Big Jack (28 page)

To placate the woman, Eve hooked her thumbs in her back pockets. “Any of these things a bulldozer, Peabody?”

“That little one there.” Peabody used a jerk of her chin to point. “But it’s too small, and it’s red. Doesn’t fit Whittier’s description.”

“What about this?” Eve reached out, stopping just an inch from touching as the assistant’s breath caught on a thin scream.

“That’s a—what do you call it—cougar? Mountain lion? Bobcat!” she exclaimed. “It’s called a bobcat, and don’t ask me why. And there’s a pumper thingee—fire truck—and, way iced, an off-planet shuttle and an airtram. See, he’s got them set up in categories. Farm machines, air transports, ground transports, construction equipment, all-terrains. Look at all the little pedals and controls. Aw, look at the little hay baler. My sister has one on her farm. And there’s little farm people to ride it.”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t just a guy thing. “That’s real sweet. Maybe we should just sit on the floor here and play with all the pretty toys instead of spending our time trying to catch the mean old murdering bastard.”

“Just looking,” Peabody said under her breath. “To ascertain that the object in question is not in this location.”

Eve turned to the assistant. “This the lot?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Is this the whole of Mr. Dix’s collection?”

“Oh no. Mr. Dix has one of the most extensive collections in the country. He’s been collecting since he was a child. This is just a sampling; he keeps the most valuable at his home. He’s even loaned some of the rarer pieces to museums. Several of his pieces were included in a show at the Met two years ago.”

“Where is he?”

“As I said, he has an outside meeting. He should be back—”

“Where?”

Now the assistant sighed. “He’s lunching with clients at the Red Room, on Thirty-third.”

“He calls in, you tell him to stay where he is.”

 

Dix had already finished his meeting and was enjoying a post-lunch martini. He’d been pleased to see Trevor’s name pop on his ’link ident as the meeting had been winding down. And delighted to stretch the tedious business lunch into an entertaining personal meeting.

Enough that he’d ignored the call from his office. He deserved a break after the morning he’d put in.

“Couldn’t have timed it better,” he told Trevor. “I was stuck with a couple of stuffy old-liners with more money than imagination. I spent ninety minutes listening to them whine about taxes and brokerage fees and the state of the market.” He sampled a fat, gin-soaked olive.

Technically, his rehabilitation forbade alcohol. But hell, a martini wasn’t Zoner or poppers, for God’s sake. And, as Trevor had pointed out, he deserved a small indulgence. “I’m more than ready for a break.”

They sat in the dark-paneled, red-cushioned bar of the restaurant. “Didn’t have a chance to talk to you much at the dinner party the other night. You left early.”

“Family business.” Trevor shrugged and sipped at his own martini. “Duty call on the old man.”

“Ah. I know how that goes. Did you hear about this mess with Samantha? I wasn’t able to talk about anything else all night. Everyone was pestering me for details.”

Trevor schooled his face into a puzzled blank. “Samantha?”

“My ex. Samantha Gannon.”

“Oh. Sure, sure. Long redhead. You split?”

“Ancient history. But the cops come to my office, female storm trooper bitch. Samantha’s out of town, book tour. You remember that, right? The book she wrote about that old diamond heist and her family?”

“It’s all coming back to me. Fascinating really.”

“It gets more. While she’s gone, somebody breaks into her place and kills her friend. Andrea Jacobs. Hot number.”

“Christ, what a world.”

“You said it. A damn shame about Andrea. You had to like her. The cops are all over me.” The faint pride in the tone had Trevor smiling into his drink.

“Over you? Don’t tell me the morons thought you had anything to do with it.”

“Apparently. They call it routine, but I was this close to calling a lawyer.” He lifted his hand, putting his thumb and forefinger together. “Later, I hear Samantha’s cleaning girl got herself killed, too. You can bet I’m going to have to come up with an alibi for that one, too. Idiot cops. Jesus, I didn’t even know Sam’s cleaning girl. Besides, do I look like some psycho? You must’ve heard about all this. It’s all over the news.”

“I try not to watch that sort of thing. Depressing, and it has nothing to do with me. Want another?”

Dix glanced at his empty glass. He shouldn’t, really. But . . . “Why the hell not? You’re behind.”

Trevor signaled for another drink for Dix, smiled as he lifted his barely touched martini. “I’ll catch up. What does Samantha have to say about all this?”

“I haven’t been able to talk to her. Can you beat that? She’s gone incommunicado. Nobody knows where the hell she is.”

“Somebody must,” he countered.

“Not a damn soul. Smart money says the cops got her stashed somewhere.” Scowling, he nudged his empty glass aside. “Probably get another damn book out of it.”

“Well, she’ll surface soon enough. Meanwhile, I wanted to talk to you about a piece I sold you a few months ago. The scale-model bulldozer, circa 2000.”

“Beautiful piece, prime condition. I don’t know how you parted with it.” He grinned as he counted down the time to the second drink with a few cocktail nuts. “Even for the price you scalped me for.”

“That’s just the thing. I had no idea when I sold it that it was given to my father by his father. When I saw him the other night, the old man brought it up. Sentimental blah, blah, blah. He wants to come over and see it, among some of the others. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d sold it.”

“Well . . . ” Dix picked up his fresh drink. “You did.”

“I know, I know. I’ll buy it back for the full price, and add a kicker. I don’t want a big, ugly family crisis over it so it’s worth it to me.”

“I’d like to help you out, Trev, but I really don’t want to sell it.”

“Look, I’ll double what you paid me for it.”

“Double.” Dix’s eyes gleamed over the rim of his glass. “You must really want to avoid a family crisis.”

“It pays to keep the old man happy. You know about his collection.”

“And envy it,” Dix admitted.

“I can probably talk him out of a couple of pieces.”

Considering, Dix bit an olive off his swizzle stick. “I’m looking for a well driller. Circa 1985. The article they did on him in
Scale-Model Mag
said he had one, primo.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

Dix made a sound somewhere between interest and denial. Trevor curled his hand into a fist, imagined ramming it over and over into that smug face until the blood poured.

He’d wasted enough time.

“Okay, then do me a favor. Let me borrow it for a week. I’ll pay you a thousand for the use of it, and I’ll get the well driller, make you a good deal on it.” When Dix said nothing, just continued to sip gin, Trevor felt his control fray. “For fuck’s sake, you make a grand for nothing.”

“Don’t get twisted. I didn’t say no. I’m just trying to figure your angle. You don’t even like your father.”

“I can’t stand the stupid son of a bitch, but he’s not well. He may only have a few months left.”

“No shit?”

Going with the idea, Trevor shifted on his seat, leaned in. “He finds out I sold that piece, he’s going to blow. As it stands, I inherit the collection. He finds out about this, he’ll probably leave it to some museum. That happens, I won’t be able to sell you any of the prime pieces, will I? I lose, you lose, friend.”

“When you put it that way . . . One week, Trev, and we’re going to write this up. Business is business, especially when it’s between friends.”

“No problem. Finish your drink and we’ll go get it now.”

Dix checked his wrist unit. “I’m really late getting back to the office.”

“So you’ll be later
and
a thousand richer.”

Dix lifted his glass in a toast. “Good point.”

 

Eve’s communicator signaled as she hunted for a parking spot on Thirty-third. “Dallas.”

“Baxter. We got a hitch here.”

“Doesn’t anybody use public transportation or just stay the hell home!” Annoyed with the traffic, the jammed curb, she whipped over, flipped up her ON DUTY light and ignored the blasts of horns. Double-parked, she jerked a thumb at Peabody to get out. “What hitch?”

“Just got a call from the care facility where Whittier’s mother’s living. She fell or passed out. Took a header into a flower bed.”

“She bad?” Eve asked as she climbed over to get out curbside rather than risk life and limb getting out the driver’s-side door.

“Banged up her head, from what I’m getting, maybe fractured her elbow. They got her stabilized and sedated, but Whittier and his wife both want to go see for themselves.”

“Let them go, have a couple of uniforms you pick take them and stick with them.”

“There’s more. Here’s the kicker. She wasn’t outside strolling down the garden path alone. Her grandson paid her a visit.”

“Son of a bitch. Is he with her now?”

“Bastard walked off, left her lying there. Didn’t tell anybody. He signed in, Dallas. Signed in, brought her flowers, talked to a couple of the attendants. He knew there was a record of him being there, but he took off. The uniforms you sent out missed him by a good half hour.”

“I want the place locked down, searched.”

“Already in progress.”

“Left himself open.” She swung into the restaurant. “He knows what he’s looking for now and where to find it. He doesn’t care about leaving tracks. You’ll need to take the Whittiers, handle the scene there. I’ve got a line on something here. I’ll get back to you.”

“He left her lying there,” Peabody repeated.

“She’s lucky he didn’t take the time or trouble to finish her. He’s got the prize in his sights. He’ll move fast now. Chad Dix,” she said to the restaurant hostess. “Where’s his table?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t bother, I’m in a hurry.” Eve slapped her badge on the podium. “Chad Dix.”

“Could you be any more indiscreet?” the hostess demanded, and pushed the badge back at Eve.

“Oh yeah. Want to see?”

The hostess touched a section on her reservation screen. “He was at table fourteen. It’s been turned over.”

“Get me his server. Damn it.” Stepping to the side, Eve yanked out her ’link and called Dix’s office. “Did he come back?”

“No, Lieutenant, he’s running a little late. He hasn’t returned my call as yet.”

“When and if, I want to hear immediately.” Eve broke the connection and turned to the young, brutally clean-cut waiter. “Did you see Dix, table fourteen, leave?”

“Table for three, two of them left together about a half hour ago. One guy—guy who paid—took a call right as the meal was winding up. Excused himself. He walked over toward the restrooms. I heard him say he’d meet somebody in the bar in ten. Sounded happy about it.”

“This bar?”

“Yeah. I saw him go over, get a table.”

“Thanks.”

Eve worked her way through the tables into the bar section, scanned the area. She snagged a waitress’s elbow. “There was a guy in here. Around thirty. About six feet, one-eighty, dark hair, medium complexion, poster-boy looks.”

“Sure. Gin martini, extra dry, three olives. You just missed him.”

“Was he with anyone?”

“Long, lean dream machine. Dark blond hair, great suit. Nursed half a martini to the other guy’s two. Left together maybe five, ten minutes ago.”

Eve turned on her heel and charged for the door. “Get Dix’s home address.”

“Already on it,” Peabody told her. “Do you want to pull Baxter and Trueheart back?”

“No, take too long to get them back, dump the Whittiers.” Eve dove into the car, swung her long legs over. “This could turn into a hostage situation in a finger snap.”

“We can’t be sure they’re heading for Dix’s home address.”

“It’s best guess. Tag Feeney and McNab. We’ll call for more backup if it turns ugly.” Since she was hemmed in by traffic, she jammed the vehicle into a straight vertical, smacked sirens and peeled out into a one-eighty six feet off the ground. “Upper East, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I got it here. Goddamn sucky navi system.” Peabody cursed, rapped her fist on the dash and had the map shuddering into place across the windshield.

“You’re making progress, Detective.”

“Learned from the best. Sixth is your best bet. Jeez, watch the glide cart.”

She missed it by a good two inches, and used the in-dash ’link to contact Roarke. “Suspect is believed to be heading to Chad Dix’s residence, with Dix,” she began without preamble. “We believe he’s learned the location of the diamonds. Baxter and Trueheart are halfway to Long Island with the Whittiers. Feeney and McNab are being tagged. Depending on how this shakes, I might be able to use a security expert, even a civilian. You’re closer than Feeney.”

“What’s the address?”

Peabody called it out and grabbed onto the chicken stick on her door. “ETA’s five minutes, unless we end up a smear on the pavement prior to that.”

“I’ll be there.”

Eve punched it up Sixth, weaving around vehicles with drivers too stubborn or too stupid to make way for the sirens. She was forced to slam the brakes to avoid mowing down a mob of pedestrians who surged into an intersection at the WALK sign.

They streamed by, ignoring the scream of sirens and the vicious blast of cursing she poured out her open window. Except for one grizzled old man who took the time to give her the finger.

“God love New Yorkers,” Peabody commented when her heart kicked back to beating again. “They just don’t give a shit.”

“If I had time, I’d get Traffic to haul in every last one of those
jerks.
Goddamn it!” She rammed for vertical again, but this time the car only shuddered, shook an inch off the ground and dropped again with a thump.