Dana held out her card. “I’ve come on behalf of a client.”
Pickering eyed the card suspiciously.
“I would have called,” Dana said, “but your number is unlisted, and I couldn’t find an e-mail address. This is a matter of some urgency, so I didn’t have the luxury of writing.”
“You still haven’t told me what you want, young lady.”
“I’m here because of the scepter that Sultan Mehmet II gave to Gennadius.”
Surprise registered on Pickering’s face for a moment. Then he regained his composure.
“Can we step inside, please?” Dana said. “I’m drowning out here.”
The professor hesitated, and Dana hoped that he wouldn’t slam the door in her face. Then Pickering turned his back on Dana and walked down a long hall. She rushed inside and followed him.
The interior of the house was paneled in dark wood, dimly lit, and drafty. The carpets were threadbare, and a dank odor pervaded everything. Dana wouldn’t have been surprised to find mold and mushrooms growing on the walls. Pickering led Dana into a large, high-ceilinged room with French windows that gave her a view of the dense forest when lightning flashed. Faded sofas, chipped and scarred coffee and end tables, and sagging armchairs stood on a large Persian carpet. Only a few of the pieces of furniture matched.
A fire roared in a high stone fireplace and provided welcome warmth. A moose head was mounted over the fireplace and Dana had the eerie feeling that it was staring at her. A black bear and a mountain lion eyed her threateningly from two other walls.
A massive desk illuminated by a gooseneck lamp stood in one corner of the large room. Papers were spread across the blotter and books were stacked next to a laptop, one of the few modern contraptions Dana had seen since entering the house. Pickering sat behind the desk and Dana sat in a straight-back chair across from him. Its seat was not cushioned and it was hard and uncomfortable.
“What is all this about a scepter?” Pickering asked cagily. Dana noticed that his liver-spotted fingers fluttered nervously and he avoided looking at her directly.
“You do know about the gold, jewel-encrusted scepter Sultan Mehmet II gave to Gennadius after the fall of Constantinople when Gennadius agreed to be the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church?”
“Young lady, I have degrees in history from Harvard and Oxford and my Ph.D. thesis was on the Ottoman Empire, so you may assume that I am aware of everything there is to know about the reign of the sultans.”
“Yes, well, Antoine Girard, my client’s grandfather, found the scepter in the early 1920s in the Khan-el-Khalili. The scepter was kept in a safe in a mansion in New York, but it was stolen in a burglary. Recently, my client learned that the scepter was to be auctioned off by a bankrupt Turkish businessman, but the scepter was withdrawn from the auction. My client believes that you appraised and authenticated the scepter. She needs to know who commissioned the appraisal.”
Pickering looked upset. He shook his head back and forth.
“Any such work I may have done would be confidential.”
“You’re not a lawyer, a doctor, or a priest, so you don’t have any legal right to keep client information secret.”
“And we are in my house and not in a courtroom, so you have no legal right to—”
Glass shattered and a bullet smashed into the wall above Pickering’s head. He looked confused. Dana threw herself across the desk and knocked the professor to the floor.
“What are you doing?” Pickering protested.
More bullets tore through the room.
“Someone is shooting at us,” Dana said as she drew the gun she wore in a holster secured to her ankle. “Get under the desk and stay there.”
Dana stared into the forest but the light from the fireplace reflected off the window glass. She crawled closer to the windows and crouched behind the sofa, straining to hear any sound outside the house. Then she rose up cautiously and stared over the top of the couch and through the shattered panes. She didn’t see any movement in the forest.
“Stay here,” she ordered. “I’m going after the shooter.”
Pickering didn’t protest, and Dana darted through one of the French windows onto a patio. Another shot ricocheted off the outside wall and Dana heard someone crashing through the woods. She waited a moment, drew a second gun from the holster secured to the back of her belt, and crept forward, keeping low and moving her eyes back and forth.
A car engine started and Dana dashed toward the sound. By the time she reached the road, two taillights were disappearing around a curve. Dana debated getting her car but rejected the idea. The shooter had too much of a head start. Besides, she’d been hired to get information from Otto Pickering that could lead to the scepter, and she was curious to see the professor’s reaction to this attempt to murder him.
Pickering was still cowering under the desk when Dana reentered the living room. She holstered the gun she kept in the small of her back but held on to the snubnose revolver from her ankle holster.
“You’re safe now, Professor. The person who tried to kill you drove off before I could get to him.”
“Kill me?” Pickering said as he crawled out from under the desk and slumped in his chair.
“I can’t think of anyone with a motive to kill me,” Dana said. “If I died, my client would send someone else in my place. You’re the one with information that can lead to the scepter, so I have to think that you were the target.”
Pickering put his head in his hands. “This can’t be happening. I’m just a consultant. All I did was give an opinion about the authenticity of an antique.”
“For who?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Listen, Professor, once you tell me who hired you, the cat is out of the bag and no one will have a reason to kill you.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Pickering said. He was sweating and he was pale. Dana hoped he wasn’t going to pass out.
“Professor, someone just tried to murder you. There could be a second attempt.”
“But you said there wouldn’t be if I told you what you want to know,” Pickering said. He sounded desperate.
“I think the odds of another attempt will be small if you tell me who asked you to look at the scepter.”
Pickering didn’t answer right away. He rubbed his temples. Then he sighed.
“Rene Marchand.”
“Who?”
“Rene is an antiques dealer. His office is in Seattle. He specializes in rare European antiquities. He’s more of a broker. He doesn’t have a store.”
“Did he own the scepter or was he representing a client?”
“He wouldn’t answer any questions about the piece, but I got the impression that he was acting for a client. He only wanted my opinion on its authenticity.”
“What was your opinion?”
“I couldn’t say for certain that the scepter was the object the sultan gave to Gennadius, but it could have been. There are few written descriptions of the scepter, and the jewels had been removed. It was unquestionably from the appropriate time period, and the amount of gold used led me to believe that it had to have been created for someone of immense wealth like Mehmet II.”
“Where did you examine the scepter?”
“In Rene’s office. He was quite explicit about that. He didn’t let it out of his sight. There were two bodyguards watching me the whole time. It was rather unsettling.”
“Can you think of anything Mr. Marchand said that would help me find his client?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Is there a police station on the island?”
“What? No, the nearest police station is on the mainland.”
“Then you’ll have to call them.”
Pickering’s head snapped up. “No, no police.”
“I’m sure the killer didn’t expect me to come after him. He may have left evidence in the woods that will tell the authorities who tried to kill you.”
“I don’t want the
police involved. If the police investigate, it will just bring me to the attention of . . . of whoever did this.”
“Look, Professor, I can’t tell you what to do. It’s your decision. If you don’t want to go to the police I’ll respect your choice. But I think you’re making a mistake. At least think about it.”
“I just want this to go away.”
Dana got the address of Marchand’s office and tried again, unsuccessfully, to convince the professor to call the police.
“You have my card,” Dana said as she prepared to leave. “It’s got my cell number on it. Call me if you think of anything.”
Pickering nodded but Dana doubted she would ever hear from the professor. He looked genuinely frightened and anxious to put everything that had happened behind him.
Dana was alert for cars that might be following her when she drove back to the inn through the storm. By the time she was safely inside the B&B it was late afternoon. Dana found Mr. and Mrs. Stanton reading in the parlor. She asked them for Emilio Leone’s phone number and called when she was in her room.
“Captain, this is Dana Cutler. I’ve finished my business here. Is there any chance we can head back to the mainland tonight?”
“Not in this storm. It’s hard enough in daylight. I ain’t risking my boat in this weather in the dark.”
“When do you think we can go?”
“Maybe tomorrow afternoon, but I ain’t promising. Depends on the weather.”
“I’ll be ready when you are. Will you call me when you know?”
“I’ll do that,” Leone said. Then the phone went dead.
Dana sighed. It probably wouldn’t matter whether they left tonight or tomorrow. Odds were Marchand’s office would be closed by the time she got back to Seattle. She hoped it would be open on Sunday.
Dana dialed Margo Laurent’s cell.
“Ms. Laurent, this is Dana Cutler,” she said when her client answered. “I’m calling from Isla de Muerta.”
“Did you meet with Pickering?” Laurent asked. Dana could hear the anxiety in her client’s voice.
“I did, but something unexpected happened while we were talking. Someone tried to kill the professor.”
“What!”
“Someone shot at him. He’s okay, but I think you held out on me.”
“I didn’t. I had no idea you would be in danger. You have to believe me.”
“Whether I do or not, the fact remains that someone is willing to kill to keep the scepter. Do you have any idea who that is?”
“No. I told you my grandparents were murdered and about the robbery. But that was years ago. Did you learn anything from the professor?”
“I know who asked him to authenticate the scepter.”
“Who is it?”
“Have you ever heard of a Seattle antiques dealer named Rene Marchand?”
“No.”
“There’s a storm here, so I can’t get back to the mainland before Saturday night at the earliest. I’ll try to talk to Marchand, but I’m not willing to take a bullet to help you get back the scepter.”
“Please. I’ll double your fee.”
Dana thought about that. “All right, but I’m off the case if there’s another incident like the one at Pickering’s house.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll call you after I speak to Marchand. Something else, Ms. Laurent. The people we’re dealing with are very dangerous, and you’re a threat to them. Watch your back.”
Chapter Seven
The storm broke Sunday morning and Captain Leone’s boat docked shortly after noon. Dana drove to Seattle on high alert because of the murder attempt on Isla de Muerta, but she didn’t see anything that made her think she was being followed.
After checking into the Hotel Monaco in downtown Seattle, Dana walked to Yesler Way, a steep street known as Skid Road in the 1850s, when the area was teeming with trees and a chute was used to skid logs to Henry Yesler’s sawmill. When Seattle’s city center moved north, the area became a dilapidated haven for drunks and derelicts and went from being called Skid Road to Skid Row, a term eventually used all over America to refer to a down-and-out section of a town or city.
Rene Marchand had an office in a six-story building on First at Yesler. On the way there, Dana spotted a seedy hotel advertising cheap rooms but most of the twenty-five-square-block Skid Row district—now more popularly known as Pioneer Square—was filled with hip boutiques, coffee shops, restored buildings, restaurants, and art galleries.
There was an old-fashioned elevator in the lobby of Marchand’s office building. Dana slid the accordion gate open, then closed it and took the car to the sixth floor. Halfway down the hall, Dana saw RENE MARCHAND ANTIQUES stenciled in bright gold letters on the glass in the upper part of a door. She tried the knob but the office was closed. After knocking loudly twice Dana returned to her hotel.
Monday morning, Dana dressed in a black suit and white man-tailored blouse so she would look businesslike and headed back to Marchand’s office. During her short walk, she checked for a tail or anything unusual, but nothing aroused her suspicions. This time when Dana tried the door it opened into a small waiting room. There was a desk, two chairs, and a small end table on which lay two magazines about antiques. No one was sitting at the reception desk, so Dana rapped her knuckles on a plain wooden door next to it. Moments later, the door opened and a man in his late thirties with a trim mustache and slicked-down thinning brown hair stared at her through the lenses of a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. The man was slender and several inches shorter than Dana, and he was dressed in an open-neck sky-blue shirt, a navy-blue blazer, and gray slacks.
“Yes?” he asked, apparently surprised to have a visitor.
“Are you Rene Marchand?”
“I am, but I generally see customers by appointment only.”
“I didn’t know that,” Dana said with what she hoped was a winning smile. “But I’m here now, so can we talk?”
“About what?”
“The Ottoman Scepter.”
Marchand’s only reaction was a rapid blink but it was enough to give him away.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” the antiques dealer said.
“I think you are. Professor Otto Pickering examined the scepter in this very office not long ago.”
Marchand hesitated. Then he stepped aside and ushered Dana in. The furniture in Marchand’s office looked secondhand, as had the furnishings in the waiting room. Through a begrimed window, Dana could see the train station, the stadiums where the Mariners and Seahawks played, and the Smith Tower, which had been the tallest building west of the Mississippi in 1914. The view was interesting, but it occurred to Dana that the office was run down for someone who supposedly dealt in high-end antiquities.
“Why do you want to know about this scepter?” Marchand asked when they were seated.
Dana handed the antiques dealer her card. “I’m acting on behalf of a client who is very interested in acquiring it.”
Marchand leaned back in his chair and examined the card. Then he set it down on a faded green blotter.
“You’re aware of the Ottoman Scepter’s history?”
Dana nodded.
“Then you know that the gold alone makes the object expensive but its historical value puts it beyond price.”
“My client is very motivated to acquire the scepter. And I’m not motivated to engage in a lot of fencing, so let’s cut to the chase. Do you have the scepter?”
Marchand crossed his legs and studied Dana long enough to make her uncomfortable. Dana returned Marchand’s stare.
“I’d like you to step into the waiting room while I make a call,” Marchand said.
Dana left the room and Marchand shut the door behind her. It occurred to Dana that she had not seen a telephone on Marchand’s desk, so she assumed he was using a cell.
Dana wandered over to the end table and thumbed through one of the magazines. It was several years old. Dana smiled. Maybe tha
t was appropriate in the office of an antiques dealer.
Ten minutes passed, then the door to Marchand’s office opened and he signaled her in.
“For a price, I can put you in touch with someone with whom you can deal,” Marchand said.
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
Dana laughed. “I’ll give you one thousand. If your contact is legit, I’ll come back with the rest. If this is a setup, I’ll find you and take back more than the money.”
Marchand lost color. “I don’t like being threatened.”
“Mr. Marchand, I do not make threats. I make promises.” Dana took out a wad of bills and peeled off one thousand dollars of Margo Laurent’s money. She placed it on the desk and covered it with her hand. “The name and address, please.”
Marchand eyed the money. He hesitated, and Dana knew he was deciding if he could push her. Dana’s features hardened.
“Do you know where Victoria Island is?”
“It’s near Vancouver, British Columbia.”
“Correct. The countess will be there on Wednesday. She’ll be staying in her condominium on the harbor.” Marchand wrote an address. “Be there at nine a.m., and don’t be late. The countess detests people who aren’t prompt.”
Dana took the paper with the address and Marchand grabbed the money. As she rode to the lobby, Dana thought back on the past few days. There was something about her meeting with Margo Laurent, the trip to the island, and her meeting with Marchand that didn’t sit right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
When Dana stepped outside, a harsh wind was gusting off of Elliott Bay. Ferries were crossing the stormy waters but the weather was keeping pleasure boats away. As Dana headed back to her hotel she saw movement in her peripheral vision. She paused to look in the window of a coffee shop and pretended to study the menu. A large man with close-cropped blond hair and wearing a knee-length black leather coat stepped into a doorway half a block behind her. He was far enough away so she couldn’t make out his features in the reflection.
Dana started walking. She stopped at a restaurant and saw the man reflected in the window. He stopped walking when Dana stopped and pretended to look in a store window. Dana went inside and found a seat facing the street. The man walked by on the other side.
Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler) Page 4
