Claws for Alarm

by T. C. LoTempio

  I wondered briefly if that was what was going on here. Was the Wilson Galleries a front for drug money, or arms dealings? Either would fall under Daniel’s jurisdiction. Another thought struck me at the same time. Was it possible Pitt had discovered something besides a forgery? And could that have contributed to his death?

  Samms’s voice broke into my thoughts. “So, Nora, we had this place locked up tight. How did you two get in? Did you bribe the landlord? Or have you added walking through walls to your list of talents?”

  Ollie opened his mouth to speak, but I clamped my hand down on his arm and squeezed hard. “I have many talents,” I said in a purring tone. “You two are the hotshot detective and FBI agent. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

  The two of them exchanged a look, and then Samms scratched behind one ear. “I guess I can add B and E to the list of charges you’re racking up. Getting you into a cell seems to be the best way to keep your nose out of police business.”

  Daniel crossed over to stand in front of me. “Nora might be a trifle overzealous, shall we say? But past experience has proven she is good at ferreting out clues. As much as I hate to admit it, we’d probably learn more working together.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “That seems a rather abrupt change of heart.”

  He shrugged. “Not really. And I do know you have a tendency to do just the opposite of what you’re told, so your appearance here isn’t all that much of a shock to me. So tell me: Why did the two of you come here? What is it you were hoping to find?”

  I clasped my hands together in my lap. “I can tell you what I didn’t think I’d find—a badge identifying Julia as an FBI agent. And certainly not that gun.”

  “Gun?” the two of them said in perfect unison. I got up and went to the closet, picked up the shoe box, and handed it to Daniel without a word. He opened it, looked inside, then closed the box and nodded to Samms.

  “It’s the gun all right. It fits the description.”

  “So it’s not her gun?” I asked, and got two black looks for my trouble.

  “No,” Daniel said quietly. “It’s not. This gun is evidence in a murder.”

  “Well, it can’t be evidence in Pitt’s murder. That would be the knife that conveniently only had my sister’s prints on its handle. And this can’t be evidence in Julia’s because a) she was strangled and b) it would be impossible for her to be hiding her own murder weapon. Ergo, this gun somehow relates to your case, doesn’t it, Daniel?”

  “You don’t need to know that,” Samms began, but Daniel held up his hand. Thank God, because I was getting ready to tell Samms what he could do with his “need to know” mantra.

  “Yes, it does.” His eyes met mine, held. “I have a feeling, Nora, you’ve found out some things we should know. Like I said, we’d get further along pooling our resources. How about it? Want to share information?”

  Samms let out a groan and rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Oh, for the love of—”

  “Sounds reasonable to me.” I interrupted Samms before he could continue his rant, tossing him a saucy grin. “Go ahead. Share. Whose murder is the gun evidence in?”

  “Uh-uh.” Daniel wagged his finger. “I’m perfectly willing to the concept of share and share alike, but ladies first. Tell us what you were looking for in Julia’s things.”

  I looked from one to the other and, figuring they weren’t going to cave any more, said, “Fine, we’ll go first. Ollie and I came here looking for a leather pouch.”

  Samms and Daniel exchanged glances. “A pouch?” Samms asked.

  I nodded. “When I visited Lacey at the jail, she said this girl Jenna Whitt had accused her of taking a leather pouch. Lacey said she seemed very anxious to retrieve it. Lacey mentioned she’d seen Julia with a pouch that looked similar, so I thought it was worth a look. There had to be something in it Jenna wanted back, and I thought maybe . . . it might have been drugs. Tranquilizers, specifically.”

  “Tranqs, huh? What made you think of that?” Samms asked.

  “Because it occurred to me that a man of Pitt’s size and strength would never have willingly succumbed to an attack upon his person unless he wasn’t able to, of course. Lacey said that when she approached the body, the first thing that hit her was the smell of wine, so I thought perhaps someone might have drugged it. Someone who was familiar with Pitt’s ritual of imbibing in the evening.”

  “Good reasoning,” Samms said, “and really quite nice of you to try and lend a helping hand; however, yours wasn’t the only brilliant mind thinking along those lines. I had the decanter tested right away. It came up clean. There was only wine in it, nothing else.”

  “Damn,” I swore softly. “What about the body? Any traces of tranquilizers, any needle marks?”

  “I’m still waiting on the toxicology report, but I’m betting no. And it’s a no to needle marks on the body.”

  I tapped my finger against my lips. “That doesn’t make sense. Even if Pitt knew his attacker, he was a strong man. He should have been able to put up some sort of fight, yet there were no signs of a struggle. Being drugged makes sense. It would have made him unable to fend off an attacker.”

  “The DA might argue the point that rendering him helpless might not have been necessary if his attacker was a pretty blonde intent on improving her grade by using her feminine charms.”

  Samms’s eyes narrowed. “I also got a tip from Lacey’s lawyer regarding parking tickets. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?” He didn’t wait for me to answer and rushed on. “There was one issued to Mrs. Pitt’s vehicle; however, she denies taking her car to the scene of the crime.”

  I couldn’t help my sneer of satisfaction. “Of course she does, because she didn’t. It was Taft Michaels. He confessed that to me, just about an hour ago.”

  Samms rolled his eyes. “And that you don’t call and tell me?”

  I ignored his sarcastic comment and focused on Daniel. “He works at a pub, the Sip ’n Slip. He was working Sunday night, so he’s got an alibi for Julia’s murder. He’s also got witnesses who can testify he had nothing to do with Pitt’s murder, even though he was in the building.”

  Daniel frowned. “The man has lied before. Why should we believe him?”

  “I realize his track record isn’t the greatest, but I did believe him. He’s a pompous, arrogant ass, but I really don’t think he’s our killer. A cheater, definitely, a forger, maybe, but not a killer.”

  “Julia suspected Taft might be involved with the forgeries,” Daniel said. “She was going to try and persuade him to confess. She’d gotten permission to promise him immunity.”

  “Hm. That would explain his remark about her death changing everything, wouldn’t it? He was upset, though. I could tell. He’s confused, unsure of what to do. Maybe if more pressure were put on him . . .”

  Daniel flicked a glance at Samms. “Have someone go to that pub and haul Michaels in for questioning if he hasn’t already skipped.”

  “If he has, we know who to thank,” said Samms, leveling me with a hard stare.

  “Me?” I jumped off the edge of the bed. “It’s because of my probing he’s in the mood he’s in. You should be thanking me, not glaring at me.”

  “It’s because he’s in that particular mood he’s also susceptible to running off, too. Then we’ll really be in a pickle,” Samms shot back.

  “Be fair. How in heck was I to know he was under suspicion?” I got my face right up in his, my eyebrows drawn together. “Had I known, I might not have said what I did, but, of course, I wasn’t on that elite need to know basis.”

  “You haven’t changed at all, have you?” Samms hissed. “Still the same stubborn, opinionated . . .”

  “Look who’s talking!”

  Daniel stepped in between us. “Your sniping at each other isn’t accomplishing anything here,” he began, but I whirled on him, eyes flash
ing, and jabbed the air under his nose with my finger.

  “Okay, I kept my end. I shared. Now it’s your turn. Whose murder do you suspect that gun was used in?”

  “No one local. Of course, I won’t be entirely sure this is the gun used until I’ve turned the gun over to FBI ballistics, but it matches the description we’ve gotten from several witnesses.”

  I folded my arms and glared at him. “You said it yourself: Art forgery isn’t your area. So for you to be involved, it’s got to be something else, something much bigger. What is it—contraband, drugs?” I gulped. “The mob?”

  Daniel gave me a good hard look, then cleared his throat. “Are you familiar with the term ‘bling ring’?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Hollywood Hills Burglar Bunch aside, they’re usually organized jewel thieves from South American countries like Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru.”

  “Right. They’re so well established we’ve given them a name: South American Theft Groups. About four months ago, one of these groups engineered a heist in France. A security guard was killed. They made off with over a quarter million dollars’ worth of gems.”

  A low whistle involuntarily escaped my lips. “So that’s where the gun comes in? You think this is the one used in that robbery? That’s what you’re hoping a ballistics test will prove?”

  He nodded. “We’ve managed to track down some of the bling ring, and finally we got a clue as to where the remainder was. The gang has a contact here in the States. They’ve been shipping the booty here to be disposed of, and the money wired into an offshore account.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “You think the gallery’s involved in—”

  “Smuggling,” Daniel nodded. “Valuable gemstones; specifically, diamonds. Julia thought she’d finally figured out how they had the gems smuggled in, and how they got them to their purchasers. She thought it might have something to do with the forged paintings.”

  “You mean they created the forgeries in order to smuggle the gems? Is that even possible? I mean, how can you hide gems inside a painting? Unless maybe the frame?”

  “They could be secreted in the backing. There have also been cases where the gems were actually covered in oils and embedded in the paintings. It requires a great deal of skill to camouflage them, but it can be done.”

  “Wow.” My eyes widened as a sudden thought occurred to me. “Do you think it could be possible Pitt found diamonds in one of his paintings? Maybe that’s the reason he was killed! His wife said he called the gallery the morning of his murder, and she heard him complaining about a flaw. Most likely he was talking about his painting being a forgery, but what if the person he told this to thought he meant something else, like maybe he’d discovered diamonds?”

  “It’s possible,” Daniel admitted.

  “Maybe you should take a closer look at those other paintings in his office,” I cried, grabbing Ollie’s arm. “Maybe we should go there now and—”

  Daniel held up his hand. “Hold on. The two of you aren’t going anywhere, Nora.”

  I whirled to face him. “What? But you said we were going to share information. That we were going to work together.”

  “No,” he said firmly, “I said that you might have found out some things we needed to know, and I proposed we share our information. I never said we were going to work together to solve this case.”

  “That’s true,” Ollie agreed. “He never said—OW!” He yelped as my elbow made sharp contact with his rib cage.

  My eyes narrowed. “That’s not playing fair. You lied to me. Finding the answer to these murders is the only way to free Lacey, and you know it.”

  He leaned over, tucked his thumb under my chin, and raised my face to his. “These people play for keeps, Nora. Samms is right. You’re very intuitive, but you’re not a trained investigator.”

  “Ollie is,” I said, squeezing his arm again and ignoring the black look he bestowed on me.

  “I’m aware of Oliver J. Sampson’s reputation. He specializes in missing persons, finding stray animals, taking photos of philandering husbands. An investigation like this is out of his league, and it’s out of yours. Do you think I want to see you end up like Julia?”

  “I only had one stray animal case,” Ollie mumbled. “And the rabbit came home by himself.”

  I ignored his whining and turned to Daniel. “No,” I grumbled. “I don’t want me to end up like Julia, either.”

  Daniel patted my arm. “Good. Now, why don’t you take Ollie back to his office and return to Cruz. I’m sure Chantal will be glad to turn the reins of the sandwich shop back to you.”

  “Chantal is fine,” I spat. “And my business won’t suffer too much. There’s still the little matter of Lacey coming up for trial for a murder she didn’t commit, remember? If we can’t get a confession out of someone, Lacey’s sure to get convicted on that circumstantial evidence.”

  “I do remember, and you have my word I’m going to do everything I can to find out what Julia discovered and bring Pitt’s real murderer to justice. Honest, the best thing you can do is go back home and let us handle things.”

  “I was planning on staying with my aunt. In case you haven’t heard, Lacey’s trial has been moved up. I—I need to be here.”

  Daniel nodded. “I can appreciate that. We’ll take you to your aunt’s and take Ollie back to his office.”

  “I’ve got my own car, thanks.”

  “I’ll take advantage of your offer for a lift, though,” Ollie spoke up. “I do have some urgent matters at the office I should attend to.”

  “Great. One of Samms’s men will take you back. I’ll follow Nora to her aunt’s.” He wagged his finger under my nose. “Give me your word you won’t do something stupid, or do I need to assign a bodyguard to you?”

  “That’s not necessary. I promise to behave. Scout’s honor.” I’d never been a Girl Scout, but what the hey. What Daniel or Samms didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

  Daniel, however, was not so easily deterred. “Let me see your hands.”

  I held them out in front of me. “I promise. See? Nothing’s crossed. Do you want me to take my shoes off, too?”

  He looked down at my narrow-toed heels and chuckled. “Not necessary. I’ll take you at your word. Let’s go.”

  We were halfway out the door when Daniel paused. “Oh, and I do have news for you on another matter. You remember you asked if I could find out anything on Bronson A. Pichard?”

  My head snapped up. “Really? You located him? Where is he?”

  “It wasn’t easy, but you can find him at Greenlawn Heights, in Los Angeles.”

  “Greenlawn Heights?” I frowned. The name seemed familiar, and not in a good way. Even as I asked the question, I got a creepy-crawly, shivery sensation all along my spine, as if I knew what his answer would be. “What’s that, some sort of exclusive residential complex?”

  He shook his head. “Of sorts. It’s a cemetery. Bronson A. Pichard is dead.”

  TWENTY

  Daniel and Samms walked me down to my SUV, one on each side of me, pressed against me so tight I felt like the filling in one of my sandwiches. I might have actually enjoyed it if the two of them didn’t look like they thought I might bolt at any given moment. Once out on the sidewalk, Samms walked Ollie over to a nearby patrol car. I walked right over to my SUV and got in, aware of Daniel’s watchful gaze on me as I buckled my seat belt.

  “You know, you don’t have to treat me like public enemy number one,” I said, gripping the wheel with both hands. “I promised to drop investigating, didn’t I? Nothing was crossed, remember? Or would you like me to pinky swear?”

  “Not necessary. It’s not that I don’t trust you to keep your word,” Daniel said. “But you know as well as I your zeal for solving puzzles often overshadows your better judgment. Or have you forgotten you were on the receiving end of a .45 recently?”


  “Hard to forget that, when people love to keep reminding me,” I muttered. “You’ve made your point. But before we go, tell me what you found out about Pichard, and how he died.”

  He looked at me for a long moment before he answered. “He’d been living abroad the past year. France, specifically. He died about three months ago, in a train wreck. His body was crushed between two cars. They identified him from the dental records.”

  I shut my eyes. “Not a pretty way to die.” Another question burned on my lips, but I hesitated. Finally, I blurted out, “Was it an accident or not?”

  “It was ruled an accidental death, but my contact told me they have their suspicions. Pichard wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen in any country. He was suspected of selling copies of antique originals here. Nothing was ever proven and no criminal charges were ever filed against him, but the police started watching him more closely, particularly after his wife divorced him and he ended up practically penniless. When he couldn’t make a go of anything here in the States, he took off across the pond. And while they couldn’t find any reports on any shady dealings in Europe, the people he hung around with were . . . questionable at best.”

  I scratched absently at my ear. “Well, if he’s dead, I guess he didn’t have anything to do with Nick Atkins’s disappearance. Too bad. I thought he was a really good lead.”

  “He might have been,” Daniel said. He reached out, grabbed my hand. “Look, I’m sorry about before. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I know you are, but I’m a big girl, Daniel. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can.”