Treasure of Saint-Lazare

by John Pearce

  13

  Sarasota

  Woody sat on the floor in the center of the shelter, where he’d been when Eddie found him. “My head hurts,” he complained.

  “It’ll be better soon. One of them will come down here to check on us, or the police will arrive. It’s the same to us. We just have to be ready.”

  He took a position standing against the wall opposite the silver cups, holding his hands behind him as they’d been when he was flexcuffed. He held one of the electrical wires in each hand, being careful to keep the ends separated.

  They waited. The silence was almost absolute. They hadn’t heard anything since Dmitri had slammed the trap door but in the silence Eddie could just make out the vague sigh of air moving, almost a low whistle. He focused on it and decided it was the wind passing over the old steel door he’d seen in the original domed entrance to the shelter. It wouldn’t help us to go out that door, he told himself. It’s in full view of the house, and the noise would alert whoever’s in the barn.

  He’d kept his watch. The dial had long since given up the last of its illumination, but he estimated he’d been locked in for about two hours. If Paul had called the police at the right time, they should have something organized pretty soon. Or at least he hoped so.

  Another wait. It was probably only 15 minutes but it felt like eternity. Eddie moved around, rising to the balls of his feet to keep his legs from cramping. He stretched his arms up to the ceiling and put his hands on the rough concrete, one at a time to keep the bare wires away from each other.

  Suddenly there was the sound of something scraping on the floor above, then a thud from the steel door at the top of their stairs. “Woody. Ready? Somebody’s about to open the door. Lie down. Play dead,” Eddie said in a hoarse whisper.

  There was the sound of metal falling on metal, the padlock dropping on the door after Dmitri unlocked it. Then the stairway flooded with light and Dmitri shouted to them, “Stand away from the door. You guys are my ticket out of here but I’ll shoot the first one of you to move.”

  He walked slowly down the steps. Eddie first saw his feet, then the gun.

  “Woody’s badly hurt and I’m still tied up,” Eddie told him, hands behind his back. The gun sagged slightly.

  Dmitri stepped into the room. He looked first at Eddie, then over at Woody’s supine form on the floor. “Is he dead?” he asked. He could have been asking about a stray dog found lying in the street.

  The brief distraction was all the time Eddie had. He jumped on Dmitri, grasping his gun hand by the wrist and bending it down, at the same time forcing the sharp end of the wire deeply under his skin. A howl of pain and surprise filled the little room, then stopped suddenly as Dmitri realized he was in a fight for his life.

  Meanwhile, Eddie reached across him with his other hand and drove the sharp end of the other wire as hard as he could into Dmitri’s stomach. The sound stopped and his body went rigid as the electricity coursed through him. In a final involuntary reaction, his finger tightened on the trigger. The blast was deafening in the tiny concrete space. Dmitri fell like a stone as Eddie pulled the wire from his stomach then reached for the gun, a Glock 9mm. It hadn’t been used by the Army during his time because it had no external safety lever, so he handled it very carefully. He considered putting it in his waistband but changed his mind and laid it on the top shelf near where Woody had found the matches. Dmitri lay motionless on his back, knees in the air, his face a rictus of pain, eyes staring.

  He kicked Woody’s foot and told him to stand, then shouted up the stairs. “This is Eddie Grant with Woody Matthews. We have Dmitri. Identify yourself before you come down those stairs or be shot.”

  “You wouldn’t want to do that, Eddie. The area is secure.”

  “Jeez, Paul, I’m glad to hear from you. Do you have the cavalry with you?”

  “Right behind me. Another group stormed the house and got Sonny and Sommers. At least I think they did. I didn’t hear any shots. How’s Woody?” he asked as Paul came carefully down the stairs.

  “Woody’s been beat up pretty bad but he’ll survive. You used to be a pretty good medic. Take a look at Dmitri, would you? I think he shot himself in the thigh. It’s bleeding like he hit that big artery.”

  Paul felt his neck for a pulse and said, “We should get him an ambulance just in case, but I think he’s past help.”

  “The cops!” Paul said. He dashed up the stairs and unbolted the barn door. “Eddie and Woody Matthews are safe. Dmitri’s been shot and looks pretty bad. You’d better get an ambulance out here,” he told Ginepri. Her expression said she wasn’t happy to be kept waiting outside the door, but she said nothing. The drama had taken only 30 seconds.

  “We put one at the nearest fire station just in case. I’ll get him,” Ginepri said, raising her radio to her lips.

  Eddie came slowly out of the back room, supporting Woody’s half-conscious weight on his shoulder. “You’d better get one with two beds. They beat Woody up pretty badly.”

  “I never did like the bastard,” Woody mumbled.

  “Sommers clammed up and called his lawyer,” Thom told Eddie as they sat in the detective’s small office. It was 8 a.m. Neither had been to bed, and Eddie had been waiting patiently in the office while Thom and another detective questioned Sonny. He’d occupied the time hunched over his MacBook Air, composing his own statement of what had happened from the time he arrived at the airport. It had reached ten double-spaced pages.

  Paul was doing his own statement, in longhand, in a neighboring office. He’d resisted learning to type and didn’t own a computer.

  Thom came back into the office and told Eddie, “Sonny finally quit talking. He did tell us Dmitri killed Deus and set the fire at Arturo’s house, but that’s no surprise because Dmitri’s dead, and we know Sonny was somewhere else at those times. I’m pretty sure Sonny was more than an onlooker, but when we pressed him on his role in the fire at Ms. Wetzmuller’s house he shut us down completely, which means he was there. I expect he’ll get a lawyer from the same firm Sommers uses, and that Sommers will pay for it, so I have a lot of hard detective work ahead of me before we can bring them to trial.”

  He said the FBI agents had brought the silver cups and other loot into the interrogation room and tried to get Sommers to explain how he got them, but he’d refused and said Dmitri or Sonny must have planted them there. “If the rumors are right there’s a lot more stuff like this in their house in Naples. We’ve started the process of getting a warrant and I hope to go down this afternoon to take part in the search.

  “Just so you know, the FBI is planning to interview Ms. Wetzmuller later today. I heard one of the agents say she has a brother who might be involved.”

  Eddie nodded. “I don’t think he’s a real brother, but the son of the man her mother was married to for a couple of years when Jen was a teenager. I learned in Washington yesterday that she sponsored him for citizenship ten years ago and claimed he was her brother, but it was a false name. He’s the one in that picture you have of a man standing outside the Navigator on the airport parking lot. I’m pretty sure he was the kidnapper Roy shouted at — he knew him from when he was a teenager and, according to Jen, he was a really bad character even then. God knows what he’s like now.

  “I have a hard time believing she was a willing partner in all this, but yesterday I heard some things that make me wonder…” He shook his head sadly and added, “I think if you’ll call Dr. Carole Westin in Icky Crane’s office she’ll give you more information.”

  “I talked to Mr. Crane day before yesterday. He said you’re one of the good guys. Were you two in the Army together?”

  “He was my number two in Desert Storm, and Paul was our company sergeant. The three of us go ‘way back — I’ve known Icky since we were college freshmen together.”

  “Ah, now I understand a little better,” Thom said. “I’ll call Dr. Westin as soon as I can, because I sure don’t want the Feds hijacking my murder investigat
ion. If they catch him they’ll hide him somewhere I’ll never find. There’s going to be a lot of press if they arrest a big looter, and they love publicity. Me, I just want Roy Castor’s killer in prison. I’m also going to whisper to Sonny that Sommers is trying to hang it on him. That might help us get something.”

  Eddie told him the story of Eric Kraft the father, Erich the son, and his new identity as Erich Wetzmuller. “Carole should be able to tell you if he was spotted leaving the country, but I’m sure he’s back in Europe right now. Problem is, we don’t know where. It would be a lot easier to get him if Philippe could find him in France.”

  “Wouldn’t he have to coordinate it with other police departments if Erich is not in Paris?”

  “There’s only one real police department in France, and that’s the national police. There are municipal police and local branches and different divisions, but it’s the Interior Minister who’s in charge, and Philippe has his ear.”

  The iPhone in Eddie’s shirt pocket chimed. Caller ID told him it was Philippe.

  “Philippe? I’m with Detective Thom Anderson in Sarasota right now.”

  “He will be interested in this too.” Eddie turned on the speaker and laid the iPhone on Thom’s desk. “I just came from talking to the Germans and they’re willing to give us a little bit of information right now. Not much yet, but I think they will talk more after they understand they’re going to be in jail for a very long time if they don’t.

  “They tell me their boss was contacted by someone named Sonny and asked to pick up Jen for questioning because the effort to talk to Roy had been a failure. They did not confess to killing Roy, however. They also didn’t admit to ever being in Sarasota, but we’ll be able to determine that from Customs records.

  “Can you see if there is a Sonny in this case anywhere in Sarasota?”

  Thom said, “I can tell you right now. We arrested him last night at Al Sommers’s house. His partner in both life and crime, a Russian mobster named Dmitri, is dead. Sonny spent time in federal prison for securities fraud, which is where he met Dmitri.”

  Eddie asked, “Philippe, can you ask them another question? Do they know anything about Artie? Or Lauren and Sam?”

  The policeman responded, “I’ll pass that question on to the team that’s actually doing the questioning, but don’t get your hopes up. These guys are tough, and they won’t want to admit to knowing anything about another crime, especially murder. They’ve obviously learned how our system works, and they know they’re looking at going to trial and starting their sentence within a month or two.”

  Thom interrupted. “You can do it that fast?”

  “Our system is a little different from yours,” he answered. “Our code goes back to Napoleon, not England. The only part of the United States that uses it is Louisiana.

  “An investigating judge will look at the evidence on both sides before the trial starts. There’s no endless cycle of motions. They won’t be released on bail, and even if they were they’d have to go back into prison for the trial. When it’s over they will start their sentences. They have the right of appeal and that works in a few cases, but for a violent crime like this there’s a very small chance of winning on appeal, especially since half of Paris saw them chasing Eddie that night.”

  As Eddie closed the call from Philippe, a uniformed policewoman knocked on the frame of Thom’s open door and said, “The lawyer for Sonny Perry has arrived, Detective. He’d like to see you along with his client.”

  “Is it a white-shoe guy from Sommers’s law firm?” Thom asked her.

  “No. That’s what I expected, too. It’s a young guy we’ve seen around the courts a lot for a couple of years, Ted Sorenson, the public defender.”

  Thom made a face. “He beat the shit out of me on cross a year ago. We got a conviction but it might have gone the other way. Ted knew his guy was guilty as sin but he’s what you’d call a forceful advocate.”

  Eddie responded, “You have a lot of evidence, though. If this guy is smart and can keep his client from a murder charge here, he may let him talk. Meanwhile I’m going back to the hotel now and you can call me if you need me. I’d appreciate your seeing if there is any possible connection between these guys and my father’s death in 2001. It’s a remote chance. My wife and son were killed the same year by somebody who also burned the apartment, but it would be a lightning bolt if these guys were connected in any way with that. Still, if there’s anything there I’d like to know and so would Philippe. Otherwise I’m planning to go home in a couple of days and try to forget that I ever heard of Raphael and his damned painting.”

  Eddie let himself into his room at the Hyatt and found that the maid had already been there. A note on the bedside table said, “Call me when you’re back. I have a meeting with the contractor and then I’ll be at the gallery. J.”

  He sat exhausted on the edge of the bed and puzzled through what he knew so far. Jen was in legal trouble, and might already be answering the FBI’s questions. She did sponsor Erich Kraft for citizenship under her own name, falsely claiming he was her brother, but he couldn’t recall that she’d ever said a positive word about him. She’d thought he was nothing but trouble when he was a teen.

  So what had happened six or seven years before to make her commit immigration fraud for someone so unpleasant? It was after her marriage to the surgeon had ended. He supposed her gallery was well established, but there could have been financial problems at the time. No small business is very far from bankruptcy, and a recession could sweep in at any time, like a summer thunderstorm. A recession had begun in 1997. Was that it? He would just have to ask her, but not now. Sleep was what he needed. He took off his clothes and crawled under the cover.

  And then he sat straight up, wide awake. Of course! In 2000 Erich Kraft was writing threatening letters to Roy about the painting. That had to be the connection. If he was as rough as he seemed — and the knife attack on the hotel clerk left little doubt about that — he would have threatened Roy or Jen. Perhaps she bought him off with citizenship. It wouldn’t be easy to assemble all the documents he would have needed, but it could be done, with help.

  Sleep. He had to get some sleep. He remembered nothing from the instant his head hit the pillow until the chime of his phone waked him four hours later.

  “Eddie, it’s Thom. Are you awake?”

  Momentarily confused, Eddie mumbled, “wait just a minute,” then went to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water. He sat naked on the edge of the bed and pulled the bedspread over him for warmth against the blast of the air conditioning.

  “OK, now I’m conscious. What’s up?”

  Thom said, “First, we got the warrant for Sonny’s house in Naples. I’m on the way there now so if the call drops out I’ll call you back in a couple minutes. AT&T has some dead spots. Actually a lot of dead spots.

  “Second, we got some movement from Sonny. I talked to the prosecutor and he’d appreciate it if you’d pass it on to your friend in the French police so they’ll have it quicker, and he’ll follow up in writing soon. He also gave me carte blanche to keep you updated on the case, both ours and the Feds’, but don’t tell them that.”

  “I appreciate that a lot.”

  “Sonny was really pissed that Sommers wouldn’t pay for his lawyer. He thinks he’s being thrown overboard, which of course he is. My own view is that Sommers is running out of money and that’s the reason, but I kept that to myself. I think your instinct that this is a case entirely about money is probably right.”

  Sonny had heard Sommers tell Dmitri to follow Eddie, so Dmitri had waited near Towles Court in his Buick and watched Eddie meet Thom, then followed him to Arturo’s house and on to his meeting with Deus.

  “I saw a big white car pass behind me right after I let Deus out at the grocery store. That could have been him.”

  “Good chance,” Thom said. “Because at the time you were interviewing Sommers at his house, Dmitri was working Deus over really hard in
a park not far from the grocery store. He got all the details Deus gave you, plus I’d guess some more, because when it was finished Dmitri cut his throat and left him there dead — he knew too much. We found his blood in the Buick.”

  Eddie said, “He probably didn’t go after Arturo because you already had him as a witness. I guess Sommers sent him back the next day to finish the job. What else?”

  Thom was silent for a minute. “I don’t know where this goes, but something has been in the air for a while. Two days before Mr. Castor’s death, Sonny was delegated to pick up a group of Germans at a hotel on the Interstate and take them to the caretakers’ bungalow next to Sommers’s house. One of them looks a lot like the picture from the surveillance camera at the airport. We did a photo lineup and he picked him out. He took all three to an airport hotel in Miami the day after Mr. Castor’s death. And then a week later he flew to Paris himself. He tried to lie about it, but we have his passport with the entrance date and the date he returned to Tampa airport. We think he was there to question Ms. Wetzmuller after the Germans kidnapped her.”

  Eddie said, “That’s not really a surprise, except that it ties Sommers tightly to Roy’s death.”

  “Yes, but what he told us next is. He remembers seeing the same guy before, he thinks in 2001. He’s sure because the guy has a big notch out of his right ear.”

  “Then it’s Erich Kraft. He was writing threatening letters to Roy the year before. I bet he came here to put on more pressure, and somehow persuaded Jen to help him get citizenship, which would make it much easier to get in and out of the country.”

  “That would make sense. He says Ms. Wetzmuller brought Kraft to see Sommers during that first visit, on a Saturday, when Sommers wasn’t at his office. Sonny was there for part of the meeting and got the impression Kraft was an art buyer from Germany. Anyway, she left and Kraft and Sommers talked for a couple of hours, although Sonny didn’t hear all the conversation.”