Honest illusions(BookZZ.org) (63 page)

“Give me a break. I met him yesterday, at the zoo. By the ape house.”

“Fine,” Sapperstein said, cutting his partner off. “Keep going.”

“He tells me he’d pulled it off. He was really high about it, bragging, you know? Never smart to get that emotionally involved with a job. He told me how he’d done it, and how he had planted fakes to buy more time. And he told me he wanted them fenced right after the election.”

“That’s reaching, Harvey.”

“Maybe you think so, but I can tell you something else. The guy’s not right. Here.” Harvey tapped his head.

Sighing, Sapperstein took up a pad. “What cab company did you use to get to the zoo?” He scribbled the information down as Harvey related it. “What time did you get picked up? How’d you get back?” All this could be easily verified. “Just for argument’s sake, how did he tell you he pulled it off?”

Harvey’s heart swelled, as it would if he had a fat fish on the line, or a sparkling gem in his hand. In concise phrases he described a break-in so similar to the genuine heist that it would fall beautifully into place during the investigation.

“Pretty slick—and high-tech. Holograms, electronic jammers.” It could have worked, Sapperstein thought as his cop’s blood began to heat.

“He learned something of magic from these performers out of New Orleans. Lived with them awhile, he told me. They’re like famous or something now. Anyway, he used to try to do card tricks.”

“You know, even if some of this checks out, it’s not enough for us to question Sam Wyatt.”

“I know the ropes, kid. I got more.” With a flourish worthy of a master, he reached inside his shirt pocket and whipped out a paper folded once. As a force of habit, Sapperstein took it by the edges.

Written on it were descriptions of the Clideburg collection.

“He gave that to me, to help me arrange for the fencing. But he made a big mistake. I don’t like threats, and by Christ, I’m retired.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Hypothetically.”

“Don’t get cocky.” Lorenzo scowled at the paper Sapperstein was slipping into an evidence bag. “I guess you want me to send that to the lab.”

“You get enough pieces, Lorenzo, you’ve just got to start putting them together. Have them check it for prints. Find out if Wyatt’s are on file. While you’re at it, see if we can come up with a handwriting sample.”

Lorenzo heaved a gusty sigh. “I just heard they lifted a piece from the display at the gallery. Cuff link, gold. Engraved with the initials SW.”

Sapperstein’s nose all but twitched. “Okay, Harvey, why don’t you come over and sit here?”

Sapperstein led him away to a bench near the door of the station. “We’ll take it from here.”

“I get immunity.” Harvey clutched Sapperstein’s jacket sleeve. “I won’t do time for this crap.”

“I don’t think that’s something you have to worry about.” With a last pat on the shoulder, the detective walked away. His bland smile vanished when he reached his partner. “I’m going to get all I can on the

cuff link. You tell the lab to put a rush on that paper. Bitch later, Lorenzo,” he said and there was fire in his eyes. “That old man might just have made our careers.”

The old man sat patiently, biding his time. They were wrong, he thought, when they said revenge was sweet. It had a tang. A delicious, lingering tang. And he was enjoying this one for his old pal Max.

“Then it’s the last act.” She gazed out the window as the wind tossed leaves along the curbs. “I wish Daddy could be here for this one.” She shook off the mood, made herself smile. “I hope this doesn’t delay our return to New Orleans by more than a day or so. I’d hate to miss Halloween at home.”

“We’ll make it.” Lifting her hand, he kissed it. “That’s a promise.”

Sam’s bags were packed for his trip to Tennessee. He had ten days of campaigning on his schedule, all of which would be spent hand in glove with his staff, and his wife. Justine had already given him trouble over the amount of luggage she claimed to need. She was upstairs, pouting over the ruthless way he’d slashed her four suitcases to two.

She’d get over it, Sam mused. Once she could have Senator and Mrs. Samuel Wyatt printed on her Christmas cards, she’d get over a lot of things.

He was sorry the timing didn’t allow him to dole out Luke’s punishment immediately. He’d thought he would enjoy stringing out the tension, but it gnawed at him. He wanted to strike quickly, finally.

It should have pleased him that he’d been on target about the Clideburg collection. Sam had no doubt who had engineered the theft. It would be another weight on the scale if he decided to turn his documentation over to the police.

But that would have to wait until Luke had brought him the file on Gunner.

Then he would use these last ten days before the election to secure his place in history.

He ignored the doorbell, leaving that for the servants. His packing was being completed by his valet, but Sam always dealt with the contents of his briefcase personally. His papers, his speeches, the condoms he used religiously in all extramarital affairs, his schedule, pens, notepads, a weighty book on economics. He snapped the locks shut as a maid came to the doorway.

“Mr. Wyatt, the police are here. They’d like to speak with you.”

“Police?” He caught the avid interest in the maid’s eyes and decided to fire her at the first opportunity.

“Show them in.”

“Officers.” Sam came around the desk to extend his hand to both Sapperstein and Lorenzo. It was a good politician’s shake. Firm, dry and confident. “It’s always a pleasure to entertain the boys on the force. What can I get you? Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Sapperstein answered for both of them. “We’ll try not to take up too much of your time, Mr. Wyatt.”

“I’d like to say take all you want, but I’m catching a plane in a couple hours. Hitting the campaign trail.”

He winked, quick and friendly. “Either of you have friends or relatives in Tennessee?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I had to give it a shot.” He gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat, Officer . . . ?”

“Detective Sapperstein, and Detective Lorenzo.”

“Detectives.” For reasons that baffled him, Sam began to sweat around the collar of his monogrammed shirt. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

“Mr. Wyatt, I have a court order.” Sapperstein took it out and paused an extra moment to slip on his reading glasses. “We’re authorized to search the premises. Detective Lorenzo and I will head the team that’s waiting outside.”

“A search warrant?” All of Sam’s charm died. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The Clideburg collection, which was stolen from the Hampstead Gallery on October twenty-third. We have evidence that you’re involved in the theft and, by order of Judge Harold J. Lorring, are authorized to conduct a search.”

“You’re out of your mind.” With palms that were suddenly wet, Sam snatched the order from Sapperstein. “This is a fraud. I don’t know what game you’re playing but . . .” He broke off, sneering.

“Callahan sent you. He thought he could rig this whole business to shake me up. Well, he’s wrong. You can go back and tell the bastard that he’s dead fucking wrong, and I’ll bury him for it.”

“Mr. Wyatt,” Sapperstein continued. “We are authorized to make this search, and will do so with or without your cooperation. We apologize for any inconvenience this causes you.”

“Bullshit. Do you think I don’t smell a con? You’re meat.” Triumphant, he jabbed a finger at them. “Both of you. Get out of my house, or I’ll call the cops myself.”

“You’re free to do so, Mr. Wyatt.” Sapperstein took the official paper back. “We’ll wait.”

He wouldn’t fall for it. It was a pitiful ploy, Sam told himself as he called through for the office of Judge Harold J. Lorring. By the time he was told a search order had indeed been signed less than thirty minutes before, he was dragging at the knot of his silk tie. He punched the number for his lawyer.

“Windfield, this is Sam Wyatt. I’ve got a couple of jerks who say they’re cops standing in my office with some trumped-up search warrant.” He yanked the tie off, threw it. “Yes, that’s what I said. Now get your fat ass over here and deal with it.” Sam slammed down the receiver. “You don’t touch a thing. Not one fucking thing until my lawyer gets here.”

Sapperstein nodded. “We’ve got time.” He couldn’t help it, something about Sam set him off. He glanced at his watch and smiled. “But I think you’re going to miss that plane.”

Before Sam could growl out a response, Justine hurried in. “Sam, what in the world is going on? There are two police cars parked in front of the house.”

“Shut up!” He sprang at her like a tiger and shoved her toward the door. “Shut up and get out.”

“Mr. Wyatt.” The maid was nearly swooning with excitement. “You have guests in the foyer.”

“Send them away,” he said between his teeth. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two fingers of whiskey. He’d lost his head for a moment, but that was all right.

Anyone might react the same way under the circumstances. He downed the whiskey and waited for it to settle.

“Officers.” With his poster smile back in place, he turned. “I apologize for losing my temper. It was such a shock. It isn’t every day I’m accused of robbery.”

“Burglary,” Lorenzo corrected, for the hell of it.

“Yes, of course.” He’d have the man’s badge—if it wasn’t a fake. “I do prefer to wait until my lawyer arrives, just to verify the procedure. I assure you, you’re free to turn the house upside down. I have nothing to hide.”

Voices in the corridor had everyone turning. When Luke shoved through the door past the maid, followed closely by Roxanne, Sam’s newly regained composure teetered on the edge.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“You called, you demanded I come.” Luke slipped a protective arm around Roxanne. “I don’t know what you want, Wyatt, but I don’t appreciate the tone of your invitation to visit. I . . .” He trailed off, as if spotting the detectives for the first time. “Who are these people?”

“Cops. Nice to see you.” Enjoying himself, Lorenzo grinned.

“What is this about?” Roxanne tossed her head up, a lovely, valiant woman obviously running on nerves.

“I’m sorry,” Sapperstein stated, “I’ll have to ask you both to leave. This is official.”

“I want to know what this is all about. You’ve done something horrible again, haven’t you?” She whirled on Sam. “You won’t hurt Luke.” She gripped his lapels and shook. “You used me once, but never, never again.”

“Darling, please.” Luke moved to her. “Don’t upset yourself. He isn’t worth it. He never was.”

“I brought you into my home.” She shoved Sam back. Only the presence of witnesses kept him from striking her. “I trusted you and my family trusted you. Isn’t it enough that you betrayed us all those years ago? Must you still harbor this cancerous hate for us?”

“Keep your hands off me.” He grabbed her by the wrists, twisting. Roxanne’s cry of pain had both detectives moving quickly to intervene.

“Take it easy, Wyatt.”

“Sweetheart.”

That was her cue. In a blind rush of tears, Roxanne stumbled toward Luke and knocked the briefcase

from the desk. The locks sprang. An icy glimmer of diamonds spilled out, chased by the fire of rubies.

“Oh.” Roxanne pressed her hands to her mouth. “My God, it’s the Queen’s lace necklace from the Clideburg collection. You.” She lifted her arm, pointing an accusing finger. “You stole them. Just like you stole from Madame all those years ago.”

“You’re crazy. He planted them.” Sam looked around wildly, unable to believe his carefully structured world could fall apart so quickly. “The bastard planted them. He set me up.” He lunged. Luke braced.

Even as Lorenzo moved to intercept, Roxanne shifted her body. It burned her that it would appear she was scrambling out of harm’s way. But then, the end justifies everything. Her foot hooked nimbly under Sam’s leg and sent him sprawling on the open briefcase.

“You didn’t run far enough.” Sam sat up, breath heaving. “You won’t pull off this little magic trick, Callahan. I’ve still got you. In the safe.” He wiped a hand across the back of his mouth as he rose. His eyes were too wide, his face gray, his lips peeled back in a mockery of a grin. “I have evidence in the safe against this man. He’s a thief and a murderer. This woman’s a thief as well. They all are. I can prove it. I can prove it.” Limping toward the safe, he continued to mutter under his breath.

“Mr. Wyatt.” Sapperstein put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “I advise you to wait for your attorney.”

“I’ve waited long enough. I’ve waited years. You wanted to search, didn’t you? Well, search this.” He spun the dial on the safe, twisting it back and forward until the last number of the combination. He yanked it open and reached in. Then he stared, goggle-eyed, as a file folder spilled out, scattering garishly colored photographs.

“Interesting snapshots, Mr. Wyatt.” Lorenzo scooped up a handful, pursing his lips as he shuffled through them. “You’re real photogenic—and agile.” He grinned, passing the photos to his partner.

“That’s not me.” Still staring, Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s Gunner. It’s supposed to be Gunner. They’re faked. Anyone can see that. I’ve never been with any of those people.

I’ve never seen them before.”

“None of them seem to consider you a stranger,” Sapperstein murmured. He’d done a turn in Vice, but never seen anything quite so . . . creative. “You know, looks like these should come with a disclaimer.

‘Don’t try these tricks at home.’ ”

“Yeah.” Getting into the spirit, Lorenzo tapped one snapshot depicting a particularly lewd and unusual position. “How do you suppose he twisted himself into that move? My wife would love it.”

“Never mind.” Sapperstein cleared his throat. There was, he remembered belatedly, a lady present.

“Mr. Wyatt, if you would sit down until we—”

“They’re faked!” Sam shouted. “He did it. He lied and cheated.” Breathing hard, he pointed at Luke.

“But he’ll pay. All of them will. I’ve got proof.” He was chuckling as he reached into the safe. His nerve cracked completely when he pulled out a diamond tiara.