Elegy in Scarlet

by BV Lawson

  Nelia’s husband wouldn’t welcome him as a guest, for sure. And she certainly wouldn’t be coming over to Drayco’s place to cook for him anytime soon. “Perhaps you could cook for me and Benny. And Benny’s wife.”

  She beamed at that. Safe, neutral territory. Dinner in the relationship equivalent of Switzerland. “Fill me in on how the case is going. Benny’s told me whatever you passed on to him. But I’m more interested in what you haven’t told him.”

  He grinned at that. “Apparently, I come from a family of con artists.” He filled her in on Pryce, Maura and her family, even Alistair Brisbane. It seemed so easy to talk to her, to blurt out everything. She listened intently, concentrating on every word.

  “Wow. I didn’t know you had such powerful relatives. Your Uncle Alistair sounds fascinating. In a criminal sort of way.”

  “Still can’t get used to the ‘uncle’ part.”

  “How does Gogo’s painting play into it? You don’t agree with Sarg that this is some big fraud cabal, do you?”

  “Seems pretty implausible, but it gives me an idea of the extent of my uncle’s reach.”

  They finished their sandwiches at the same time, then tossed the trash and headed for a walk around the LBJ memorial. Drayco loved this time of day, from the ground or better yet, from a plane.

  He stretched his arms out to his sides and breathed deeply, taking in the soul-cleansing crisp night air. “Benny’s going with me to visit my mother tomorrow. I’ll update him then.”

  “You can probably leave out that bit about the dominatrix S&M part. Sorry, M&M.” She laughed. “I’ve never been into that sort of thing. Tim brought it up once since I carry a gun and handcuffs.”

  Drayco coughed, then cleared his throat. He wished she wouldn’t talk about sex with her husband. Not that it mattered. Well, it did matter, but suddenly the night air didn’t feel cool anymore.

  “You’re kinda cute when you squirm.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  Her laugh echoed out into the twilight, skimming off the wind-driven ripples in the lagoon and beyond. He swore he could almost hear it ricochet off the Washington Monument in the distance.

  They strolled around the Grove circle in companionable silence punctuated only by the occasional splash of a fish or the rustling of brown leaf husks on the dormant oaks. In Drayco’s audio-centric world—where every sound, every voice, every note washed over him with tactile tides of color—the relative stillness of the night was like watching a black-and-white movie.

  On more than one occasion, Nelia had exhibited an almost uncanny ability to read his thoughts. Sarg did, too, but they’d been partners for a long time. She asked, “What are you hearing?”

  “Not much.”

  “You once told me you always had music running through your head. Like a soundtrack for your life. Even dreams.”

  “Would you believe me if said I’d been ‘listening’ to Queen?”

  She smiled. “Freddy Mercury or Queen of the Night by Mozart?”

  “Oh, now you’ve done it. That Mozart aria will haunt me for days.”

  It had already started up, and that bothered him. Not because of the music itself though he wasn’t an opera fan. There was something else trying to worm its way into his conscious brain. But when Nelia looked up at him, her warm brown eyes twinkling, he gave up.

  They stood against the railing on the pier and he turned to her, suddenly drawn to those eyes and those soft, red lips. He bent his head closer to hers, and as his lips brushed against hers, she pulled her head back. She looked as stunned as he felt. Had he just committed the most unwelcome and unethical act of his life?

  She looked at the ground as she said in a soft voice, “I wish I’d met you five years ago.” Then she added, in a tone that sounded part-defiant, part guilty, “I guess that sounds—”

  “I know. It’s complicated.”

  She nodded. Maybe not so unwelcome after all. Which meant he was in a lot more trouble around her than he’d thought.

  Chapter 45

  After dropping Nelia off at her apartment, Drayco didn’t drive off right away. He pulled out his cellphone and stared at it before pressing the screen to dial a number he’d added to his contacts. It was a number he’d tried to trace but determined was a burner phone and likely encrypted.

  He didn’t expect anyone to pick up. But the same voice as last time, with its smooth rolling burgundy tones, answered on the third ring. “Greetings, dear nephew. I wondered if I’d be hearing from you again.”

  “I’d almost think you were expecting me to call. Is that why you didn’t get rid of this phone?”

  “I trusted you not to hand over the number to anyone. Being able to read people is the main tool of my trade.”

  Not knowing how long Brisbane would be willing to chat, Drayco cut right to the chase. “Why did you buy Gogo Cheng’s Chinese calligraphy painting from Giovanni Nardello?”

  “I like the arts, music in particular. Runs in the family. I’m a big supporter.”

  Now Brisbane wanted to play happy families. Well, good for him. “Did you know that calligraphy painting was stolen by Jerold Zamorra?”

  “In all honesty, I didn’t know officially it was stolen until right this moment.”

  Officially, no. Unofficially, you betcha. “All right, you didn’t know officially it was stolen. But I doubt you bought this painting just because you like Chinese antiquities.”

  “I like this one. It’s from the Song Dynasty. The calligraphy is a poem about water and the moon. One flows on but never goes anywhere, the other waxes and wanes yet never diminishes or grows.”

  “Gogo said it was worth around fifty grand.”

  Brisbane chuckled. “I paid twice that for it. And Nardello wasn’t as up on his Chinese art as he thought. At auction, this rare piece could sell for close to a million.”

  “You seem to know a lot about art.”

  “I know a lot about a great many things. But you want to know if this ties in with Maura.”

  Brisbane sighed. “I’ve kept tabs on my sister and her ‘projects,’ including Jerold. I found out about Jerold’s gambling, debts, and his other little habits and had him tracked. I bought Mr. Cheng’s painting to clean up one of Jerold’s messes and therefore Maura’s. I’ve spent most of my life cleaning up the messes of family, friends, and others I’m not at liberty to name.”

  “You’re a regular Mr. Clean. How many of those messes did you participate in?”

  “I believe you’ve gotten the wrong impression of me, Scott. I’m not your enemy. I can help you.”

  “You can give me the names of everyone Maura and Jerold were seen with before his death. If Iago is as good as you think he is, you must have a detailed list.”

  Brisbane didn’t reply for several moments, but it didn’t sound like he’d hung up. Then Drayco felt his phone vibrate in his hand.

  “I’ve sent you a list of names, dates, and times. I’ll forward along some surveillance photos later. Although I’m not sure it will be useful. I’ve been over it all quite thoroughly and didn’t find any possibles.”

  “I don’t suppose you had Jerold followed even when he wasn’t with your sister.”

  “A few times. Those names are on your list.”

  Drayco checked the text message and opened the attachment. Some of the names he didn’t recognize, some he did—Gogo, Lauralee, Rena, even Ashley, who was allegedly estranged and hadn’t seen him except to drop off the box of his belongings.

  Halabi would salivate at the notion of getting his hands on the list. Drayco wasn’t sure he was ready to pass it along, and that thought made him stop short. Ordinarily, he’d turn it over to the police without blinking. First Jerold’s condo key, now this.

  But there was nothing normal about this case or about Brisbane, and that made Drayco irritated. He’d learned to read others like he read music—with voice colors and timbres, the twitch of an eye, the way someone held their hands, all standing in for musical no
tes. Put them together and out came a personality composition. But Brisbane was more a case of personality macular degeneration, with the center image fuzzed out and only the edges showing.

  As if to punctuate Drayco’s thoughts, Brisbane took pains to show he was keeping tabs on Drayco, too. “I like that lovely deputy from the Eastern Shore, Nelia Tyler. Her husband’s situation is unfortunate, of course. I’m sure things will work out for the best.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “If I were threatening you, Scott, you’d know it. When I said I spend most of my time cleaning up messes, especially family messes, you are an exception. Then, in your line of work, it’s probably best we not cross paths too often. It could get rather ... awkward.”

  He rang off, and Drayco tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. In his recent case with Sarg, he’d been used as a pawn in a deadly game of music codes. He’d sworn to himself he’d never get in that position again, but with Brisbane, it was déjà vu, even if Brisbane was telling the truth and trying to help. Feeling the weight of the long day sapping his strength, Drayco headed for home, hoping he wouldn’t have any uninvited visitors waiting for him, for once.

  § § §

  After determining he was indeed alone, Drayco was almost sorry Iago hadn’t broken into his townhome again. He’d love to ask Iago about some of the names on the list Brisbane had passed along, but had to make do with old-fashioned calls and a little computer research.

  Drayco turned off the lights in the front hallway and peered out the window. An unfamiliar black sedan sat parked across the street. Drayco couldn’t make out the driver of the car since the sedan was out of the range of streetlights. Conveniently out of range.

  Should he feel safer, thanks to new bodyguard, maybe even invite him in for a cozy cup of tea? Or should he call the cops?

  He did neither, first checking the back door to see if there were any signs of the stray cat. He hadn’t seen the little silver tabby in two days. Had she found a good home? Or some other not-so-happy ending? He missed the tiny furball. Just in case, he refilled the cat bowl with some dry food, hoping the squirrels didn’t eat it all first.

  He grabbed a Manhattan Special soda from the refrigerator and headed for the piano where he’d spread out several sheets of printed data on top of the closed lid and added the new printout with the info from Brisbane to the collection. He bent over to read them again for the third time, scanning the lists of names, bios, dates, locations.

  He was looking for anomalies, outliers, anything that would tie someone other than Maura to Jerold’s murder. So far, he’d only seen one item of interest, thanks to Brisbane following through on his promise to send along surveillance photos of Jerold. And even that item would have to wait until he got some follow-up intel from Sarg, coroners’ reports, and police databases.

  Suddenly realizing how much his neck and head hurt, Drayco straightened up and swept the papers onto the floor with his right hand, which was also throbbing. He massaged it for a few minutes before gingerly easing into a Bach prelude and fugue. He stumbled at first, but his fingers soon picked up the lines as if he hadn’t been away, as a rainbow of colors and textures exploded around him.

  He reveled in the return of the 3D world of sound and the way it fired all regions of his brain. It was easiest to think while playing Bach. The counterpoint focused scattered thoughts in his brain like a laser beam focused photons onto a single point. The music was always a revelation, in more ways than one.

  Maybe he’d forgive his mother some day or maybe he’d never find peace where his mother was concerned. But he’d be forever grateful for the day she’d first placed his small hands on a piano keyboard.

  He played for the better part of an hour, losing himself in time and space as he always did. So, when a loud knock thumped at the front door, he was as startled as if a gun had gone off.

  He couldn’t see anyone through the one-way glass, so he opened the door and looked across the street. There was no one around, except for a young couple waiting for a bus who were spending the time getting to know each other’s lips better. And the black sedan was gone.

  Then he noticed the tall object wrapped in brown paper to the left of the door. He studied it and looked for messages or printing, but finding none, hauled the object inside.

  He was pretty sure he knew what it was. He got some scissors to cut the tape holding the brown paper together, then peeled it away to reveal a painting with Chinese calligraphy. Alistair Brisbane had sent it along as what—a clue? A gesture of good faith designed to appease Drayco’s suspicions?

  With the painting propped up against a chair, he sat across from it and studied the lettering. What had Brisbane said? It was a poem about water that flows on but never goes anywhere and the moon that waxes and wanes but never diminishes or grows. If only relationships were like that. Steady, dependable, predictable.

  He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels. No Braveheart this time. Stopping on a channel showing October Sky, he watched for a bit. But the father and son’s strained relationship was hitting a little too close to home. Foregoing the TV, he put in a CD of piano elegies, and as Rachmaninoff’s Élégie in E-flat minor began playing, he stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 46

  Tuesday, February 26

  He managed to catch a few hours of sleep on the couch before a knock on his door roused him. Nelia had stopped by to see how he was doing. After the almost-kiss last night, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to invite her in when he was alone. But going out in his rumpled state wasn’t an option, so he had her wait on the couch while he threw on some clean clothes and set a new record for shaving.

  They hopped into his car and headed for the same Northside Social coffee bar where he and Sarg took Lauralee after rescuing her from jail. His discomfort increased when he noted how subdued Nelia seemed. “Something wrong?”

  As they climbed back into the car, coffee in hand, he knew by her stalling tactic he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “Tim and I had an argument. I thought he’d be happy I was pursuing my law school dream.”

  “He’s not?”

  She gulped down some of the coffee. “It takes me away from him more. I guess I can understand his side.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  Nelia stopped smoking years ago. But as she saw a smoker outside who was puffing away, she licked her lips. She’d once told him smoking had been more of a nervous habit, and right now her nerves seemed as raw as steak tartare. “He accused me of doing this whole law thing as an excuse to come to D.C. more often.”

  She didn’t have to voice the rest of it—as an excuse to come to D.C. to see Drayco. Then, she had dropped by this morning, hadn’t she? If that had been a surprise, her next comment was a complete shock. “I talked with Benny about divorce proceedings. I know I’ve always said how important my vows were to me, especially the whole ‘in sickness and in health’ part.”

  “Is Tim getting worse?”

  “No, he’s stable.” She’d finished her coffee in record time and was giving his coffee a wistful look, so he handed it over. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “I forgot you put salt in it.” She took another sip. “It’s not so bad when you get used to it.”

  “Are you serious? About the divorce?”

  She sighed. “Maybe. Maybe not. Just an informal conversation with Benny. Nothing official.”

  Not knowing what to say, he changed the subject. “Feel like playing delivery girl?”

  She managed a small smile which he took as a yes. He’d already made a mental map of the route he needed to take to an area he’d never visited before, near Holmes stream in Annandale. It was close to one of the many parklands throughout metro D.C. that made flying over it look like an aerial view of a rainforest.

  The house they found was worlds away from the wall-to-wall brick colonials in northern Virginia. It looked like it dated from around 1950, with lots of
wood and glass and hints of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Usonian architecture.

  Drayco rang the bell. Gogo Cheng answered, dressed in a purple embroidered silk tunic that was a far cry from his customary martial arts uniform. He frowned when he saw Drayco. “Mr. Drayco. I was expecting someone else.”

  “Sorry if I caught you at a bad time. When I called your studio, they said you came in late on Tuesday mornings.”

  “It’s my parents. I asked them to come over—time to face the music. I’ve decided to tell them the truth about the painting.”

  “Perhaps this will help.” Drayco gestured behind him, and Nelia joined him in the doorway, holding the re-wrapped painting. She handed it to Gogo, who looked from one to the other in shock, then motioned for them to follow him as he headed inside. Gogo carefully peeled off the paper and stared at it, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Where did you find this?”

  “I tracked it down with a little help from Nelia here.” That, and a lot of help from a shadowy uncle.

  “This will make it easier to tell my parents I’ve asked Ashley to marry me.”

  As if on cue, Ashley Zamorra walked in from the back. She’d ditched her usual jeans in favor of an emerald green dress and earrings that set off the chestnut highlights in her updo. It made her look like a Hollywood starlet of the same era as the house.

  Gogo thrust out the painting to her, and she beamed at him—obviously, he’d decided to tell her about it, after all. Taking it from him, she gingerly hung it on the empty hook on the wall. Then Gogo wrapped his arm around her waist as the two stood admiring the painting.

  Ashley turned around to address Drayco, her expression turning more serious. “I went to the jail to talk with Uncle Edwin. He’s sorry for what he’s done. Turns out, he made some bad investments also on tips from Dad but was too embarrassed to tell anyone. My father was a regular Bernie Madoff.”

  She slumped on the arm of a chair nearby, with Gogo’s arm still around her. “I’ve been thinking about my father more since Uncle Edwin’s arrest. I’m still angry with him. But I’m even angrier I won’t have the chance to hear him say he’s sorry.”