Curse of the Jade Lily: A McKenzie Novel

by David Housewright

  “He’s all yours,” I said.

  Rask spoke into a handheld radio, and the cops rushed inside the bar. Herzog and I crossed the street and jumped into the Jeep Cherokee. We drove off before anyone came out of the bar. I never did learn the name of the place.

  SEVENTEEN

  The air was awfully warm and stale by the time I limped into the windowless conference room on the second floor of the City of Lakes Art Museum the next morning, heated no doubt by the thirteen bodies I found there. Perrin Stewart was sitting at the head of the long table as she had been the first time we met. Randolph Fiegen, Derek Anderson, and the other four members of the executive board of trustees had arranged themselves on the far side. Mr. Donatucci, Branko Pozderac, and Jonathan Hemsted were on Perrin’s right; India Cooper, Jeremy Gillard, and Heavenly Petryk were on her left. Only Heavenly was smiling, but then she had an idea of what was coming.

  “Good morning,” I said. “Thank you all for being here.”

  I stepped around the table to the side Heavenly was on. A large aluminum, foam-filled carrying case had been pushed up against the wall behind her chair.

  “You should sit down before you fall down,” Anderson said.

  He had a point. My sprained ankle had not improved much; nor had my broken collarbone, which was held in place by the shoulder immobilizer again. What’s more, I had cut myself shaving—you try it with one hand—and the addition of a bandage to the bruises, cuts, and scrapes made my face look like the “before” photo in an ad for plastic surgery. Still, I was in no mood to listen to his BS.

  “Shut up, Derek,” I said.

  “You don’t talk to me that way.”

  I found Fiegen. His expression was fretful, and when he wasn’t fingering the folder in front of him, he was pressing and patting his red-orange hair. I gestured at him with my chin.

  “Shut up, Derek,” he said.

  Derek glared at him with an expression of amazement, like a man who had just learned that his most trusted comrade-in-arms had switched sides. I was less impressed. Fiegen and I had spent a great deal of time talking on the phone. If he was indeed going to keep his end of the bargain as promised, this was going to be a lot of fun. In fact, I said as much out loud.

  “This is going to be fun,” I said. “Like those old Thin Man movies on TCM with William Powell and Myrna Loy.”

  “Which one are you?” Heavenly asked.

  “Who is this woman?” one of the trustees asked. “What is her position here?”

  “I’ll get to that,” I said.

  I maneuvered around the room until I was standing beneath the painting of primary colors splashed on the canvas that Donatucci had found so fascinating earlier.

  “First of all, Von Tarpley and her accomplice have been arrested for the murder of Patrick Tarpley and Lieutenant Scott Noehring of the Minneapolis Police Department.”

  I glanced at India while I spoke. She was dressed as if she had been called from her bed by some dire emergency and hadn’t had time to put herself together yet. Her face was pale despite her dark complexion. She was sitting with her hands folded in front of her, her eyes fixed on her hands.

  “The one million two hundred seventy thousand dollars designated by the Midwest Farmers Insurance Group to ransom the Jade Lily has been recovered. Mr. Donatucci?”

  “The money is being held by the Minneapolis Police Department as evidence,” Donatucci said. “Following legal proceedings, it will be returned to us.”

  “What about the Lily?” Anderson asked. “Your job was to recover the Jade Lily, remember? Not solve some damn crime.”

  “You know what, screw it,” I said. “Let’s deal with you first.”

  I circled the table until I could look Anderson in the eye.

  “Everybody, Derek here is your leak,” I said. “He’s the one who has been feeding information to Kelly Bressandes and other members of the media despite the board’s desire to maintain a low profile—”

  Anderson rose to his feet. “That’s a lie,” he said.

  “Bressandes is downstairs with a camera crew. We could ask her. No? Where was I? He also had an affair with Von Tarpley and no doubt fed her important information while she was involved with her husband in planning the theft—”

  “No, no, no,” Anderson chanted.

  I pointed at Heavenly. “Mr. Anderson was also actively involved in helping this woman embarrass the museum.” I turned to face Perrin Stewart. “Among other things, she’s the blond bimbo that Anderson wanted to replace you with. Aren’t you, Heavenly?”

  “Well, I’m blond,” she said.

  “Are you an art major?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you have any background in museum science?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Wait a minute,” Anderson said.

  “Why were you involved with Mr. Anderson?” I asked.

  “He was helping me take possession of the Jade Lily and return it to Tatjana Durakovic, who, by the way, is the object’s rightful owner. Isn’t that correct, Jeremy?”

  Gillard waved his hand slightly. “Eh,” he said.

  “Wait a minute,” Anderson said. “That’s crazy.”

  “He was hoping to use the controversy surrounding the actual ownership of the Lily as grounds for seeking the dismissal of Ms. Stewart,” Heavenly said. “Later, after it was stolen, he gave me information concerning Tarpley, your plans for buying back the Lily, and McKenzie’s involvement, with the understanding that I would use it to steal the Lily from the thieves.” She held her thumb and index finger an inch apart and peered through the opening. “I was this close.”

  “Do you want Ms. Stewart’s position?” I asked.

  “I’m hardly qualified.”

  “But you told me—” Anderson began.

  “Exactly what you wanted to hear,” Heavenly finished.

  “Mr. Fiegen,” I said.

  Fiegen cleared his throat. “This matter was brought to our attention earlier,” he said. “The other members of the board and I met in closed session, and it was agreed that Mr. Anderson should be dismissed immediately from the executive board of trustees and that he no longer be allowed to participate in any activities involving the City of Lakes Art Museum.”

  “You can’t do that,” Anderson insisted.

  “All in favor?” Perrin said, and five hands were raised. “Opposed?”

  “You can’t do that,” Anderson repeated.

  “Get out,” Perrin said. She was smiling when she said it. “Don’t come back.”

  “This is bullshit,” Anderson said.

  “Derek, my advice—leave quietly,” I said, “because even in my diminished state I’d be happy as hell to kick your ass.”

  Anderson paused for a moment, searched the room for an ally, found none, announced, “This isn’t over yet,” and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  “I thought he’d never leave,” I said.

  Mr. Donatucci grinned and shook his head.

  We’re having some fun now, my inner voice said.

  Pozderac started beating on the top of the conference room table. His face was red, and the muscles in his neck were strained—I thought I could detect a few small bruises around his throat.

  “Where is Lily?” he shouted. “I want Lily.”

  Hemsted tried to hush him, but Pozderac would not be hushed.

  “Give it to me,” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said. “Keep it in your pants, willya, pal?”

  “I hate you,” he said.

  Yeah, that’ll keep me awake at night, my inner voice said.

  I turned toward Fiegen.

  “Mr. Fiegen, do you have anything more to say?”

  He gave his hair a couple of pats and looked at his fellow trustees, who all were suddenly as attentive as I had seen them.

  “We are delighted that the ransom money has been recovered,” he said.

  “Where is Lily?” Pozderac asked.

&nb
sp; Fiegen flashed him a look then that made me take a step backward. Did I say the room was hot? For a moment, it felt very chilly indeed. Pozderac, that mass-murdering piece of dog crap, actually looked away.

  Are you sure you want to mess with this guy? my inner voice asked.

  “Your firm no longer has any claims on the City of Lakes Art Museum, Mr. Donatucci, is that not true?” Fiegen asked.

  “It is true.”

  “We no longer have any claims on you, either. This document”—Fiegen opened his folder and lifted the top sheet—“clearly states that the City of Lakes Art Museum will make no claim against the Midwest Farmers Insurance Group involving the Jade Lily now or in the future.”

  Gillard leaned forward in his chair. “What about me?” he asked.

  “Jer,” I said.

  I put a finger to my lips, the universal sign for silence. He leaned back in his chair. I took the sheet from Fiegen, limped over to Donatucci, and handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” Donatucci said.

  “Next…” Fiegen lifted the second sheet on the pile. “Ms. Stewart, the board of trustees has unanimously agreed to tender you a five-year extension on your current contract with the hope that you will remain executive director of the City of Lakes Art Museum. I am sure you will find the salary and benefits to be quite acceptable.”

  Again, I took the paper from Fiegen and walked it around the table. Perrin’s expression flicked back and forth between delight and confusion. India looked at her friend. A smile formed on her lips; then it went away and she returned her gaze to her folded hands. I set the sheet of paper in front of Perrin.

  “McKenzie, did you do this?” she asked.

  I whispered my reply. “Take the job, do the job, be happy—don’t let what happens next ruin it for you.”

  “What happens next?” she asked.

  “Mr. Gillard,” Fiegen said.

  “Hey, don’t mind me,” Gillard said. “I love a song and dance as much as the next guy.”

  I moved behind Gillard. Fiegen gave him a cold stare. Gillard looked from Fiegen back over his shoulder at me.

  “What?” he said.

  Fiegen picked up a check.

  “I will pay you three-point-eight million for the Jade Lily.” He said it like he was in no mood to haggle.

  Gillard looked at me again. “You got it back?” he asked.

  “Take the money,” I said.

  Gillard returned his gaze to Fiegen. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “What don’t you know?” Fiegen asked.

  “Three-point-eight million…”

  I idiot-slapped Gillard above his right ear with a lot more force than was necessary.

  “Okay, okay,” Gillard said. He massaged the side of his head. “Fine. I’ll take it. Geez.”

  The check was passed to him. Gillard kissed it, folded it, and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “Drinks are on me,” he said.

  He started to rise from his chair, but I pushed him back down.

  “Stay,” I said. “We’re not finished yet.”

  Fiegen closed the folder in front of him. “McKenzie, I believe that concludes my part of the festivities,” he said.

  “So it does,” I told him. “Heavenly?”

  Heavenly left her chair, picked up the aluminum case, and brought it around the table. She set it in front of Branko Pozderac. Pozderac hugged it to his chest like a Christmas gift he wanted to savor before opening. Hemsted’s eyes flicked from the case to me to Fiegen and back to the case as if he were sure there was something terribly wrong, only he couldn’t figure out what. Pozderac opened the case. The Jade Lily was inside, nestled in the gray foam bed. Even under the indifferent overhead lights it was exquisite. Everyone in the room stood to take a good look at it except for India and Gillard. Pozderac ran his fingers gently over the Lily’s flowers and stems. He spoke several words slowly in the Bosnian language. He looked from the Lily to Hemsted. Hemsted nodded. Pozderac abruptly closed the case.

  “It is done,” he said.

  He turned to face Fiegen. He did not offer his hand, and Fiegen did not offer his.

  “It is done,” the Bosnian repeated.

  “Yes,” Fiegen said.

  “We go.”

  Pozderac picked up the case, and he and Hemsted left the room.

  “There goes one happy mass murderer,” Heavenly said.

  “I don’t understand,” Perrin said. “Mr. Fiegen, what did you just do?”

  “I did what was best for the museum,” he said.

  “Actually, he did what was best for Minnesota Disposal and Recycling,” I said. “The museum will come out much further ahead than he will, though.”

  “You know nothing of big business,” Fiegen said.

  “Very true. I wouldn’t be counting those euros just yet, though. See, I do know a little something about human nature, and there’s no telling what Branko is going to do once he discovers that the Jade Lily is a phony.”

  I turned my eyes on India and Gillard when I spoke. They both slumped in their chairs like inflatable dolls that had been pricked with a pin. It occurred to me that up until that exact moment, they thought they had gotten away with it.

  “What are you talking about?” Fiegen asked.

  “The Jade Lily—it’s a fake, a fraud, a forgery.”

  “That’s impossible,” Perrin said. “It was authenticated. We had provenance. Cooper? Cooper?”

  Perrin was looking directly at her friend, but her friend wouldn’t look at her.

  “Dennis was driving your car,” I said. “I was hoping you didn’t know he was in on the theft. That was just wishful thinking on my part, wasn’t it?”

  India refused to answer.

  “Start talking, McKenzie,” Fiegen said. “Talk fast.”

  “The Lily is a fake,” I said. “A forgery committed by a Frenchman named Dr. Arnaud Fornier, who is now doing time for art fraud. He sold it to Mr. Leo Gillard, Jeremy’s father. Mr. Gillard didn’t know it was a forgery, and neither did Jeremy until India Cooper told him—isn’t that right, India?”

  She didn’t say if it was or wasn’t.

  “Cooper?” Perrin said. “Is it true?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I don’t know why India didn’t tell her friend Perrin,” I said. “She did tell Jeremy. I know because India said she had never met Gillard before, yet the other day when we were in the workroom together it was clear that he had met her. Gillard could have taken the Lily back once he realized it was a fraud, but because of the lending agreement, he’d have to have a good reason, and he didn’t want to give a reason. The Lily represented half of Gillard’s net worth. He told me that he could get by on eight million dollars, but four—I’m guessing not so much. What to do? Intact, the Lily was relatively worthless, but if it was stolen or destroyed … I’m guessing Gillard offered India a share if she helped him steal the Lily from the museum. ’Course, neither of them had experience in this sort of thing, so they needed help. Does anyone want to explain how you involved Patrick Tarpley in your plan?”

  Neither India nor Gillard replied.

  “Perhaps you’ll tell us someday,” I said. “In any case, Tarpley warmed to the idea for reasons involving his wife and a crooked cop. It was an easy decision to make because it happened before, didn’t it? That was why the security system was upgraded six months ago, upgraded a lousy eighteen months after it was originally installed.” I pointed a finger at Mr. Donatucci. “Something was stolen from the museum and you bought it back, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” Donatucci said.

  “Sure. Anyway, Tarpley decided to go after the Lily. He was a smart man. He knew that getting the Lily out of the museum was the hard part. He wore the mask so he could pretend he was conducting a security drill in case someone stopped him. If that didn’t work or if he was caught later, he knew that since the Lily was not the priceless artifact it was advertised to be, he could plead down to a gross misdemea
nor. Once he was out of the building, Tarpley was home free. Offering to sell the Lily back was the key. He knew that the museum—and the insurance company—would not only agree to his terms, which weren’t particularly onerous, you would work real hard to keep the theft a secret from both the cops and the public—protecting your reputation, you told me, remember? You claim to be a businessman, Fiegen. How would you rate the risk-reward of Tarpley’s enterprise?”

  Fiegen didn’t say.

  “The reason I was involved—they picked me to act as a go-between because I was reliable and because I was known to the insurance company as being reliable. See, Tarpley and his crew had no intention of returning the Lily. Instead, they had planned from the very beginning to destroy it—once I had authenticated it, of course—knowing the insurance company would accept my word that it was real. That way Tarpley would get the ransom money from my hand. Gillard would get the insurance settlement. And their accomplices, specifically India, would be protected from charges of fraud. In fact, just about everyone would be happy once the Lily was blown sky-high except the insurance company, and who was going to cry crocodile tears for you?”

  “Not many,” Donatucci said.

  “It was a good plan,” I said. “The plan would have worked. Tarpley’s only mistake was in picking his crew. His wife. India’s brother. He thought they were trustworthy. They should have been. They were family, for God’s sake. ’Course, the way Von wept over Dennis, well, maybe it was a crime of passion when she shot her husband, after all. By the way, I’m sorry I shot him, India—Dennis, I mean. I wouldn’t have if he hadn’t tried to shoot me first. I hope he’s all right.”

  “He’ll never turn against me, you know,” India said.

  “A brother’s love. Touching.”

  “It’s not true,” Perrin said. “It can’t possibly be true. India? How could you, India?”

  She’s using India’s first name instead of her last, my inner voice said. I guess they’re not friends anymore.

  “I knew how important the exhibit was to you,” India said. “Having the Lily stolen was better than having it revealed that you contracted to exhibit a fake.”