“But then no one knows that he killed Ned Healy.”
I pointed at the camera. “It's been recording the whole time. At least I think it has.” I grabbed it off the shelf and pushed a button. “It never shut off.” I breathed a relieved sigh as I hit a couple more buttons. Cal and I then watched as the video showed Dom standing in the dim room pointing a gun. Sometimes he moved out of the camera's eye, but it didn't matter. The audio was perfect, capturing his confession for all to hear. “It’s all recorded. Jack can take that to the police.”
“Will that work?”
“It’s the best we can do, given the circumstances.” I pursed my lips. “Unless we want to explain being here.”
Cal shook his head vigorously. “Oh no. And don’t use ‘we’ like that. This was your idea.”
“Okay, okay.” I held up a hand. “C’mon, we’d better get out of here.”
“It really is a shame,” Cal said sadly.
“What?”
“The Oscar.” Cal picked up the little gold statue from the floor. It was the one he’d used to hit Dom and me. It was missing its head and upper body, the edges of the remains jagged as broken glass. “I ruined a valuable piece of Hollywood memorabilia.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Huh?”
I took the damaged Oscar and turned it on its side. “This one is fake, just like the Barry Fitzgerald replica.” I pointed to the base of the statue. “Remember the description in the notes? How the base is made of marble, and looks like a reel of film? After 1928, the reel had five slots, for the five original branches of the Academy. It remained the same until the ’40’s when they added more slots to the reel. See this Oscar? It’s supposedly from 1936, so the base should have only five slots, but it has more slots than that. It’s a fake.”
“So that’s what you meant.”
I smiled. “There’s actually one more thing that tells me this Oscar is a fake.”
“And that would be?”
“Look at the inscription.”
“Luise Rainer. Best Supporting Actress, 1937,” Cal read. He looked up at me. “So?”
“Up until 1943, they gave supporting actors a plaque, not a statuette.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Can I mark that down?” I grinned. “Something Cal didn’t know.”
“Ha, ha. But why would Frank Gray have fake Oscars in his collection? Why not go after real ones?”
“Maybe it was another joke by his wife,” I said, and reminded Cal about the joke Gray’s wife had pulled on him. I made a mental note to ask Henri if he knew about a second fake Oscar. “And unless I miss the mark, that other Oscar on the shelf is real.”
Cal let out a whistle. “Wow. This guy had a truly amazing collection.”
“Think of all the stuff he already sold.”
“Who would’ve thought.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Once Cal and I let ourselves out of 210 Madison Avenue, we snuck back to the 4-Runner and called the police from a pay phone at a nearby gas station. Again, not very creative, but it did the trick. We waited a block down from the house until we saw a police cruiser stop and park out front. Cal, who made the call, had thoughtfully told the 911 operator that the back door of the house was unlocked, and when the officers made their way around to the back yard, we drove back to my place. I dropped Cal off at his car and parked the 4-Runner in the garage. I slowly made my way upstairs to my condo, popped a couple of aspirin to ward off the headache I had, and got ready for bed. The alarm clock read 3:10 when I finally slipped under the covers.
*****
The alarm on the nightstand in my bedroom buzzed at ten, but it seemed like my head had just hit the pillow. I didn’t even think I’d had time to make a dent in it.
I shut the alarm off, dragged myself into the bathroom and took a long cool shower. I gingerly washed my hair, the bump that Cal had given me throbbing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Once I’d dressed, I plodded into the kitchen and took a couple more aspirin, then prepared a strong batch of coffee.
While I waited for the java to brew I called Jack and asked him to meet me at my office at 12:30, which would give me just enough time to wake up. From the tone in his voice, I could tell Jack was puzzled that I wanted to meet on a Saturday, but he was agreeable.
Two cups of coffee, and then I donned sunglasses and headed outside. A dry heat indicated that the mercury was already high and climbing higher.
On the way to the office, I stopped for a bagel and munched on it as I downloaded the video I’d recorded in the sub-basement.
“…that you did, Mountain View Apartments, and he was the first buyer for this house,” I heard myself say. The quality of the recording was decent.
“Never heard of him. You know, you’re smarter than you look.” Dom said next. Then I heard Cal snorting at the comment. I remembered this part of the conversation – I had just asked Dom if he knew Garrett Owens.
I listened to the entire conversation, right up until Cal and I argued about whom he’d attempted to bean with the Oscar. The camera had shut off when I dropped to the floor after Cal hit me. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad the recording hadn’t stopped earlier. Dom’s confession sounded crystal clear.
Just at noon, Jack poked his head through the doorway.
“Right on time. Have a seat,” I waved him over. I finished typing an email and sent it before turning to Jack. “I’m just taking care of a few things here.”
“I hope this meeting means you have some news,” Jack said, settling into a seat across from my desk. He crossed one leg over the other, then ran a hand through his hair. His stark white shirt had circles of sweat under the armpits, but otherwise he looked crisp and clean.
I turned the computer monitor around so he could see it. “Listen to this.” I clicked on the video and pressed play. Hissing blared out of the speakers, then my voice.
“What’s this?” Jack said, staring at me.
“Hold on,” I shushed him.
Jack folded his arms and listened. At first he seemed irritated, but as the recording progressed, anger turned to disbelief. When Dom got around to how he had killed Ned, Jack bolted upright in the chair.
“The man talking to us is Dominic Saunders,” I said after the video finished. “This happened last night – well, this morning, early.”
“How did you get that?” Jack sputtered.
I explained the events of the last evening, concluding with how Cal and I didn’t want to face charges ourselves, so we’d left Dom in the basement and called the police anonymously.
“Incredible,” Jack said, shaking his head. “But you were the guy who didn’t want to break the law.”
I felt my cheeks getting hot. “And see what happened when I did. I boxed myself into a corner. I'll send you the video.”
“What do I do with this?”
“Show it to the police. It may not be sexy, but it’ll get the ball rolling.”
“And when they ask about the others on the tape? The voices with Dominic?”
I smiled. “You can tell them you don’t know.”
“Bend the law.” He raised his eyebrows. I fought off a bigger smile.
Jack smiled back, then his face clouded over. “What about the memorabilia?”
I shrugged. “Once the police get involved, I’m sure they’ll work with Gray’s daughter, Edna, and maybe an insurance company, to catalogue the collection. They’ll have to talk to Henri about what he sold, to see if they can recover any of it.” I pursed my lips. “Since the house was sold, there might be a fight between Edna and the new owners as to who owns the collection.”
“That could get interesting,” Jack said.
I glanced at the wall. “I may have to give The Maltese Falcon poster back.”
“That would be too bad,” Jack smiled ruefully. “I think you earned it.
“Thanks,” I said.
“The thanks goes to you. You found out the truth about Ned’s
death.” A weary sadness settled across Jack’s face. He again was the spitting image of Burt Lancaster in The Killers. “I knew I was right about Ned. I just wish it made me feel better.”
“I know,” I said.
He stood up and thanked me. We shook hands. Jack stared at the computer monitor, with Dom frozen on the screen. It was all the validation he needed, with none of the peace he wanted. He shrugged his shoulders, then left.
*****
Soon afterward, I headed to the hospital. Henri’s room was quiet, with only the sounds of voices speaking in French breaking through the other noises in a busy building. The good news was that Henri was awake.
“Oh, Reed,” Evaline beamed at me as I scooted up a chair and sat down next to her. Henri was propped up in bed, a stack of pillows behind his back.
“You look tired, eh?” Henri said.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I said. The three of us chatted for a few minutes about Henri’s health – improving dramatically, a few problems with his vision, but they expected to send him home soon; the weather – too hot for Evaline, but she would survive; and how much we all hated hospital food – especially the green Jell-O.
“Do you remember what happened? Who attacked you?” I asked the questions as soon as I could politely fit them in.
“I don’t remember,” Henri said, while Evaline shook her head dejectedly. “I was in the back office, working. Then I wake up here.” He seemed disappointed with himself.
“The doctors say a head injury can cause him not to remember,” Evaline explained.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m sure the police will find who did this to you.” I thought about the taped confession. I had no doubt they would learn the truth.
Evaline excused herself, ostensibly to use the restroom, but I think she knew I wanted to discuss business with Henri. “Henri,” I asked, “Do you remember why you called me the other day? When my cell phone wasn’t working.”
“Ah, yes. I wanted to tell you about the Oscar that man brought into the store. It was the fake one, just like Frank Gray’s wife gave him. I called that man about it. I wanted to know how he got it.” His face clouded. “Evaline tells me the Oscar was stolen from the shop.”
“I’m sure it’ll turn up.” I paused. “Was that fake Oscar the only one created? Couldn’t there be more of them?”
Henri smiled slyly. “Not like those.”
“Those?” I cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Ah. I told you Gray had one fake Oscar, yes?” He leaned toward me conspiratorially. “He had two. His wife asked my help in making another. She wanted to know which actor it should be for.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I suggested she have one made for Luise Rainer, best supporting actress in 1937.”
“Knowing there weren’t supporting actor statuettes back then.”
“I knew I couldn’t fool you.” Henri clapped his hands in delight. “And it didn’t fool Gray either. But he thought it was great fun, eh? Fake Oscars intermingled with his real Oscars. What a collection.”
Evaline came back in the room. “What is so funny?” she asked. Henri explained, laughing some more. As the saying goes, it was music to my ears.
After a bit more chatting, I stood up to leave. “Thank you for your help, Reed,” Henri said.
“My pleasure.”
Evaline looked at me with tears in her eyes. “You’re a good boy.” She patted my cheek.
“You take care of him,” I pretended to scold her.
“You must go, yes?” Henri said.
“I’ve got some other errands. When you’re back at the shop, you let me know, and I’ll stop by.”
Henri smiled weakly. “That’s good. We have a Bogart poster for you.”
“I can’t wait.” I gave Evaline's shoulder a squeeze, shook Henri’s scrawny hand, and left.
*****
When I returned home that evening, I made a call to Samantha Healy. She didn’t return my call until Monday morning. I arranged to meet her at a Starbucks near her house. I arrived early, ordered a drink, and waited.
Samantha strolled through the door like a queen coming to court. She slid her sunglasses off her face, tossed her hair back seductively, and surveyed the room, well aware of the many eyes that were on her. She looked comfortable in khaki shorts and a denim blouse tied in a knot at her waist, exposing her flat, tanned stomach. She spotted me at a small round table and strolled over.
“What’s this all about?” The legs of a chair screeched as she pulled it out and sat down across from me. More eyes turned our way. “Why’d you need to see me?”
“Coffee?” I asked, holding up my mocha.
She shook her head. “I really don’t have time for this.”
“But you came anyway. Must be my charm.”
“You threatened me,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table.
I sat back in mock horror. “I merely said I had some information about Dominic Saunders that you might like to know.”
At the name Samantha paled. “So you mentioned on the phone.” She spoke through a slit in her mouth.
I let a long moment hang between us, building the suspense. “It was you who broke into Ned’s house, after he died,” I said when the tension was just right.
Samantha’s jaw dropped. “What? How did… What are you talking about?” she stammered.
“You’re not a good liar.”
Her cheeks flushed red. She took a couple of deep breaths. “What makes you think I broke into Ned’s house? Why would I want to do that?”
“To get something that belonged to you.” I resisted a smile.
“How do you know about that?” A few people turned and looked our way.
“Unless you want your dirty laundry aired in public, I’d suggest you keep your voice down,” I said softly.
She scooted her chair closer. “Tell me!” she hissed, elbows planted halfway across the table.
“Remember when I came to the house?” She nodded. “You mentioned that Ned didn’t have much of anything in the house, just a stupid poster.”
“So?”
“You couldn’t have known about the poster unless you’d been in Ned’s house recently, because he’d just acquired it. That one statement has been eating at me, and then when Dominic told me about your little affair, it came together.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now she was really lying badly.
“You know Dominic. The electrical guy that Ned hired. You were all over him, at least that’s the way Dominic tells it. And he said that you were angry because Ned still had some things of yours.”
“My grandmother’s brooch. Ned still had it,” she said softly.
“And once he was dead, you could get it without any trouble.”
“Yes.”
“Did you also call the insurance company?”
Samantha’s face twisted into an ugly sort of mask. “You’ve done your research,” she said finally. “So what do you want?”
I sat back. “I only wanted to confirm that I was correct. I don’t plan on doing anything with the information, but I thought you might like to know that Dominic killed Ned.”
“What?” For the first time Samantha was something other than self-absorbed or angry. “Why?”
“I can’t reveal that, but you could call Jack.”
Samantha stared at me, saying nothing. Then she slumped back in her chair, deflated. “When we divorced, I couldn’t stand Ned,” she whispered. “But I never wanted him to die.”
I gazed back at her. She seemed like a lost puppy, and I actually came close to feeling sorry for her.
I tossed off the last of my mocha latte and stood up. “I hope you find what you’re really looking for,” I said and walked away. I could feel her eyes boring into my back as I walked out the door.
*****
She looked so different I hardly recognized her. The spiked hair was gone, as was the black makeup, except for a bit of mascara around t
he eyes. She wore white shorts, a blue blouse, and sandals. Even her posture seemed more cultured.
Erin Abel strolled to a table in the corner and sat down, her book bag thumping loudly as it hit an empty chair near her. She hadn’t noticed me sitting off in a corner, watching her come in.
I stood up and made my way through the maze of tables, stopping in front of her. She had her nose in a book. I cleared my throat and she glanced up.
“Oh, the asshole,” she said, her voice flat and unimaginative.
“That’s right,” I said.
“What do you want?”
“May I sit down?”
Erin narrowed her eyes, staring me down. I held the gaze until she finally used her foot under the table to shove an empty chair backwards. I sat down across from her and folded my hands in front of me.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she spat.
“I owe you an apology,” I said.
“Damn straight you do,” she threw back at me.
“I shouldn’t have lied to you,” I continued. “But I’d like to make it up to you.”
Erin sat up in her chair, wary. “How?”
I pulled a note from my pocket and set it in front of her. She stared at the paper for a second, then stretched her hand out and took it cautiously, as if it might burn her.
“Who’s this?” she asked after reading it.
“He’s a producer. Mostly commercials, but he’s done a few documentaries. He’s a friend of mine. I called him earlier today and asked him if he would have any work for a newcomer.”
“He owes you one,” Erin said bluntly.
I nodded. “Yeah, but he’s a good guy. He said he could use some extra help, behind the cameras to start, but maybe more later. It’s worth giving him a call.”
Erin gazed at the paper, crinkling the edges with her thumb and forefinger. I was about to get up and leave when she spoke again. “Why are you doing this?”
“I owe you one,” I said. “I shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up the way I did.” I pushed my chair back and got up. “I hope you make it big.”
For the first time, she smiled, and her face was radiant. Well worth the price of admission. I told her so.
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