch let Julia take the lead. He felt it would be less threatening. But, then, maybe not. She had discovered a fraud among Rocco’s dealings.
“I thought you could help.” Julia said. “We’re stumped as to what triggered a rash of art thefts in Savannah. It’s not exactly the mecca of world class art, after all.”
Rocco gestured with his hand for them to precede him toward the rear of the shop. In a back corner was an elegant sitting area arranged comfortably with what Mitch suspected was high end antiques. He waited until Julia and Rocco were seated before taking a chair that created a triangle of the three of them.
Mitch let the silence draw out. Rocco seemed unperturbed by it. Finally Julia spoke. “You’re aware of the Fechin theft?”
“Certainly. It was in the news for weeks.”
“Then an exhibit of clothing belonging to King Christian IX went missing.”
“I’ve heard rumors. Chappie has been adept at keeping it under wraps but word gets out.”
“And has word gotten out about Trip’s painting of Peter the First by Serov?” Julia asked.
Rocco crossed his legs and adjusted the crease in his trousers. “Does this have anything to do with his death?”
“With his murder.” Mitch leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, and waited.
“I don’t see how I can help you. It’s true I went to Trip’s house the night he died. I was there at his insistence. He was very much alive when I left. There’s no way I can prove it but it’s the truth.”
A Box Full of Trouble Page 36