by Sarah Atwell
I glanced quickly at Nat’s face on the screen: She looked positively gleeful.
“And the other men with you?” Matt went on. “The ones with guns?”
“I thought it prudent to enlist some colleagues. They’ve worked for me before, and they are expert shippers of art objects. There are times when that job requires them to carry weapons, which are, I might add, fully licensed.”
Matt sat back as well and looked at Ian for several seconds. “I’m impressed, Mr. Gemberling. You have an explanation for everything. Madelyn Sheffield is unstable, Em Dowell is trying to get back at you for dismissing her as second-rate, the trucker was looking to sell you information about the theft, and you’re the hero in this little farce, sweeping in with your hired guns and saving the day—or at least the art. Have I got that right?”
Ian’s face hardened. “Officer, I resent your insinuations. You have not presented any hard evidence of my involvement in either the murder or the theft, relying instead on the wild accusations of questionable individuals. I am a legitimate art dealer, and I have no need to engage in such illegal activities. Peter was my friend, and I thought Madelyn was. If you have any substantial evidence, I’d like to hear it before I call my lawyer.”
“Mr. Gemberling,” Nat purred, “it might interest you to know that your ‘friend’ Peter had serious doubts about your honesty.”
“Excuse me?” Ian favored her with an icy glance.
Nat smiled sweetly. “Oh, you’re very good. Very smart, very careful. But so was Peter. Tell me, did he discuss with you the software he was working on at the time of his death?”
The blank expression on Ian’s face was answer enough.
“Well, then, let me fill you in,” Nat continued. “All of your transactions with Peter were completely aboveboard and legitimate. But let me suggest that perhaps you had a longer-range goal in dealing with Peter. You might have thought that he was a man with a lot of money on his hands, one who was willing to pour it into a nice trophy art collection. You might even have credited him with some taste—no doubt shaped and guided by you. You helped Peter Ferguson assemble a world-class collection of glass pieces, and he paid well for it, and you received nice fees. But I think you may have had a second motive: You planned to steal it from the beginning.”
“That’s preposterous!” Ian sputtered. “You have no right to make such an accusation.”
“Oh, I think I do, Mr. Gemberling.” Nat’s voice was growing steely. “You made one mistake in your planning, although I think that can be excused since Maddy forced your hand by stabbing Peter, and you had to accelerate your schedule. But if you’d just thought to take his computer with you, you might have gotten away with it.”
Ian said nothing but raised one eyebrow, questioning.
“Unfortunately for you, you left it behind, and I gave it to a consultant to look at. Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced my consultant.” Nat nodded toward Cam. “This is Cameron Dowell. He’s a software designer and a long-term admirer of Peter Ferguson’s work. By the way, he’s also Em’s brother.”
Was it my imagination, or had Ian grown a shade paler?
“Cam took a look at the contents of the laptop, at my request, and he found some very interesting things. Perhaps the most interesting was a computer program that Peter had been working on for some time. It was intended to provide a means of identifying and tracking stolen artworks, and from what we’ve seen, it’s far superior to anything that the government law enforcement agencies are currently using.”
Ian swallowed. “I’m happy to hear that. I respected Peter’s abilities, and I’m sure this will be a valuable tool. But what relevance does that have here?”
“Peter was almost finished with his programming, and he wanted to test it. He chose items from your gallery—I assume with your permission? We found the files on his computer. Did his interest make you nervous, Mr. Gemberling?”
Yes, Ian was definitely paler now.
Nat went on, savoring every moment. “And then he started looking a little further. It seems that a surprising number of works that passed through your hands have subsequently been stolen. Maybe not immediately, or from the person to whom you sold it, but eventually. And many of those items have never resurfaced in the art market. Would you care to comment, Mr. Gemberling?”
“I think I’d like to call my lawyer now.”
“I think that would be advisable, Mr. Gemberling.”
Matt and Nat smiled at each other across the expanse of table. Ian looked miserable.
I felt great.
Chapter 29
The “great” part lasted for a little while but was soon swamped by exhaustion and boredom. When you watch cop shows on TV, you get to see the high points: the action, the drama. In the real world there’s a heck of a lot of paperwork, and that takes time. I was kind of at loose ends: Matt had brought me here, and I had no transport. I wanted to wait for Cam and see what his story was, but he was still tied up with Nat. Matt and Nat obviously had to confer about charges and then determine what to do with their prisoners. Me—I had nothing to do but wait. I settled myself in a chair and dozed intermittently. I figured I was allowed. After all, it had been a rather harrowing day.
I was awakened some time later by a hand on my shoulder, and looked up to see Cam. “Hey, Em, want to go home?”
“About time,” I grumbled. “Everything wrapped up? What time is it?”
“For now. And it’s after five. You look beat.”
I stood up, not very gracefully, and stretched to work the kinks out of my joints. “Good, because I am. It’s been a long day. Have you got a ride?”
“Nat’ll drop us off. Then she’s coming back to talk to Matt.”
As if on cue, Nat appeared. She looked very pleased with herself. “You two ready?”
“Definitely. You look happy. Did either of our friends say anything else?”
Nat shook her head. “Not yet, but it doesn’t matter. They are so busted! And I’ll let Cam fill you in on the rest of it. Looks like our Ian has been a busy boy.”
I knew Ian was too good to be true. But since he’d called me second-rate to my face—well, not exactly, since I’d been watching it on-screen, but close enough—I was going to relish his downfall. “Let’s go before I fall asleep again.”
Riding home through the busy early evening streets, I felt as though I had been gone for a week, not just hours. Maybe I was getting old, but it was hard to keep adjusting my concept of reality where all this was concerned. Maddy was a flake; Maddy was an accomplice to murder and larceny. Ian was a respected member of his profession; Ian was a thieving scumbag who had been systematically exploiting his clients for years. I was a genius; I was a hack. Too much to handle. I took another short nap.
I woke up again when we reached my building. Cam helped me out of the car, then waved to Nat as she pulled away. I looked up my stairs, which seemed to go on for miles, but somehow we arrived at the top. Before Cam could pull out his key, the door opened and I had a second to take in the fact that Allison was standing there before I was mobbed by two enthusiastic dogs. We did a silly dance, trying to get two humans through the door while two dogs insisted on wrapping themselves around our legs. It took a few moments for the excitement to subside. Well, the doggy excitement anyway: When they released me, Allison took over, hugging me hard.
“Oh, Em, I didn’t know what to do. You weren’t there, and you’d left no message, and then I found your bag so I knew you didn’t have your keys. All I could think of was to call Cam, and he said to call Matt, so I did.”
I hugged her back. “You did good. And thank you. I wondered when somebody would notice I was missing. And thanks for looking after the pups.”
“Well, I knew they’d be alone, and I couldn’t just go home and worry myself sick about you, now could I? I was glad that Cam got here so quickly.”
Cam was still holding my arm, as though I was about to fall over. I laid my hand over his, then pushed him
gently away. “Hey, guys, what I need right now is a shower and some food. And then I’ll try to fill you in on my side, and maybe Cam can tell us what he’s been up to.” I looked at him. “I gather the FBI has been keeping him busy.”
He laughed. “I think we can cobble a meal together from what you’ve got. You staying, Allison?”
“If you want. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Nonsense,” I said firmly. “You’re family, and you deserve to hear the story. Work it out, you two, because I’m headed for the shower.” I did, with Fred and Gloria hard on my heels. I had the feeling they knew something had happened, and they weren’t about to let me out of their sight any time soon.
I spent a glorious time washing away the events of the day. Being wrapped in that cruddy blanket and tossed around in the truck had not been much fun, but hot water put that right. And I was ravenous; I couldn’t even remember my last meal. I emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a huge towel, but as I darted toward my bedroom I caught a glimpse of Cam and Allison, and there wasn’t any light showing between them. I guessed there was no reason to get dressed in a hurry—dinner might be a bit delayed.
But by the time I dressed and ambled back to the living area, there were pots rattling on the stove with good smells emerging from them. I took a seat at the table to watch, and Cam handed me a cold beer without asking. I accepted it gratefully.
I couldn’t have named what they set in front of me, but it was delicious. Of course, under the circumstances, stewed tire might have been delicious. I filled them in on what had happened to me, and Allison made all the appropriate horrified noises. I even included Ian’s unkind remarks about my skills, which still rankled.
“Oh, Em, I’m so sorry,” Allison said. “That show would have been a wonderful opportunity for you.”
I snorted. “That show was never anything more than a smoke screen. Ian just wanted to distract me from thinking about what else was going on. Face it, he was right. I’m just not a top-tier talent.” When Allison started to protest, I held up my hand. “No, I’m not being modest, just honest with myself. Look, I like what I do. I’m a competent craftsperson, but I don’t delude myself that I’m going to step into Dale Chihuly’s shoes. I’m happy, and I make a fair living doing what I like to do. What more could I want?”
“Hear, hear!” Cam raised his bottle of beer to me. “Well, if nothing else has come of this, you’ve made Nat very happy. Looks like the FBI is going to have a new toy to play with, if they can get the rights to it, and Nat gets the privilege of taking it home to them.”
I peeked at Allison, but she didn’t twitch when Cam mentioned Nat. All must be right in their little world. I smiled at him, because he understood what I had been trying to say: I had made the effort to please our parents, following a path I thought they would approve of, but it just hadn’t worked. So then I had done what I wanted, and it had brought me to this place, this moment. And I was content with that.
I hadn’t expected to hear from Matt, knowing he would be caught up with administrative necessities. And he knew I had Cam to hold my hand, should I have night-mares. Ha! I slept like a log and woke up ready to face bears. Even so, Cam was already up when I came out of my bedroom. I threw myself in a chair, and he presented me with a cup of hot coffee.
“So, baby brother, what news? You seem to have enjoyed unraveling Peter’s computer.”
He smiled, more to himself than to me. “Let me tell you, it was a privilege to go through his code. Peter Ferguson was a genius. And there is such an elegant simplicity to what he’s done with the program . . . .” I tuned out when Cam lapsed into computerese, but I got the picture. The program was solid and simple enough for anyone to use. And it was clear that Cam had enjoyed his assignment. Eventually he ran out of steam. “Anyway, Nat’s over the moon about it.”
“That’s great—at least something positive has come out of all this. Too bad Peter won’t be around to enjoy it.” We both fell silent for a moment in honor of the late, great Peter Ferguson. “I wonder who ends up with the glass collection?”
Cam shrugged. “Probably the kids, but who knows if they’ll want it. Nat’s going to look into all that, since she wants clear title to the software.”
“Ah.” I chewed pensively on my English muffin. “Cam, about you and Allison . . .”
“We’re fine.”
I looked at him squarely. “I know, it’s not my business, but you’ve been a bit, I don’t know, at cross-purposes lately?”
He nodded, staring at his coffee. “You’re right. I guess I wanted too much, too fast, and I didn’t want to give Allison time to sort things out. But we’re good. How about you and Matt?”
I sighed. Cam had every right to turn the tables, since I’d been poking into his love life, but I still wasn’t comfortable answering. “I . . . don’t know. I’m kind of pissed at him at the moment, because he tried to keep me on the sidelines, and look what happened.”
“Em, he’s just trying to do his job, and like it or not, you’re a civilian.”
“Well, so are you, pal, and you got to play with the big boys. Girls. Whatever. And I understand his position, really, I do. But this involved me—my life, my work. He shouldn’t have shut me out.”
Cam stood up and started collecting the dishes. “In the words of a wise woman, that’s something you two have to work out.”
“Gee, thanks. Listen, you going to hang around for a while?”
“The weekend, at least.”
I stood up too. “Good. Because I’d better get down to the shop and see what I’ve missed.”
Nessa was in this morning, and looked up and beamed when I walked into the shop. “My, you seem to have had some excitement.”
“Tell me about it.” I sighed. “I could do without it. But at least things should calm down now. Good thing—I’m way behind, and I really need to make some glass pieces.”
“You go right ahead, dear. I’m sure I can handle things out here.”
“You’re a pal. Look, how about lunch? I can give you all the gory details then. Allison will be in later, won’t she?”
“Yes, and lunch would be lovely.”
I went to the studio and immersed myself in what I liked to do best, interrupted only by a phone call from Matt. “Em, will you have dinner with me? We need to talk.”
Well, duh. “All right,” I said neutrally.
“Great. I’ll pick you up around seven, if that works for you.” Was that relief I heard in his voice?
“Fine. See you then.”
And I went back to work. I wasn’t going to stew over what Matt might or might not say. I was just going to wait and see what unfolded. In the meantime, I had hot glass to work with.
Matt arrived promptly at seven. I was ready, after an agonizing internal debate about whether I should dress up or not. Was this an important dinner? A special dinner? Was he going to lecture me or apologize? I had no idea. I opted for dressy, at least by my standards—heck, Tucson didn’t care.
He wasn’t providing any clues. “Shall we go?”
“Let me get my coat.” If he was going to play it formal, so was I.
We made meaningless chitchat as we drove to the restaurant. We were shown to a quiet table, and after Matt ordered a bottle of wine, the waiter retreated discreetly. Matt snagged the conversational ball then. “Em, I’m sorry. And I know you’re upset, and you probably have a right to be. But please look at it from my side: I’m the chief of police here. I have to set a standard for the department, and everyone was watching.”
The waiter appeared with a chilled bottle, Matt tasted, nodded, and the waiter filled our glasses. I waited silently until he withdrew.
So far the script held no surprises. Now it was my turn. “I do understand, Matt. And I certainly didn’t want to find myself in the middle of another murder—the last one was plenty. But the fact remains that I was in it, in more ways than one. And the fact that you were trying to protect me, or protect your professional
integrity, nearly got me killed.”
“I know.” He really did look miserable. “But I had no way of knowing that would happen. Look, I appreciate what you did. If you hadn’t had your suspicions about Maddy and Ian, I can’t say what would have happened. And to tell you the truth, you scared me to death when you disappeared.”
I took a deep breath. What did I want? I wasn’t planning to join the police force or set up shop as a PI. So what was my problem? That Matt found it so easy to shut me out of the professional side of his life? That he had treated me as though the expertise I possessed was insignificant and irrelevant, when I knew and had told him it wasn’t? And was this an argument that I could win, or that was even worth fighting?
“Matt, I appreciate that you need to keep your job and . . . us separate. That’s fine. I guess I’m angry that you dismissed me, when I did have information that you could have used. You shut me out, and that was your loss. Maybe it’s policy not to involve outsiders, but you could have used my intelligence to your own advantage. And we both would have benefited.”
To his credit, Matt did not become defensive; he actually took time to think about what I had said. Maybe that was progress. “Em, I see that now, even if it’s a little late. Look, my ex never wanted to hear about my job. Maybe that was one of the problems with our marriage. But that was the routine we fell into. I know you’re different, and you were right about this case. How many more times do I have to apologize?”
I could be magnanimous in victory. “I think we’re square. Look, I promise to try to avoid any further murders, as long as you promise to share as much as you can if, heaven forbid, this happens again. Good enough?”
He grinned then. “Okay.” Then his eyes gleamed. “By the way, Nat passed on to me a little piece of information that might interest you.”
I took a sip of wine. “What?”
“As you can guess, she’s tracked down Peter’s will, and she’s been consulting various lawyers about who now owns the rights to Peter’s software, because her unit really, really wants it. Luckily Peter’s will is up-to-date. And he did make provisions for this software.”
