The market was a tricky place to close down. Although the police had spread out through the perimeter of the flea market area and set up checkpoints at the exits to the parking garage, so many shoppers had strolled through and come and gone throughout the morning, the giant roster of names and addresses and phone numbers seemed like so much make-work to Jane. It had to be done. Of course. But Jane thought she ought to at least try to make their work a bit more efficient.
“Officer?” Jane asked.
“It’s Detective Dooley, Mrs. Wheel,” he said, not looking up from his notepad.
“I believe the dagger is actually a letter opener,” said Jane. “It’s hand-crafted sterling, arts and crafts, early twentieth century, looks like it might have been made by Kalo, although I’d have to check to see if they made such a piece. There’d be a signature.” Jane stopped as she realized the mark, if there was one, was probably covered in Lou Piccolo’s blood.
“Mrs. Wheel, whoa,” said Dooley, who was trying to smile, although Jane knew he was the type who never did, had never known how. He forced the corners of his mouth upward as if he had studied the steps in a how-to manual. “We’re looking for a killer here, who probably grabbed the closest weapon from a nearby junk stall. Smart, too, since there’d be no connection to the murderer. Got it here and left it here.”
“Yes, of course,” said Jane, practicing her own version of condescension for those who didn’t appreciate the history of the objects in their lives. “But there are two things,” she began. “First, since this is a very fine and expensive piece, it probably would have been kept by the dealer in a locked case. It couldn’t have been easily grabbed without notice. It was probably purchased. And if the murderer didn’t know he or she was going to run into this person, it might have just been a purchase, you know, by a collector. So you know that the murderer had a lot of cash on hand to pay for it, and might be a collector of Kalo or Kalo-style silver.”
Dooley had looked up from his pad and was staring at Jane, but she wasn’t sure she was making herself clear.
“Look, for example, I collect vintage sewing items—knitting things, too, as a matter of fact. If I came across a really great pair of vintage sterling silver scissors here, I might buy them and put them in my purse. Then, if I ran into someone I got angry at or that I just wanted to kill, I would just have those scissors handy. Of course, then I’d have to leave them. But when I purchased them, I would have assumed I was going to be taking them home. If I wanted to kill someone, there are any number of rusty old letter openers and scissors and knives here.”
Dooley didn’t bother to put on his paint-by-number smile. He just continued to stare at Jane.
“It means it probably wasn’t premeditated,” Jane explained. “No one would buy a Kalo letter opener and plan to leave it in someone’s back.”
“You said two things, Mrs. Wheel. What’s number two?”
“The tag on the dagger. Looked to me like it had a small stamp of a four-leaf clover on it. There’s a dealer table in the next aisle called Lucky Finds and I noticed their tags had four-leaf clovers on them, so…”
“News I can use, Mrs. Wheel,” said Dooley. He sent an officer in the direction Jane had pointed.
“You’re an extremely observant person. Not a licensed PI working security for the market, are you?” Dooley asked, his tone clearly indicating that he was straining to make a joke.
“Nope,” said Jane. “Not a licensed anything, I’m afraid.” She rarely got a chance to behave in such a scrupulously honest fashion. She had never seen the dead man. She wasn’t a licensed PI. It made her giddy. When she heard a noise like a Swiss bell-ringers’ choir, she wondered if her giddiness had fast-forwarded into delusion, then she traced the sound to her bag. How had Tim gotten to it to change the ring this morning? It hadn’t been out of her possession, had it?
“May I answer my phone?”
Dooley nodded. He was looking over his shoulder at the young officer he had dispatched to Lucky Finds, now sprinting back toward them.
“Four or five people were looking at the opener, passing it around and oohing and ahing, and one of them bought it. No description. Said he’d had a busy morning and he couldn’t even say if it was a man or woman who ended up buying the thing. Didn’t think the group who had been looking at stuff in the case were even together. Buyer paid cash.” The officer lowered his voice and nodded in Jane’s direction. “She was right about it being a pricey blade. Five hundred bucks. The dealer said the purchaser told him to take the price tag off because it was a gift, and he did, but he left the Lucky store tag on it when he wrapped it up for them.”
Jane tried to listen to Dooley and his officer discuss their own lucky find, but it was difficult, since Tim was describing the items he was surrounded by, trapped by police officers on the west side of the parking lot.
“Unfriggingbelievable. Across the aisle, there’s an entire table full of hotel silver. I could have gone over it and given the guy pocket change, since he’s dying to sell something, anything, since the whole day is a bust for him. I can see it in his eyes from here. And where do I get trapped? I wander in here because I think I see an old Steiff bear, one of those tiny brown ones with the articulated limbs? In a pile of sock monkeys, I see this thing peeking out, but it turns out to be a piece of crap when I get close up, and what else is in this booth? Beanie Babies out the ass. I am trapped in Beanie Baby world. Who thought this crap up? Weenie the Dachsund? Cheesy the Mouse? Nutsy the Squirrel? Holy shit! Did you know there’s a Princess Diana bear? Who knew? I was the only florist in Illinois to refuse to carry them in the shop. Could have made a bundle, sure, but I had my pride, oh shit, here’s—”
“Timmy, calm down. I can’t talk. I’m with the police. I was looking at some autograph books when I—”
“You found the dead guy? Of course. What was I thinking, bringing you to a perfectly fine flea market? What is it with you? Ask the cop how soon I’ll be released from the Cuddle Town Jail,” said Tim. “Are you okay?” he added, almost sincerely.
“I’m okay. Be productive while you’re there. There’s a blue elephant that’s worth a lot of money. Look for that one.”
“Yeah, right. Oh look, here’s Lymey the Tick—”
Jane clicked off her phone, hoping to hear more news about the group who purchased the letter opener. Since she couldn’t ask a question without arousing Detective Dooley’s suspicions about what questions she herself might be able to answer, she tried to conjure up Detective Oh. He would advise her to listen, as she was doing, but he also had told her once that occasionally drawing a random conclusion might prove irresistible to someone who always thought himself to be right. If she was wrong, he would have to correct her, and that would give her the information she sought.
“When I browsed the Lucky Finds booth, I didn’t see any Kalo or look-alike pieces in the display case, and that was probably around eight A.M., so she must have purchased it first thing when the market opened.”
The young detective nodded. “Yup, first thing when he opened this morning. At first he said it was a guy, then he changed his mind to a woman, then back to a guy,” he said. “Then he said he just couldn’t say for sure.” The policeman looked like he wanted to continue hashing out the time with Jane, who had, after all, given him his lead, which made him forget that she was a nonlicensed nobody who just happened to find a dead man.
Dooley held up his hand and told him to go back to the dealer, where he would join them both in a minute. “We’re going to allow people to leave, Mrs. Wheel, and you’re free to go as well. We have your hotel information, yes?”
Jane nodded. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be at the W. We might relocate to a friend’s…do you want me to…?”
“ We have your cell phone. We would like it if—”
A female uniformed officer came over to Dooley and apologized for interrupting. “There’s a man over there with his wife. Out-of-towners, wife’s a dealer on a buying trip. Guy�
��s bored and starts roaming. He says he saw two pickpockets working the market. Following people who were buying high-end stuff and plucking it right out of their bags. He was looking for someone on duty to call in a detail for the collar. Guy in a baseball cap, jeans, and a T-shirt and a woman with silvery gray hair and glasses…a pair that blended right into the crowd. Probably had a third or fourth that they were handing off merch to. He saw the two actives work this aisle and one over.” She pointed in the direction of Lucky Finds. “Might not mean anything, but somebody could have set up another layer of smoke between them and their victim if they stole the weapon and used it on our boy here.”
“But a pickpocket?” said Jane, immediately wishing she had said this silently, to herself. Had she? Maybe she had….
No. Dooley turned back, surprised to see that she was still standing there, more surprised to hear her offer a comment.
“We’ll call you, Mrs. Wheel, if we need to speak with you again.”
Dooley’s dismissal of Mrs. Jane Wheel, duty-performing citizen, did not stop Detective Jane Wheel from finishing her thought. Pickpockets are thieves. Whoever stabbed Lou Piccolo in the back with a handcrafted letter opener was a murderer. Jane could hear Detective Oh’s voice in her head. Why would a formal operation like a pickpocket ring spoil their plans with a murder? Suppose one of the thieves had been spotted and in a panic wanted to get rid of the witness? Even then, he or she would never use such an expensive prize to do the deed.
Jane noted that the autograph books she had taken from the shelf had been bagged, tagged, and placed next to a case holding evidence-collection paraphernalia. She gave a sympathetic nod to the dealer, who knew that Jane would have been good for the sale. Jane knew that she knew and they waved a sad I-would-have-bought-it-I-know-you-wanted-it good-bye.
The market was officially closed for the day. Sellers were being allowed to pack up their wares and shoppers were heading for their cars after allowing police to take their names and addresses and check their bags. Jane noticed that the dealer from Lucky Finds was surrounded by three uniformed officers
and Detective Dooley. Another person, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, had what looked like a drawing tablet and, Jane figured, was asking for remembered details for a composite sketch of the purchaser of the letter opener.
Jane found her way to the stall where Tim waited, a pained expression on his face. She bailed him out of Beanie Baby jail and together they headed for their rental car.
Looking back in the direction of the table where Jane found the dead man, whom Jeb Gleason had identified as Lou Piccolo, Jane figured that Jeb and the B Room were able to get to their car and pull out of the parking garage at least three minutes ahead of the time her screams brought attention, police, and any kind of checkpoints or blocks at the entrances and exits.
As soon as they were in the car, Jane phoned the hospital to check on Bix. Still in surgery. Jane imagined the entire B Room assembled in her room when she came back. How long would they wait before they told her that her partner, Lou Piccolo, was dead? Would it be Jeb who delivered the news? Jane was sure. He was the leader of this little cult. He had always been charismatic. In college, Jane had been thoroughly charmed by his cool confidence, his mysterious demeanor, and just as thoroughly disgusted when she discovered his dishonesty. But they were college kids and he was a handsome guy at whose feet girls—especially equally cool girls like Linda Fabien—threw themselves. He wasn’t a bad guy then. He wasn’t evil or sinister. Jane remembered hearing Jeb’s voice behind her when she found the body—Lou Piccolo’s back from Ojai. Was it the whisper of a murderer?
Jane knelt facing backward on the front seat, rearranging packages in the rear. She almost fell headfirst onto the backseat reaching for the Thomas Guide under a stack of colorful souvenir metal trays.
“These aren’t your thing, Timmy. Kitschy-kitschy-koo kind of stuff,” said Jane.
“I know. Definitely low-end. Much more you. But I loved the colors and the photographs reproduced on them. Seemed so Southern California and, you know, if I had a little bungalow here, I could see those on a kitchen wall above the door and—”
“Tim, what do I look up to guide you back to the studio? I’ve got to stop in at Bix’s office for a minute.”
Tim had the instincts of a bloodhound who carried a driver’s license. He maneuvered through traffic, sniffed out the fastest lanes, and calmly sensed the exits and turns just before their signs appeared. He was slowing their Volvo down in front of the studio gates in what must have been record time. Jane told him to drive past and turn the corner, directing him to the auxiliary parking lot Jeb had parked in the day before.
“There’s a visitor’s lot across the street that’s closer,” said Tim.
Jane smiled and held up her little key.
“This is a direct route.”
Jane led the way through the maze of shrubbery both outside the gate and inside the gate into what was the postage-stamp backyard of the Bix Pix Flix bungalow.
Although they saw a few people walking on the lot, the pace was definitely that of the weekend. Most offices looked empty, few cars were in the reserved spaces scattered between the buildings. Jane and Tim had walked around to the front of the office to see if anyone was at the front desk. The front door was locked. They walked back to the rear entrance and tried that door. Open. Why not? The gate into the backyard had been locked from the inside, so no one could get to the back door unless they came through the hidden gate or were allowed in by someone already in the backyard.
“I figure we might have as much as a twenty-minute head start on the police,” said Jane. “They’ll send someone to Piccolo’s house, but they’ll come here, too, if the address is on any business cards in his wallet.”
Jane handed Tim a vintage handkerchief, one of a few she always kept in her bag.
“Use this if you touch anything, hon, but don’t wipe anything clean. We were here yesterday, so our fingerprints should logically be here,” said Jane.
“What’s with the criminal mind? Yo u sound like we’re the bad guys instead of the crime solvers,” said Tim.
“Nonsense. I just want to look around Lou Piccolo’s office before the police get here.”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with the criminal mind. He has a signed first edition of A is for Alibi out there in the bookcase that might just go to waste if I don’t take it,” said Tim.
“You will not steal, Tim Lowry,” said Jane. “Especially from a dead man.”
“Dead men don’t press charges,” said Tim.
Jane was sure that Tim was teasing, but just the same, she made a mental note to check the bookshelves before they left. The last thing she needed was to lose her PI license. It would be particularly galling if it happened before she had gotten her PI license.
Jane had little need for the handkerchief. The door to Lou’s office was open. She remembered that Jeb had walked into it yesterday when they had rushed over from lunch. Was it just yesterday that Jane had been lulled by Jeb’s voice, feeling that she understood his appeal, his magnetism? No, couldn’t have been. Jane was not the naïve young girl she had been in college and Jeb had grown into what college playboys became…sad middle-aged loners looking ahead to seedy old age. It was a harsh judgment. Not as harsh as another conclusion that Jane was fighting against reaching.
On Lou Piccolo’s vintage oak desk—it looked like something right out of the newsroom of The Front Page—he had carefully lined up a collection of metal paperweights. The Eiffel Tower, the Empire State Building, a few California bank buildings, a baseball stadium. In a row just in front of the paperweights, another collection was lined up. Vintage letter openers. Brass, Bakelite, silver and gold. Lou might be meticulous in the way he placed objects on his desk, but he wasn’t a perfect housekeeper. A thin layer of dust covered the desk. If Jane had been browsing in an antique shop, she would have succumbed to her impulse to use her handkerchief to wipe off the surface—all the bet
ter to display these exquisite pieces. In this case though, she only clutched her handkerchief, now wadded up in a tight ball, harder in her closed fist. The dusty film showed a definite outline of what was not on the desk. An object had recently been removed from between two hand-hammered silver examples. And although Jane was no expert in gauging exact length and width, she would have bet her last collectible silver dime that what she was gazing at on the desk was the chalk outline of the letter opener she had seen sticking out of Lou Piccolo’s back.
9
Backstabbing and air-kissing? In Hollywood, those are two gestures that signify exactly the same thing.
—FROM Hollywood Diary BY BELINDA ST. GERMAINE
As Jane was locking the gate behind them, she asked Tim for the third time if he was sure he hadn’t touched anything he shouldn’t have. She knew he hadn’t lifted any of Lou Piccolo’s first editions. Tim wasn’t a thief. Besides, he hadn’t carried in a bag and none of the books would fit in his pockets.
“You act pretty holier-than-thou for someone who hasn’t explained how she got a key to a hidden back entrance to a major studio. I just can’t imagine that those are handed out as party favors—even to people whose rights someone is dying to get.”
Jane tried to freeze him with a look.
“Oops. I didn’t mean that, sweetie. Even I am not that crass.”
Jane looked around the parking lot before they came out of the shrubbery and quickly walked to their car. The lot was far from full. It was a weekend and after all, this lot was a two-block walk to the entrance while two other parking lots were directly across the street from the main gate. As Jane was about to express her disapproval of the studio head who obviously had arranged a pretty sweet setup for himself all those years ago when the trees and bushes were first planted to cover up the perimeter of the lot, a tall young man dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt came walking in through the street entrance.
Hollywood Stuff Page 9
