by Dianne Emley
“Let’s go,” Kathleen said urgently, dancing from foot to foot.
“I’m supposed to count it,” Palmer reminded her.
When he picked up a bundle of notes, the agent firmly grabbed his wrist. “Wait a second. Not until I see the statuette.”
Palmer looked bewildered. “What do you mean?”
Weems could no longer maintain his cover and openly watched the exchange.
“The statuette. The fox,” the agent whispered.
“It’s not here,” Palmer said. He closed the briefcase and stood, holding it by the handle.
Kathleen shouted, “Let’s get out of here!” She grabbed the briefcase. Surprised by its weight, she let it go and the bottom hit the ground, jerking her arm with it. She lifted it again and rushed toward the exit.
“Hold it right there. Put your hands up.” Weems pulled his gun on Palmer, his booming voice attracting the attention of the few people within earshot. They scattered at the sight of the gun.
Palmer complaisantly raised his hands above his head but Kathleen kept moving, ignoring the men who approached her with guns drawn.
“Ma’am, put the briefcase down.”
She kept walking toward the exit, not looking left or right.
“Kathleen!” Palmer shouted.
An agent grabbed her from behind and another wrenched the briefcase from her hand. They forced her against the station’s glass doors, kicked her legs apart, and searched her, finding a handgun in her purse. She began sobbing hysterically and collapsed to the ground when handcuffs were snapped around her wrists, only to be roughly dragged to a standing position by two agents. Her feet barely touched the ground as they moved her near Palmer.
An agent patted Palmer down, finding a small caliber handgun.
Weems stood close to Palmer, his head leaning toward him as if he wanted to be certain to catch every word. “What do you mean, the fox is not here?”
“It’s not here,” Palmer said. “That wasn’t how the deal was supposed to go down.”
Weems silently mouthed Palmer’s words. He removed his hands from his hips, grabbed Palmer’s bony shoulders, and started shaking them. “Where is it? Where the hell is it?”
Kathleen screamed, “Don’t hurt him!” and began sobbing again. She crumpled to the ground. An agent dragged her to a bench where she collapsed into a heap.
Another agent pulled Weems off Palmer. Weems shook the agent’s hands off him and wheeled around, taking agitated steps, breathing deeply, his mouth working with unvoiced words. With barely maintained composure, he returned to Palmer and asked in a tight voice, “Where is the fox?”
Palmer shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “Zabriskie Point.”
Weems looked at the other agents with exasperation. “Zabriskie…”
“It’s in Death Valley,” one of them offered.
“Death Valley? That’s three hundred miles from here. Get me a plane,” Weems ordered. “Now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Triumph TR6 looked like a bright drop of blood against the dun-colored desert sand. Iris Thorne turned off highway 127 and onto 178 which cut west then straight north through the heart of Death Valley. The thermometer she kept in her glove compartment indicated the temperature was 111 degrees. At a little past noon, the hottest part of the day was still to come.
The heat seemed to make the rippled, wind-swept low hills undulate, their smooth organic forms shifting suggestively as she drove past. The black asphalt shimmered, as if she were driving on air. Holding the steering wheel with her elbows, she opened a jug of water and took a miserly sip. She now realized that she should have brought more than one with her. She’d been in the desert for two hours and already water had become a precious commodity.
There was no one else on the road. Death Valley’s two cities, Furnace Creek and Stovepipe Wells, had tiny year-round populations. The hotels and tourist attractions were mostly still closed for the summer.
Iris entered the valley, framed by the Amargosa Mountains on the east and the Panamint Mountains to the west. The ground grew a white crust of salt. The valley’s walls were multicolored from the hues of minerals exposed by the endless leeching of the wind and sand. Like a flower that only blooms at night, the desert slept during the day. The white midday sky was as forbidding as the blackest night.
Iris headed up the valley wall until she reached Zabriskie Point, a jagged ridge that overlooked the entire valley. Benches were set around the perimeter next to steel railings framed with Plexiglas. Plastic-encased maps showed the landmarks visible from the point, which could be viewed through coin-operated telescopes.
Iris parked the Triumph, grabbed a baseball cap, and pulled it down low on her forehead. She stepped out into the heat, which was only slightly worse than the temperature inside the car. Reaching back inside, she grabbed a long-sleeved shirt which she put on to protect her bare arms from the sun. The Triumph’s engine made pinging noises after the long drive.
She slowly looked around, not seeing anyone else. She walked to one of the look-out points, her shoes crunching on the sand, the dry air seeming to amplify sound, and leaned against the barrier. A light wind whistled in her ears and sent loose sand whirling into the air. The valley stretched as far as she could see, melting into a blur of sand and white sky.
Behind the jagged point were boulders and scruffy pine trees. She abruptly turned, thinking she heard a noise from behind the boulders. After a moment, she turned back and leaned against the steel railing. She stood motionlessly, listening to the soft whistling sounds the wind made flowing across the barren land.
Time passed. She used her shirt sleeve to blot her face and the back of her neck. Perspiration quickly evaporated in the heat. Finally she saw movement on the valley floor. A car was on the road far below. Finding a quarter in her pocket, she dropped it into a telescope. A barrier inside the two lenses dropped away and a small motor inside the scope whirred as it counted off the time purchased for a quarter. She turned the heart-shaped telescope, swinging it too far in either direction until she finally got a bead on the car.
The black sports utility vehicle made the turn to ascend to the point, moving out of Iris’s view. She walked toward the road, hearing the telescope snap closed behind her.
Before long, the car appeared and drove onto the point. It was brand-new, still bearing the dealer’s license plates. It turned a semicircle on the parking lot, scattering sand. When the engine was cut, the slow whistling of the wind again took over.
Iris straightened her sunglasses, tugged the bill of her cap, and walked toward the car.
Todd Fillinger looked tanned and healthy for a dead man. He’d shaved the beard he’d grown and regained the weight he’d lost to better resemble his buddy, Mike Edgerton, and again had the physique of the football quarterback he once was. In his hand he carried something wrapped in red velvet. Iris guessed it was the Czarina’s fox. A handgun was jammed inside the waistband of his jeans. He wasn’t happy to see her.
“Where’s Palmer?”
“The FBI probably has him by now.”
Todd smirked. “Oh well. At least he’s out of my hair. And I still have the fox, or do I?” He looked around. “Where’s your cavalry?”
She shrugged.
“Pretty ballsy, Iris. Pretty ballsy.” He pointed his index finger at her. “I always liked that about you.” He walked to the railing and leaned against it. “Did you bring the money yourself?”
“There’s no money.”
“No money, no foxy, Iris.” He held up and shook the velvet-encased object. “So what’s the point of this? You don’t even seem surprised to see me. Weren’t you expecting Enrico Lazare?”
”I figured out what you did.”
Todd bent his neck back and forth as if getting kinks out of it.
Iris said, “I know all about Mike and Mona Edgerton.”
“Mike and Mona…Two of the most gullible people on Earth.” He theatrically shuddered.
Iris remembered that about him. The broad gestures, almost as if he was playing to an audience. She licked her dry lips. “I saw your sister. Met your brother-in-law, your niece, and your nephew.”
“You’ve been a busy girl. That’s my Iris. Never lets any grass grow under her feet.” He again faced the railing, turning away from her. “Well, we’ll always have Paris.”
Undeterred by his sarcasm, she went on, determined to say what she had come all that way to tell him. “They were very upset when I told them about your murder. Your sister cried. Told me about how you both grew up, what happened to your parents. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
He was still turned from her. “Because it was ugly. Why live an ugly reality when you can create a beautiful fantasy?”
“How did you get Mike Edgerton to come to Moscow and pretend he was you?”
Todd faced her and chuckled. His eyes were animated. She hated to admit that she still found him attractive.
“Getting Mike to Moscow was easy. Told him he could go into business with me and gave him money upfront. That night, I told him I was trying to throw some guys off my track while I went to pick up some money. Could he dress like me and stand on the hotel steps? I met him around the corner from the hotel and gave him my coat and jewelry. I wanted to make sure he wore my ring and watch on the slight chance you’d notice.” He flicked his hand dismissively.
“Why were you on the run? Was Lazare after you?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Lazare…He’d been after me for years, ever since Paris. I owed him money. One night, I saw him in a club in Moscow. He was in the city on business. Didn’t know I was living there. He was really drunk. Sitting at a table with a bunch of prostitutes. His thugs weren’t with him. I tried to leave out the back. He followed me outside into a dark alley and I saw my chance and killed him.” He shrugged as if it couldn’t have been avoided.
“The local cops didn’t know it was Enrico Lazare because he was traveling under an assumed name. But I knew the clock was ticking. Todd Fillinger’s luck had run out. Then this baby turned up,” he held up the velvet-shrouded fox, “and I saw my destiny.”
He walked over to her, peeling away the red velvet. “Want to see it?”
The solid gold was cold and heavy in her hands. The rows upon rows of blue diamonds broke the sunlight into dozens of rainbows. Its ruby eyes were deep red. The size and shape were the same as Weems’s fake, but the genuine statuette wasn’t tarnished and battered. It was magnificent.
Iris turned it over in her hands, mesmerized by the brilliant jewels which grew warm from the desert sun.
He was watching her. “Is it as beautiful as you thought?”
She felt suddenly emotional, thinking of Winslow, Peru, the Edgertons, and who knew how many others who had died because of the fox. “More.”
He plucked it from her and then slid his hand over hers, squeezing gently. “It’s good to see you again.” He stared deeply into her eyes, moving his hand to her face, caressing the line of her jaw. He raised her chin and gently kissed her lips. She kissed him back.
After they broke, he stroked the back of her neck. “Come with me, Iris”
She rested her hand against his cheek and looked sadly into his soft brown eyes. “Todd, you had everything going for you.”
“Yeah.” His voice was raspy. “I guess you’re not coming with me.”
She shook her head.
He rested his hand on the gun in his waistband. He rapidly blinked, his face contorted. “I wish you hadn’t come here. Why did you?”
Her breathing grew shallow as she eyed the gun. She slowly stepped away from him. “I wanted you to know that you hadn’t gotten away with it.”
“But I have, Iris.” He sighed with resignation, then grabbed the butt of the gun.
A voice startled them.
“Please place your weapon on the ground in front of you and clasp your hands behind your head.”
They turned to see Konstantin Markov walk into the clearing from behind the boulders. Damp circles had formed in the armpits of his white dress shirt, which was tightly tucked into black slacks. Black hair curled through the opening underneath his partially unbuttoned shirt. His bald head was sunburned. He extended a hand toward Todd. “Mr. Fillinger, your weapon please.”
Todd snarled at Iris, his hand still clutching the butt of his gun. “Markov? You called Markov?”
“Mr. Fillinger, I’d advise against making any sudden movements,” Markov warned in his careful English. “Place your weapon on the ground in front of you, please.”
Todd pulled out his gun and aimed it toward Iris who screamed and dropped to her knees. A loud cracking noise exploded from the boulders behind them. Todd wrenched his body. The fox flew from his grasp and thudded onto the hard ground. Todd dropped beside it. The velvet lightly landed like a butterfly near his feet. The echo of the gunshot reverberated through the canyon, audible long after the gun that had fired it was quiet. Blood oozed from the back of Todd’s head. It didn’t spread far before it was absorbed by the thirsty earth.
Iris pulled her hands from her face to see Markov gently blowing sand off the fox. He reached down to pick up its velvet wrapper. He slapped the cloth against his thigh, trying to knock the sand from it.
Markov’s sharpshooter stood over Todd, his high-powered rifle slung over his shoulder. He prodded Todd with his foot, but it was unnecessary. The single bullet had struck Todd between the eyes. Markov said a few words to the gunman in Russian, and the young shooter walked away into the boulders and pine trees behind the point.
“I am sorry, Miss Thorne,” Markov said. “We had hoped that it wouldn’t turn out like this, but as you witnessed for yourself, Mr. Fillinger gave us no other choice.”
She cringed from the body, her face ashen.
Markov held up his prize, admiring the fox in the sun. His fine upturned lips curved a bit more. He wrapped the velvet around the fox.
“We must make our departure.” He held out his hand and when she raised hers, he grasped her fingers and drew the back of her hand to his lips. “If there is anything I can ever do for you at any time, please do not hesitate to contact me.” He quickly bowed toward her, then turned on the heel of his dusty dress shoes and walked across the point, disappearing behind the rocks and trees.
Iris returned to her car, trying to avoid looking at Todd’s body. She gagged once, tried to stifle another one, couldn’t, and vomited. Dizzy, she leaned against the hot steel of the car. She clambered behind the steering wheel and took a drink of the now hot water, swished it in her mouth, and spat it on the ground. She drank some, then splashed water on her face and neck. The drops that ran into her mouth were salty. She held her head in her hands and breathed deeply.
She heard an engine turn over followed by the whoop, whoop of a helicopter propeller, slowly increasing in velocity. She climbed from the car, still unsteady on her feet, and watched as the helicopter flew over the canyon. While she was watching it grow smaller and smaller, several cars pulled onto the point, their tires skidding on the sand as the drivers carelessly screeched to a stop.
People spilled from the cars and scattered with much shouting and commotion. Roger Weems marched over to her and angrily pointed at the body as if it were a toy mislaid by a careless child. “Iris, who in God’s green earth is that?”
“Todd Fillinger.” She drank another swig of water.
“Todd…” He frowned at the body. Shortly, another issue took precedence. “Where’s my fox?”
Iris slowly screwed the top back on the water jug. She pointed at the helicopter, which was now a small dot at the end of the canyon. “Todd was robbed by Konstantin Markov.”
“Who?”
“Markov. The head of security for Nikolai Kosyakov, the man who Todd stole the fox from who owns the Club Ukrainiya.”
“Markov? How the hell…” He gave her a bilious look. “What are you trying to pull? I have a feeling I’ve been set up.”
“Join the club.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Iris headed to her office in the McKinney Alitzer suite.
“Morning, Louise.”
“Good morning, Iris.”
Iris had barely put away her jacket and purse when Louise placed a fresh mug of hot coffee on her desk.
“Thank you,” Iris muttered as she looked through her phone messages.
Louise lingered in the doorway and Iris expectantly looked up at her. “I thought it was a lovely retirement party for Sam.”
“It was very nice. I know he was touched that so many people came.”
Louise smiled at Iris. “He was moved by your speech.”
“We’ve had our differences, but I’m glad Sam and I parted friends.”
“Iris, I’m glad you didn’t take the regional manager position, for purely selfish reasons, of course. We’re all glad you decided to put up with us a little bit longer.”
“Aww…Thank you. Who would have thought? The girl who never met a promotion she didn’t like or a pay raise she couldn’t live without.”
Louise started to leave but returned to Iris’s doorway. “Tracy Beale called. They’re going to scatter Todd Fillinger’s ashes a week from Saturday and would like you to attend if you can.”
“Did she say where?”
“Off Zabriskie Point in Death Valley.”
Iris shuddered as a chill went down her spine.
“She said it was one of Todd’s favorite places.”
Iris gazed out the window. She didn’t know if she could return there. She hadn’t dreamt about Todd since that day in Death Valley. She changed the subject. “So the new district manager starts next week. He’s supposed to be a pistol.”
“Guess we’ll have to be on our best behavior.”
Iris gave her a careless wave. “We’re gold. No, make that platinum.”
Iris reclined in a lounge chair in her backyard. It was late Friday afternoon. Scattered clouds were moving across the sky. Watching them created the illusion that she was the one who was moving, as if she were lying on a raft in the middle of the ocean. A shadow fell across her eyes, followed by the Garland’s face. He kissed her sweetly on the lips.
