According to Their Deeds (20 page)

“Taken the desk?” Kelly scratched his head. “I don’t think so.” He looked through the papers still in the folder. “No. It was a pretty big desk. They just wiped samples of the blood. Crime scene techs would have done it. They didn’t take the whole desk.”

“Whoever paid so much for it, I’d hate to think it had been banged around and damaged being moved.”

“They didn’t take it. They only took the statue. ‘Early eighteenth century Florentine marble statuette of James the Second of England, fourteen inches, thirty-five pounds.’ No fingerprints. He would have been dead already, after he’d been in exile.”

“In exile?” Charles was confused. “The burglar or Derek?”

“James. The Second. After he got deposed.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“Louis the Fifteenth had dozens of those statues made and sent them everywhere. Little presents to all his friends, you know, to stick the needle in George the First whenever he could. Eight thousand dollars market value. Wasn’t sold at the auction. I guess they still have it here in evidence storage.”

“Anyway,” Charles said, “I think it does answer my questions. It really was just a random burglary.”

“Looks like it. Fifth house in three weeks. If he’d just stayed in bed, he’d still be alive. Yeah, with somebody like Bastien, I bet D.C. Homicide checked real close to see if there was any way it could have been a real murder, and they didn’t find anything.”

“Have any of the things that were stolen appeared yet?”

“No. Nothing from any of the five houses.”

“You said it was fifty-fifty whether they would?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’d say. That many pieces, you can’t sell them all individually without someone catching on. ‘Someone’ being me. But they might put them in a basement for a few years. Being connected with a murder makes all that stuff real hot.”

“Of course.”

“But now, you tell me. Do you see anything in there that sticks out?”

“Well, of course, the Kant wasn’t on the list of things stolen.”

“Right. And I looked—it was on the main inventory, the one Bastien kept himself. So somehow it was missed when they were figuring out what was stolen. What else do you see?”

“Not really anything else.”

“Do you recognize many of the things on the list of stuff that was stolen?”

“I think so. I think they were all from his office.”

“Huh. All of them?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, so the guy started in the office and never got anywhere else. Probably doesn’t mean anything.”

“And Derek was lying across the desk?”

“He must have fallen onto it. There is a picture in here, but you don’t want to look at it.”

“I don’t. The desk was several steps from the door. He would have gone well into the room to reach it.”

“Yeah. That’s pretty obvious in the pictures. Does that mean anything?”

“Just that he went to it. Had he turned the light on?”

“The light was off. Remember, no power.”

“Of course. Well, no, I can’t think of anything.”

“Right—oh, hey, that’s Watts out there. He’s the detective. Hey, Harry!”

A very plain black man came at the call. He was a little stout, and a little gray.

“Hi, Frank. This your guy?”

“Charles Beale,” Charles said.

“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Watts said.

“I showed him some pages,” Mr. Kelly said. “Nothing jumped out.”

“I appreciate being allowed,” Charles said.

“It’s okay.” Mr. Watts seemed only politely interested. “Here’s my card, if you do think of something.”

“Antiques, me,” Frank Kelly said, “murder, him. I’ll walk you back down to the lobby.”

“Oh, dear.”

“After me, the deluge,” Frank Kelly said, watching the torrents of rain from the front door of the police station. “Speaking of Louis the Fifteenth.”

“I think I’ll wait until it’s over.”

“I’ll give you a ride. I’m in the garage.”

“After you,” Charles said.

“
Après moi
.”

Charles followed again through more passages but this time going down, and then Mr. Kelly’s car had to circle back up through the maze of the garage.

“Do you know anything about antique desks?” Charles asked.

“Bastien’s desk? I asked a few people about it. Honaker four-drawer pedestal, 1875.”

“What is Honaker?”

“Manufacturer. Honaker and Sons, Philadelphia.”

“Could you find out who bought it at the auction?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. They’d probably just tell me if I asked, or else I’d get a warrant. But I don’t know if it’s hooked up with the art thefts. You’ve got to be careful.” The car came out into brilliant sunlight.

“And now the rain is over,” Charles said. “You could just drop me off at a Metro station if you want. You don’t have to take me to Alexandria.”

“No problem. I got a call to make in Leesburg next. That’ll take the rest of the day. Yeah, you’ve got to be careful asking some people questions. Somebody important might have bought that desk for some reason, and they find out I was asking about it with no good reason, that’ll be a mess. I’ll go anywhere I need to, but I watch the lines real careful.”

“Do you think there is any chance it is connected with the burglaries?”

“I don’t see it. How could it?”

“I don’t know.”

“But, sure, I’ve thought about it, and I’ve been poking around a little. But I don’t see enough connection yet to do any real investigating.”

“Poking around?”

“Right. I read up on it, called a few crooks who might know anything.”

“Crooks?”

“Shots in the dark. With crooks, you don’t have to worry as much about them blowing a whistle because you’re going outside the line.”

“I see. Do you know a lot of crooks, Mr. Kelly?”

“That’s my job. At least my guys are usually a little higher up the scale than muggers. And that makes me wonder what you’re doing with that friend of yours.”

“Which friend?”

“Your night watchman.”

“Oh. Angelo. That’s a long story.”

“I know the story. I looked it up.”

“You look up a lot, Mr. Kelly. Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “Just following leads. That’s my job.”

“What lead would that be?”

“Nothing.” Frank Kelly pulled up in front of the bookstore. “Anyway, let me know if you think of anything else.”

“I will.”

“Thanks.”

“And thank you for the ride.”

AFTERNOON

“Have we sold anything?” Charles asked, walking through the door.

“A Dostoevsky.”

“
Crime and Punishment
?”

“Yes, sir.” Alice’s smile was stretched at its ends. “And you had a call. Mr. Abercrombie.”

“The man who bought
Moby-Dick
?”

“Yes, sir. I think he has a complaint about Angelo.”

“Is Angelo here?”

“Up in his room.”

“Thank you.”

“Alice said Mr. Abercrombie called?”

“He did,” Dorothy said. “I talked with him briefly, but he wanted you.”

“Was there a problem?”

“He said Angelo was touching things in his house.”

“I’ll talk to Angelo.”

“Angelo?”

“Hey, boss.” He was already back in his un-business clothes.

“How did it go?”

“That delivery? It was okay.”

“Any problems?”

“Does that man say there was problems?”

“I haven’t talked with him,” Charles said.

“There was no problems, boss.”

Charles looked into Angelo’s face for any reaction. There was none.

“Mrs. Beale talked to him—he called here. He told her you were touching things in his house.”

Silence.

“What kind of things did he have?”

“I didn’t touch anything, boss.”

“Did he have things by the door? How far in did you go?”

“I went in the door two steps. I did what you said to be nice.”

“Were there things close by?”

Angelo shrugged. “He had those little statue things and glass and metal.”

“Antiques. Or we could call them Art Objects.”

“Yeah, he had those.”

“Did you touch them?”

“I don’t touch nothing ever, boss.”

“Did he think you touched them?” Charles asked.

“Hey, boss, I don’t know what people think.”

“You really do know, though, don’t you? You could tell he was looking at you and you knew what was going through his mind, because you see it all the time. I’m sorry, Angelo, that Mr. Abercrombie was suspicious of you. If you say you didn’t touch anything, then I believe you.”

“You think what you want.”

“Maybe we could teach you to smile.”

Angelo scowled.

“What did he say?” Dorothy asked.

“He said he didn’t, and I believe him.”

“What about Mr. Abercrombie?”

“I suppose he saw what he thought he would see.”

“I hope Angelo isn’t scaring everyone.”

“At least he didn’t actually grab any of Mr. Abercrombie’s
objets d’art
and run them down to Mario the Fence in the back of the Italian restaurant. Or he could have just taken
Moby-Dick
to Mario in the first place.”

“He wouldn’t have.”

“No, he wouldn’t, since Mario only does jewelry and iPods. He’d have to know someone like Norman Highberg instead. All right, let me find Mr. Abercrombie’s telephone number.”

“I have it,” Dorothy said.

“I’ll call him and smooth the ruffled feathers. Oh, Dorothy, I actually got an expression on Angelo’s face.”

“What?”

“I suggested he learn to smile.”

Dorothy brightened. “And did he smile?”

“Not exactly.”

And did you have an interesting morning with Mr. Kelly?”

“It might be worth another
croustade de veau braisé
.”

EVENING

“Something simple this evening, Philippe,” Charles said. “What would you suggest?”

The waiter looked carefully around. “A hamburger, monsieur.”

Charles was shocked. “A what?”

“A hamburger,” he said even quieter than before. “The chef tried today to make a new dish, um . . .” He struggled to find the word. “It is like meatloaf.” He shook his head. “She—” he glanced across the room at the hostess—“she did not like it.”

“It wasn’t good?” Dorothy asked.

Philippe shrugged. “It was not so good. But the ground beef is very good. In it he has garlic and tomato and basil. I will tell him to make a hamburger for you.”

“Well, if that’s all right.”

“Yes,” Philippe said. “Just don’t tell . . .” He nodded toward Antoinette.

“She might see it,” Dorothy said.

“If madame does not mind.” He blew out the candle on their table, leaving their corner even dimmer. “And for you?”

“I wonder if I should order french fries and a Coke.”

Philippe considered. “A baked potato? Or . . .” He paused, thinking carefully. “From yesterday, the soup was potato and leek. With mushrooms and shallots, and a touch of sherry. There is a little in the kitchen still. It is not so fresh, but for potatoes? So what if a potato is not fresh?”

“That sounds lovely,” Dorothy said.

Philippe withdrew on his dangerous mission into the Parisian dark.

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” Charles said.

As silverware clinked and some semblance of Edith Piaf played on speakers, he and Dorothy sipped their water and watched the room. There were diners who were obvious tourists, and others who likely were locals, and some from the suburbs or across the Potomac who had come for the food and atmosphere.

“I’m so glad to live here,” Dorothy said.

“It’s just right, isn’t it?”

“It is. It’s fun but not too much.”

“Alexandria is nicely American, and just a little French,” Charles said.

The illicit hamburger was stealthily delivered. Charles ate it furtively.

“And is there anything to say about Mr. Kelly?” Dorothy asked.

“Not really. I looked through the report about Derek, but I don’t want to describe it to you. I also asked about Derek’s desk. I don’t see yet how anyone could have done anything to it. And I don’t know yet why Mr. Kelly thought to ask Mr. Jones about it. Mr. Kelly said he asked around in general, although it sounds like rather a coincidence that he would happen to pick Galen Jones to talk to, or that he would even know of Galen Jones.”

“Another coincidence?”

“It makes me wonder if Mr. Kelly has some other source of information. If I could find out who he was talking to, it might answer some questions.”

“Could you ask him?”

“I might, but he would want to know why I was asking. So I’ll tread carefully for now.”

“Quick,” Dorothy said. “She’s coming.”

Antoinette approached like a cavalry charge, and Charles stuffed in the last bite of his hamburger.

“That finishes the trio. Montesquieu and Voltaire, and now Rousseau. Charles, you can be pithy: How would you compare them?”

“Is this a test of my vocabulary, Derek, or are you admitting you haven’t read them yourself?”

“I never admit anything.”

“Because you are like Voltaire. He was the
bon vivant,
the consummate Man of Letters, the biting wit. He admired enlightened monarchs and he despised religion, he hobnobbed with Frederick the Great and Catherine the Great and all the other Greats. He would have sat right here to play chess and discuss—well, himself.”

“How am I like Montesquieu?”

“Not temperamentally. He wasn’t subtle. But I think you share his insight into human nature.
The Spirit of Laws
introduces separation of powers as a form of government, because he knew how too much power in too few hands would lead to tyranny.”

“Although he didn’t think that was necessarily bad, Charles.”

“You admit that you’ve read him.”

“Some of it. The part where he said despotism was preferable in some circumstances.”

“More stable. I wouldn’t say he thought it preferable.”

“All right. And Rousseau?”

“You have nothing in common with him, Derek. Nothing at all. He was mystic, tragic and poor.”

“And I am practical, complacent and rich.”

“Your words, Derek, not mine.”

“Again, I admit nothing. And yet, Charles, I think Rousseau was the most influential of the three.”