2 Pane of Death (15 page)

“I can’t answer that,” Cam said. “But I can’t imagine he would have made all those very public complaints and then turned around and murdered the guy. He must have known he’d be one of the first people the police would look at. And why wait this long?”

“Cam, those are good points, and I don’t have any answers. Maybe he’s been nursing a grudge all this time. We’re just kicking around ideas here, right? So what about the missus?”

I pounced on that one. “Why would she want him dead? They’ve been divorced for a while. How’d she do in the divorce settlement?”

“Just fine. Peter was generous, and he didn’t put up a fight. She got a nice lump-sum settlement, and the kids got trust funds.”

“So she wouldn’t benefit from his death? I assume he left a will?”

“We’re looking into that, but I think the short answer is no. She had already gotten as much as she was going to get. The kids might get something more in his will, but they weren’t anywhere near Tucson when he died.”

“Yeah, but couldn’t just about anybody with money hire someone to do the deed?”

“It’s possible, but then we come back to the art.”

“True.” I sat back and tried to fit the pieces together, with no luck.

Cam’s voice startled me. “So, let me see if I’ve got this right. There’s no financial motive for killing Peter Ferguson? Nobody benefits—former employees, ex-wife, kids?”

“That’s the way it looks, Cam,” Nat said. “That’s one reason why I think the art is the key. I mean, think about it. The collection is too big, physically, to haul off on the spur of the moment, so this had to be planned. Maybe Peter was supposed to end up dead, maybe not. Maybe the motive was financial, or maybe it was revenge. But you can’t tell me these are two random events that just happened to take place at the same time.”

 

The pizza was soon no more than a greasy memory, and even the dogs had given up hoping and settled themselves down where they could watch us in case something else tasty showed up. I sat back in my chair, finished my beer, and asked, “Okay, where do we go from here?”

Nat answered, with a wicked gleam in her eye, “I’m
so
glad you asked. Cam, are you in on this?”

Cam looked startled at being included at all. “Well, I’ll do whatever I can to help Em, but I don’t live around here, you know.”

Nat favored him with a smile. “Yeah, I know—San Diego, right? But I’m sure you can wrap this up in no time, with your computer skills.”

Watching her, I wondered if she was trying to butter Cam up—and if so, why. And then another thought struck me: Was she coming on to him? Oh, dear. I had no idea whether Cam’s involvement with Allison was part of the “official” record—or whether that would matter to Nat, who seemed to make up her mind quickly and do exactly what she wanted. Cam was officially single and reasonably attractive—and he was also clueless enough not to notice if the FBI agent was hitting on him. Was I supposed to do something here?

While I waffled, Nat laid a hand on his arm. “Cam, I’m asking you if you can help the FBI with some computer-related material pertinent to this art theft.”

Cam’s eyebrows shot up. “Can you do that? I mean, ask me, since I’m kind of involved already, with Em and all? And have you run this by Matt?”

“I trust you, and I’ve got a pretty good idea of your skills. You let me handle Matt Lundgren. Look, I could go through channels, use approved FBI staff and so on, but that will just slow things down, and stolen art moves quickly. Let me tell you, whoever has these pieces is not going to sit on them, because the longer they stay in one place, the more likely someone is going to pick up the trail. Nope, if the person who took them is smart, he’s got buyers lined up already. In fact, he probably had buyers lined up before he took them—wouldn’t be the first time. Now he’s just got to get them out of Tucson, fast.”

“But who the heck would want to buy hot glass?” I knew it was a bad pun, but she knew what I meant.

“Collectors. You should know that, Em. People get obsessed by something, anything, and then they want more and more—bigger, better, rarer pieces. Peter Ferguson was a collector, and he had the bucks to indulge his passion and get exactly what he wanted. But sometimes even money isn’t enough, and that’s where the thieves come in. They target specific items or types of items, and they do their homework—they know what they’re looking for, who has it, and who wants it. Thing is . . .” She paused, looking worried.

“What?”

“They usually keep their hands clean. That is, they don’t kill. That’s what’s odd about this, unless Peter surprised somebody in the act. You said you had an appointment to meet him that day?”

“Yes, we had set it up a couple of days earlier, and I was going to arrive at around three—I wanted to see the stuff by late-afternoon light. He was dead when I got there.”

“Was he a heavy sleeper?”

My anger flared again. “How the hell should I know? I thought we’d gotten past that. We were not sleeping together. And if you think anyone could have sneaked into his house—through his fancy security—and crated up and moved six or more large and heavy glass panels without his waking up and noticing, you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

“Unruffle your feathers, Em—I didn’t mean anything by it. And I agree with you. He had to be dead when this happened. But we still need to know why. Cam, that’s where you come in.”

“Me?” Cam was still lagging behind in the conversation.

“Yes, you.” Nat reached into the bag she had brought with her and pulled out what I recognized as a laptop computer—a particularly sleek one.

Cam, however, took one look, and his face lit up. “Is that Peter Ferguson’s laptop?”

Nat smiled. “Yup.”

Cam reached out a reverent hand. “My God. Do you know what’s on here?”

“Nope. I didn’t want to mess with it. But I figured you’d know what to do with it.”

Cam was cradling the object in his hands. He was speechless.

“Yo, Cam!” I said. “You still there?”

He looked at me with a vague smile. “Do you realize what this is? It’s Peter Ferguson’s computer,” he said in a dreamy voice.

“Yeah, I got that part.”

“Em, don’t you see? This is like somebody handing you the Holy Grail. This man was a genius with code. He wrote some of the most elegant programs in the business. It’s a privilege to hold it. Who knows what’s on this hard drive?”

Cam was enthralled; I was horrified. “Nat, why do you have this?”

“The FBI impounded the equipment, as part of our investigation. I didn’t want to mess with it.”

Cam nodded.

I still wasn’t happy. “And why did you bring it here?”

“I need to know what’s in that computer, and I want Cam to find out,” Nat stated bluntly. “I’m assuming Ferguson knew all there is to know about computer security. I want you to get into it and tell me if there’s anything on there about his collection—preferably something that gives us a motive for killing him.”

Cam looked as though he’d received the greatest present in the world. “You want me to open this up?” Then his face clouded. “You mean, you trust me not to make a mess of it?”

Nat nodded. “I had you checked out—you’re good. Maybe not quite in Ferguson’s league, but I think you can handle it. Give it a shot. If you need some specialized equipment, the FBI’ll foot the bill. Maybe we can even give you a consulting fee. But we need it yesterday.”

“I’m . . . honored. Yes. Of course.”

Cam didn’t seem troubled by the revelation that the FBI had been investigating him. But they must have decided he was all right, and I guess I was in the clear too.
How nice to have a clean FBI record,
I thought wryly. “Is Matt okay with this?”

Nat tore her eyes away from my brother. “I pulled rank on Matt and claimed this was part of the theft investigation. I did promise to share whatever I found that might pertain to the murder, and I will. Now you—I want you to crank up your art contacts, see what you can find out.”

“What are you going to be doing?” I said.

“Look, we’re working together on this, Em. I’ll see what buzz I can pick up through my FBI contacts, check out the ports—kind of from the outside looking in. You’re the insider here, so you check out the people in Tucson. Let’s hope we meet somewhere in the middle—wherever the glass is.”

I wasn’t convinced, but if this collaboration meant that I got to stay in the loop, it was fine by me. And I was sure I could come up with people to talk to in Tucson, other glass people. . . . “When? I’ve already got a busy day tomorrow, and a class I don’t want to cancel.” I wasn’t sure I could reach all the people enrolled in the class, and I didn’t want to piss them off by failing to show up. Whenever this was over, I still had a business to run.

“I can get on it right away,” Cam piped up.

“Wonderful!” Nat beamed at him. “Why don’t I swing by tomorrow afternoon and see what progress you’ve made?”

How convenient—just when I’d be tied up in a class. I was going to have to have a little chat with Cam about Natalie. To his credit, he looked far more interested in the computer, still in his hands, than in the living, breathing, and undeniably attractive FBI agent across from him.

“Works for me,” he said.

I just shrugged. “What’re you going to tell Matt?” I asked Nat. Poor Matt. Even though I was annoyed at him for shutting me out, I didn’t want him to be blindsided.

“That I’m pursuing my own course of investigation, and I’ve brought in a couple of consultants. Is that acceptable? Or are you the type that has to share everything with your significant other?”

I wasn’t sure that I’d define Matt quite that way, but I got her message. “As long as he still considers me a suspect, I don’t think he’ll even talk to me. So it’s not a problem.” Which was true, if galling.

She stood up. “Great. I’ll see both of you tomorrow, then. Maybe you can point me to a good restaurant tomorrow night, and we can eat together? My treat. And who knows—we might even have something to celebrate.”

“No problem.”

I escorted her to the door. Out of Cam’s earshot, I asked, “You sure you should be dragging civilians into this?”

Nat stopped. “Look, Em, one thing you’ve gotta know about me: I want results. Maybe I cut a few corners to get there, but I’m not about to break any laws. You and me, we want the same thing: to get those glass pieces back. The way I see it, you two are my best shot at that. If you think that messes up whatever you’ve got going with your cop friend, you’d better tell me now.”

I shook my head. “I can’t say how Matt’s going to feel about you involving us, but that’s not his decision—it’s mine. And Cam’s. I want to help, and Matt’s doing his best to keep me out. So I guess I’m in. Cam makes his own decisions, and obviously he’s thrilled to get a crack at the great Peter Ferguson’s code. I probably couldn’t pry him away from this if I wanted to.”

“That’s what I figured. Okay, then, see you tomorrow.” She gave a mock salute and vanished down the stairs. I shut the door behind her and turned to face Cam, who hadn’t moved, staring raptly at the laptop. It was as though he thought it would disappear if he looked away.

“Cam?”

Reluctantly he looked up at me. “What?”

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. Should I warn him about Nat? Or was I imagining her interest in him? Or was the interest just a ploy to get him to do what she wanted? Too complicated for me. In the end, all I said was, “Can you handle this?”

He looked pained. “Of course I can, Em. What do you think I’ve been doing for the last ten years?”

I held up both hands. “No insult intended. It’s just that most of the time there’s not so much riding on your work—one man dead, millions of dollars’ worth of art missing. Who knows what you’re going to find once you access that thing?”

“Only one way to find out,” he replied cheerfully.

Shoot—I realized his day tomorrow had just been co-opted by the FBI. “What about Allison?”

He looked at me as though I were speaking a foreign language. “Allison?”

“Yes, Cam, the woman you adore? Who’s expecting to spend a chunk of the day with you tomorrow?”

“Oh, right. Well, she’ll understand. But then I’ll have to tell her what I’m doing. Can I do that? I mean, will Nat approve?”

Like I said, complicated. I hadn’t taken that into account. But I knew Allison was trustworthy. “How about this? You can say that the FBI has asked you to help with the investigation. I’ll back you up. You don’t have to give her details.”

“Good. Sure, that will work. She’ll understand. And maybe I’ll be done by Sunday.”

“That fast?”

“Maybe. I won’t know until I get into it, see what kind of encryption he was using, what protection. Heck, for all I know we’ll find he used this to play games and did his real work somewhere else. Did you ever see what kind of equipment he had at his place?”

“Cam, I didn’t spend much time there, remember? And we certainly weren’t looking at his computer. No, I did not see anything. Though he could have had a luxurious hotel room somewhere, and kept the important stuff there.” Yet somehow I doubted it. For one thing, I thought that Peter would not have wanted to leave his glass—if anything, he relished the time he spent alone with it. For another, he seemed to have been using the situation as a sort of spiritual retreat. This was a man who had money to burn, who could have afforded whatever luxury he wanted. But maybe that kind of abundance grew old after a while, and he wanted to purge himself. Not that I’d ever know what that was like—I was happy to be able to meet my mortgage payment every month. And to do what I loved. What had Peter loved? He’d walked away from the company he had founded, for reasons that still weren’t clear. I could attest that he loved the pieces he had collected, but was that enough to satisfy him? I had seen no evidence of people in his life, and that made me sad. Not that I was anyone to talk.