It Takes An Artist

by Edward Kendrick

"Okay. I won't," Trev told him. "But…how do I get what I'm taking moved? And John's stu…things to UPS."

  "You call UPS and they'll pick it up, dork."

  Trev smacked his head. "Yeah. Jeez. And rent a truck. But I still need boxes."

  "We'll figure that out tomorrow. Right now…coffee." Zack took two cups from the cupboard and filled them, handing one to Trev. "Did you take your pills?"

  "Yes, doctor," Trev replied with a smirk. "When I got back. How much longer do I have to do that?"

  "Until the bottles are empty."

  "If that's the criteria, I can just dump the rest down the toilet."

  Zack shook his head. "Until you've taken all the pills."

  "Figured that's what you meant. Want to watch some mindless TV? It might be my last chance for a while." Trev took his cup into the living room, flopping down on the sofa. Picking up the remote, he turned the TV on and began scrolling through the channels.

  "Not that one," Zack said when Trev stopped. "I live it every day. I do not want to watch how they butcher reality."

  Trev continued scrolling, and they eventually settled on a sitcom that they both could tolerate.

  When it was over, Zack set his coffee cup down, announcing that it was time for both of them to get some sleep.

  Dismayed, Trev said, "Can't you stay a little longer? You don't have to work tomorrow."

  "Oh yeah? In case you forgot, we're both going to be busting our asses once you sign the lease on your new place. I'll be here by eight to take you over there to do that. Then we'll pick up some boxes…"

  "On your bike?" Trev broke in to ask.

  "Nope. I have a friend who owns a truck. I think I can get him to loan it to me for the day, while he's working. If not, we'll do what you said earlier and rent one."

  "Okay. I can swing that. Remind me in the morning to call Quint. I don't want his men watching an empty apartment."

  Zack chuckled. "I think they'll figure out you're moving when they see us loading the truck."

  "Yeah. True. Still…"

  "I'll remind you. I promise." Zack stood, going to the door. "I'll call before I come over."

  Trev nodded, joining him. "I'll even answer, if I'm awake."

  Zack studied him. Then he asked, "Are you okay now?"

  "I am. Pretty much. I'll be better once I'm in the new place, where I don't have memories."

  "Then let's hope we can get you totally moved tomorrow." Zack started to lift his arm and for a second, Trev thought he was going to hug him again. Then Zack turned, unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. "See you in the morning."

  "Bright and too early."

  "Late, for me." Zack grinned. "I expect coffee, you know."

  "I'll make some. I promise."

  "Night, Trev."

  "Night," Trev said quietly before Zack walked away. "Sleep well."

  "I will," Zack called back over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "You're what?" Quint asked, nestling the phone between his shoulder and ear as he turned the page on the murder file for John Pierce.

  "I'm moving. I signed the lease an hour ago. Zack managed to get a friend to loan him his truck, and now we're packing everything I'm taking with me, plus the things I'm sending to John's parents."

  "I wish you'd told me sooner, so I could get new surveillance set up, not that I expect them to come after you at this point. If they were going to, they'd have done it already."

  "Then why keep someone watching me?"

  "Just to be on the safe side, at least until you're moved in and we know no one's interested. My men haven't spotted anyone around your place, but I'm not taking any chances."

  "I think it's stupid, but sure. Go for it."

  "Thanks," Quint said sarcastically. "Give me your new address, please."

  Trev did, then Quint ended the call, muttering, "Kids."

  "Whose kids?" Lieutenant Harber asked, coming over to Quint's desk.

  "Nobody's. Well, I suppose he's someone's kid. What's up?"

  "I just had an interesting phone call. It seems your John Pierce was working undercover for Gideon Monahan."

  "And he is?"

  "He specializes in recovering stolen art."

  "How did you find this out?"

  "Monahan's been out of the country. When he came back, he tried to contact Pierce through their usual channels. When he couldn't, he got worried and called Pierce's father, claiming to be an old school friend of his son's, trying to get in touch with Pierce. He found out about the murder and called here, asking to talk to whoever was in charge of the case. Since you were on the phone, dispatch forwarded the call to me."

  "Did Monahan know anything that we can use?" Quint asked.

  "Not much, unfortunately. According to him, there have been rumors that Carter was part of a theft ring, but so far no one has been able to prove it. Pierce was able to get hired at the advertising agency, giving him the in they needed."

  "Since Pierce was murdered, I'd say he found some sort of proof."

  Harber nodded. "Monahan said Pierce was beginning to put things together but had nothing concrete yet. That was just before Monahan left the country. He had one message from Pierce while he was gone, saying he'd connected Mr Reed, the gallery owner, to Mr Alberts' appraisal firm. Unfortunately, as Monahan pointed out, there's nothing strange about that, since Reed deals in buying and selling older artwork, as well as showing local artists' works at his gallery. So occasionally he would need verification that a piece was what the seller claimed."

  "Yeah, that bit of information was in emails Pierce had in the encrypted file on his laptop—ones he managed to get his hands on and copy. They were as carefully worded as those between Mr Carter and Alberts. No one would think anything about them, if they didn't suspect what was going on. I have the feeling Pierce was just beginning to build a case—or at least a theory about how they were committing the thefts—when he was killed."

  "The one you came up with."

  Quint nodded. "So far, it's the best scenario. Hell, it's the only one we have. With luck, we'll be one step closer to proving it, if they do copy Clay's painting and give the fake one back to Zack Kendall."

  Harber frowned. "I know I approved your plan, but I'm still not happy that you're using a civilian."

  "I understand, but as I said, there really isn't any risk to Kendall, and he had already volunteered to let us use an etching he owns as bait. Then Clay pointed out it wasn't valuable enough to entice Alberts. By that time Kendall was already involved and offered his services."

  "When will you find out if this worked?"

  "He only took it to Alberts yesterday around noon, so it'll probably be a few days, depending on how quickly Alberts gets a copy made—if he does. Given the value of the painting, I'm pretty sure he'll jump at the chance to get his hands on it." Quint chuckled. "Who knew, a couple of years ago, I'd manage to get hooked up with a world-famous artist?"

  Harber laughed. "Maybe you should quit and let him support you."

  "I don't think so. Being a kept man is not on the top of my to-do list."

  "Good, because I'd hate to lose you," Harber said as he got up. "Let me know the moment you find out anything."

  "Of course."

  "And if you want to talk to Monahan personally, he gave me a number where he can be reached," Harber told Quint before going back to his office.

  As soon as Harber left, Quint picked up his phone and called Trev.

  *****

  "He was what?" Trev said, shaking his head. He listened as Quint filled him in on the details about John. "No way. You sure it's the same John Pierce?" He glanced at Zack, who was making no pretense about not listening to Trev's half of the conversation. "Okay, if you trust this Monahan, then I guess it has to be," Trev said to Quint. When Quint asked how the move was going, Trev told him, "I have to get the last of my stuff boxed up and all of John's. I can't actually leave until the guys from the teen shelter come to pick up everything I'm no
t taking." Nodding, he replied to Quint's warning by saying, "Yes, I'll make sure it's them before I let them in," and they hung up.

  "So?" Zack said.

  "It seems my old friend John was more than he seemed to be. Why he never told me… Okay, scratch that. I'm sure he couldn't. Anyway, he had two kinds of jobs. The normal ones he did, with ad agencies in Cleveland then here, and a second one, working for a man who recovers stolen art. John was trying to do the same thing we are—putting all the facts together to prove that Alberts and the guy who owns the ad agency run an art theft ring."

  "They must have found out what he was doing, and that's why he was killed."

  "Yeah. I still don't get why the killers tried to frame me for his murder."

  "They probably didn't expect to find you there and played it by ear. Since John was the target, your being there just gave them a way to throw the cops off their trail by making it seem like you'd killed him. Frankly, I'm glad they did it the way they did, as stupid as it was. Otherwise I'd never have met you."

  Trev repressed a grin, replying, "If their plan had worked, you'd be visiting me in jail."

  "I wonder if they allow conjugal visits when it's two men," Zack replied straight-faced.

  "Well I, for one, do not want to find…" Then Zack's words sank in. "What?"

  Zack shrugged. "I can't help it. That's where my mind went. Does that bother you?"

  Trev looked at him for a long moment. "No," he said slowly. "No, I don't think it does. We seem to be inching in that direction. Not fast, but… Yeah, we are."

  Zack stepped closer to him, stopped and shook his head. "When all this is over…"

  "You keep saying that."

  "I never said it. Well, not in so many words."

  "You just did."

  "Trev…" Zack closed the distance between them. It seemed to Trev as if he was going to say something more. Instead, Zack kissed Trev's forehead, stepped back then told him, "That's the only kiss you're getting…for now. A sort of promise that when all this is—"

  Putting one finger over Zack's lips, Trev muttered, "Do not say that again."

  Zack laughed. "Okay, I won't. I will say, however, that we'd better finish packing up. The guys from the shelter should be here any time now."

  *****

  The people from the shelter showed up half an hour later—three teens and one of the counselors. By then, Trev and Zack had managed to pack most of the rest of what Trev was taking with him, as well as John's few personal belongings.

  "This is sad," Trev said, as he taped up the second of John's two boxes. "His life here compressed into this."

  "He had more. All the kitchen stuff, the furniture. Clothes," Zack replied. "Things that were just possessions, not parts of his total life, like his family pictures and mementos were."

  "Still, if I die I hope I leave something more behind than this." Trev touched the boxes.

  Zack snorted. "You do realize we're hauling twelve cartons out of here that belong to you."

  "Yeah, but like you said, clothes and kitchen things don't count." He looked at the bookshelf along one wall that still held a collection of books. "I wonder if his parents want any of those."

  "Probably not. They all seem pretty new." Zack strolled over to look at them. "Somehow I doubt they want the latest le Carré or Silva or Morrell. I take it he had a thing for spy novels."

  "He did. Now I have to wonder if he used them for ideas."

  "Probably no more than you'd use Connelly or Patterson if you were going to murder someone." Zack took out an older book, thumbing through it. "He did have a couple of classics too, like this one." He held up Passage of Arms by Ambler. As he did, a slip of paper fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, Zack started to put it back in the book, then whistled softly. "We might want to call Quint and get him over here."

  Before Zack could explain further, the sound of the buzzer alerted them the shelter people had returned for the second, and last, load.

  "Let them in," Zack said when Trev hesitated. "I'll tell you once they're gone." He put the book, along with several others into the box at his feet and the paper into the pocket of his jeans.

  *****

  Two hours later the apartment was virtually empty except for the cartons Trev was taking to his new place and the two boxes for UPS. The guys from the shelter had thanked Trev profusely before taking off—their truck again loaded almost to overflowing with what he'd donated.

  "Now," Trev said, resting a foot on one of his boxes of clothes, "why do we need to call Quint?"

  Zack took the slip of paper from his pocket, handing it to Trev.

  "This can't be for real. Can it?"

  "Looks real to me but we'll let Quint make the call," Zack replied, taking out his phone.

  Fifteen minutes later they were inside the lobby of the precinct house, waiting for Quint to arrive to take them upstairs. He appeared a minute later, beckoning for them to join him.

  As they walked to the elevator, Quint said, "Let's see what you found." When Zack handed the paper to him, he scanned it and nodded, "This definitely links Carter to the theft ring. Why the hell did Pierce hide it in a book?"

  "Safer than anywhere else, if someone was going to search the apartment?" Trev suggested. "It's dated two days before he was murdered. We checked the rest of the books, just in case he hid anything else. He didn't."

  Quint looked thoughtful but said nothing until they were in the squad room, seated around his desk. "'My best guess is that his taking this"—he tapped the paper—"was what put them onto him."

  "Then why did they want his laptop?" Trev asked.

  "Because they figured he was collecting information on the theft ring. They wanted him out of the way, but they also needed to know what he'd found out, so they could cover their asses. And that leads me to another thought. Shooting you may not have been an attempt to frame you for Pierce's murder. Or more, leaving you there might not have been their plan."

  "How do you figure?"

  "They shot Pierce then knocked you out. What if…" Quint drummed his fingers on the desk. "Okay. They do the whole fingerprint thing after he's dead, and you're unconscious. Then they shoot you, but only to leave bloodstains to back up the 'you killed him after he tried to kill you' scenario. They figure either you're working with Pierce, or you might know something, but there's no time to question you there. They planned on taking you with them, but something happened to forestall that, such as their hearing sirens. The first 9-1-1 call came in at seven thirty-five. Officers arrived on the scene at less than ten minutes afterward. That didn't give the men much time, once they broke in, to do more than shoot Pierce and you and set up the fingerprints, so they were forced to leave you behind."

  "If they wanted me, they could have captured me when I delivered the laptop," Trev pointed out.

  "Maybe by that time it became a moot point. We didn't arrest you, so they figured you'd been cleared of Pierce's murder and you didn't know anything. If you had, you wouldn't have been back home. You'd have been in protective custody."

  "But they still wanted the laptop, just in case. That makes sense," Zack said.

  "So now what happens?" Trev asked.

  "You finish moving to your new apartment," Quint replied.

  "I meant—"

  "I know what you meant. Trev, Zack, you are both—as my lieutenant pointed out—civilians. I've brought both of you into this more than I should have. Zack, as soon as you get the painting back from Alberts, your part in the investigation is over. I will have two officers watching the two of you during the move. Unless they see something suspicious, like anyone else who seems overly interested in what you're doing, that will be it."

  Trev blew out a breath. "You really think I'm safe now?"

  "I do. As you pointed out, if they had wanted you, they'd have taken you when you delivered the laptop. The officer who followed the kid after he picked up the laptop saw the man he gave it to. He matched the description of the taller of the killers.
She followed him, but he must have figured we'd have someone watching you, even though they warned you not to get in touch with us. He managed to evade her. The only good thing was the fact he was heading in the direction of the ad agency when that happened."

  "Another link, however tenuous," Zack said.

  "Very tenuous."

  "I guess we should leave now?" Trev said.

  "Yep," Quint told him. "Get moved, then get on with your life. Your part in this is over, and Zack's will be soon enough."

  "I hope," Trev muttered.

  "Oh, one more thing," Quint said. "Thanks for all your help, and for finding this and figuring it was something I needed to have." He tapped the slip of paper.

  "Well, considering it was a receipt from a shipper for ten packages from what, as a doctor, I happen to know is an illegal online pharmacy," Zack said, "and it was signed by Mr Carter, I figured it might be how he's using the stolen paintings—or the money he makes off them."

  "He probably uses at least some of them as collateral for his purchases. Then he sells the drugs on the street through dealers he employs, pays the supplier and keeps the rest. It's a big money business, and he can use the same paintings over and over again. He'd make more money that way than by selling them to someone who wants one for their private collection."

  "And with Alberts getting his hands on them for him"—Zack shook his head—"they must be making a damned fortune. No wonder they wanted John eliminated, if they even suspected he was onto them."

  "Exactly," Quint agreed. "Too bad Carter didn't hire smarter killers to do the job."

  "I'm glad he didn't," Trev said soberly as he stood. "Otherwise I wouldn't be moving to a new apartment, as much of a pain as it is."

  "No," Zack said clapping his hand on Trev's shoulder after getting up as well. "You'd already be in a new place. Six feet under." When Trev scowled, flipping him off, Zack chuckled. "Sorry. Bad joke, I know. I was trying to get a smile out of you."

  "I'll smile when we've finished the move and no one has taken pot shots at me along the way."

  *****