Snake in the Glass (15 page)

“Right. Long shot, I know. But I stopped by morgue on the way here—I called in a favor and talked the ME into authorizing me to take a couple of the pebbles. This is what he gave me.” Matt pulled a small plastic ziplock bag out of his shirt pocket and tossed it across the table to me.

Even before I picked it up, I was pretty sure what I was going to see. I held the small packet up to the light, watching the green glints within the dusty stone. “Rough peridot. The guy at the ME’s office had no idea what they were?”

“Nope, not when the body came in. Not that it mattered to him. It didn’t tell him anything useful about the dead guy.”

“Did you ask where that body was found?”

“Of course. A dry canyon east of Summerhaven, in Pima County. The reservation is a good ways north of there. The body wasn’t on reservation land, which would be a whole different can of worms.”

“And how long had he been out there, before they found him?”

“Maybe a day. The body was in good shape.”

“Still no ID for him?”

Matt shook his head. “As I said, there are a lot of bodies that come in, and there was nothing remarkable about this one. When you asked me to nose around, and I came across the report on this body, I did ask the ME to take a closer look, see if he could determine cause of death. Most of these are just written off to exposure and/or dehydration, so they don’t look too hard, but this guy didn’t look like he’d been out there long enough for that.”

“Who found him?”

“A regular patrol. They look for the vultures.”

I pushed that ugly thought out of my head. I was reluctant to frame my next question, but I had to. “Do you think this dead man is somehow connected to . . .” What? So far I had a creepy college professor with some peridot, and a missing brother. Not much to go on.

“I’m not even going to guess at the moment, Em, but peridot keeps popping up here, and you know I hate coincidences.”

“I know. Matt, thank you for pulling strings, or whatever you want to call it, on this. I appreciate it. What do we do now? For all I know, Denis is standing outside the back door of the studio as we speak. Do you have a plan?”

“I thought I’d play innocent tourist and just hang out in the shop or the studio—kind of scope him out.”

“Be gentle, will you? I don’t want Denis to fall apart, because then we’ll never learn anything.”

“You cut me to the quick, Em. Have I ever been anything but courteous to my suspects?”

“I don’t really know. Have you?”

He dropped the bantering tone. “I know my job, Em. Don’t worry.”

He kept saying that to me. Heck,
I
kept saying it to me. It didn’t do any good, and I just kept worrying. “I’m going to walk the dogs, and then we can go downstairs for our little charade.”

“I’ll wash the dishes,” Matt said blandly. I was less than impressed: the dishes consisted of two mugs and one plate. But it was a nice thought.

I made a quick dash around the block, leaving the dogs relieved but less than satisfied, but didn’t see Denis anywhere. I returned them to my place, and Matt followed me downstairs as I opened up. Both Allison and Nessa arrived hard on our heels. I needed the extra coverage—not to mention the moral support. They were surprised to see Matt.

He smiled in an attempt to set them at ease. “Pretend I’m just an ordinary customer, all right?” he said.

Allison looked bewildered, but Nessa caught on. “Were you looking for something in particular or just browsing, sir?” she said, her face innocent.

“Browsing, I guess. I’ve met the artist, and I found her work . . . interesting.” They drifted away toward a display, talking about glass, and I headed for the studio. I thought I could get a few pieces done before lunch, assuming I wasn’t interrupted, but waiting for Denis made me jumpy and I couldn’t focus. I settled for tidying up my frit cans and glass canes, the colors I added to clear glass through a variety of techniques, keeping a watchful eye on the color kiln—as though I expected it to empty itself or vanish—and the back door. It was nearly eleven when Denis finally arrived, looking worse than the day before. The man was running on fumes.

“Em,” he said, and made a beeline for the kiln.

“Denis,” I replied, then looked over toward the shop window and nodded at Nessa. The door opened and Matt drifted in, looking confused.

“Oh, sorry—the woman in the front said it was okay to come in and look around.”

Denis looked up briefly then dismissed him. He had spread out the latest stones on the marver, and he was poking at the piles with the long tweezers.

“No, that’s fine,” I said to Matt, trying to hold up my end of the ruse. “This is where I create all of our pieces. Let me know if you have any questions, or if you see anything you like.”

Matt wandered around the room, picking up a glass piece now and then and admiring it, but getting ever closer to where Denis was working. Finally he drifted toward the marver and peered over Denis’s shoulder. “Those glass?” he said.

“No,” Denis replied, and clammed up again.

“Gemstones maybe?” Matt prodded.

“Yes. Can’t you see I’m working? You’re crowding me.”

I could see Denis’s hand shaking as he sorted the hot stones with the metal tool.

Matt stepped back but stopped at the end of the marver. “They’re peridot, aren’t they, Denis?”

It took a moment for the full import of Matt’s words to sink in, and then Denis turned toward me with an expression that combined equal parts of anger and fear. “I told you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Denis, I happen to care about my brother, and I thought it was a little odd that you’d mention him when you did. Oh, maybe I should introduce my friend here, since you don’t seem to recognize him. This is Matt Lundgren, Tucson chief of police.”

Denis turned an interesting shade of gray, and for a moment I wondered if he was going to pass out. He backed away from the stones and fumbled blindly until he found a stool, collapsing on it. He shut his eyes for a long moment, then opened them again. “I should have known better. I should never . . . I don’t know what to do.”

Matt stepped closer. “Mr. Ryerson, do you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of Ms. Dowell’s brother Cameron?”

“No. Well, not exactly. It’s complicated.”

“Then maybe you can explain it to us.”

“No! I can’t. I have to finish . . . Are you arresting me? I haven’t done anything!”

“Mr. Ryerson,” Matt said patiently, “you are not under arrest. As of this moment, I’m not aware of any crime you have committed. I am simply asking if you know where Cameron Dowell is.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Maybe I should talk to a lawyer. But I don’t have time to talk to a lawyer. I don’t know what to do . . .” Just as I had feared: Denis looked headed for a complete meltdown, which wouldn’t help any of us.

I stepped closer to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Denis,” I said gently, “this has to do with the stones, doesn’t it? And why you’re in such a hurry to produce the altered ones?” When he nodded, I pressed on. “Are they stolen, Denis?”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head violently. “They’re mine, legally, or ours, I guess. They come from a property we hold title to, at least for the moment.”

Matt and I exchanged a glance, and he nodded slightly at me. Apparently the feminine touch was working. “You said ‘we.’ Are you working with your wife, Denis? Or someone else?”

“Not my wife—a friend of mine, from the university. Alejandro Gutierrez—Alex. He’s in the geology department. You see, we . . .”

Matt interrupted. “Mr. Ryerson, have you seen or spoken with your friend recently?”

“What? No, I guess not. That’s part of the problem. You see, we were worried . . . I mean, we had a buyer lined up, but he’s here only for the Gem Show, so he’s leaving soon. He said if we didn’t have them ready by then, the deal was off. But we had trouble working out the kinks in the process, so we fell behind, and I’ve been trying to catch up. Alex was the one who set up the deal, but I don’t know if he’s talked to the guy lately. I’m not sure how to get hold of him.”

I wasn’t prepared when Matt pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. “Can you give me a physical description of your friend?”

Denis looked at Matt bleakly. “Alex? Uh, maybe six feet, dark hair, dark eyes. My age or so. Pretty fit—he spends a lot of time rock climbing. Why?”

Matt unfolded the paper with deliberation, then slid it, face up, across the marver to Denis. “Is this your friend?”

Denis took one look at it, and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he started to slide off the stool. Matt caught him before he hit the floor, thank goodness.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Matt said.

Two steps forward, one step back. Denis Ryerson had a partner, Alex Gutierrez; Alex was dead. Denis was working with local stones, and he and Alex had a buyer who was leaving town shortly, which was why Denis was in such a hurry. But what did Cam have to do with any of this?

Matt was holding woozy Denis upright on the stool. “Em, can you get him a glass of water or something?”

I mobilized myself and went to fill a plastic cup from the water cooler I kept in the studio—it was important that both I and my students stayed hydrated when we were working with hot glass, especially in Arizona’s dry climate, so I always had water on hand. Wordlessly I handed it to Denis, who grabbed the flimsy cup with both shaking hands. At least he managed to raise it to his mouth and swallow, while both Matt and I watched like hawks. I looked at Matt. “We don’t need medical help?”

“I don’t think so. You okay now, Denis?”

Denis nodded. His eyes stayed open, and he was sitting up all by himself. “I don’t know what just happened, but I’ve been so stressed out lately, and then that picture . . . I wasn’t expecting it. He’s dead? What happened to him?” He raised his eyes to Matt.

“We aren’t sure yet. His body was found out in the desert north of here, last weekend.”

“Oh God, oh God . . .” Denis shut his eyes and rocked back and forth on his stool. “When did he die?”

“Maybe a day or two before that.” Matt watched Denis critically. “When did you last see him?”

“I don’t know . . . let me think. A week? Ten days? We have lunch on campus now and then—we’ve been friends for years, and business partners more recently.”

“Didn’t you find it odd that you didn’t hear from him for a week, at this particular time?”

Denis shrugged. “No. I told you, he’s a geologist. He’s always going out rock climbing, looking at stuff. He’d handed off the treatment of the stones to me, and he was going to pick them up when I was done. I can’t believe he’s dead. What happens now?”

“Obviously there’ll be an investigation into your partner’s death, now that we know who he is, but that’s for the county sheriff to deal with, since the body was found outside city limits. I’ll get in touch with him, and with the ME. But right now, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what’s been going on. Why don’t we go upstairs?” Matt looked at me and I nodded.

Matt got Denis onto his feet, keeping a hand on his arm to steady him, but then Denis turned back. “The stones, they . . .”

Oh, right—the ones he’d left on the marver. “I’ll collect them for you.” I rummaged for an empty frit can and swept the stones off the marver into it before following Matt and Denis out the back, thinking hard. I wasn’t an officer of the law or a trained psychiatrist, but Denis’s reaction to the picture had certainly looked sincere to me. Did he have any idea
why
Alex was dead? And did it involve the stones? And where the hell did Cam fit in this equation?

I opened the door for Matt—and found Frank waiting for us. Frank stood up when we arrived, and I ushered everyone ahead of me. Was I supposed to offer refreshments, or was this an interrogation? I decided against it, mostly because I didn’t want to miss anything.

Matt made perfunctory introductions. “Denis Ryerson, Frank Kavanagh.” I noticed he didn’t explain who Frank was or why he was here, but Denis seemed beyond caring.

I took inventory of the group: Denis looked miserable, Frank looked cheerful but his eyes were wary, and Matt looked . . . official. He and Frank exchanged some sort of unspoken conversation, which I interpreted as “stay here because I might need you, but keep your mouth shut.”

We sat. Matt prodded Denis. “Mr. Ryerson, let’s take this from the beginning.”

“Wait, wait. You’re not arresting me?”

“No, I’m not. I just want some information.”

“Okay, okay.” Denis closed his eyes for a moment before starting. “I told you I was a faculty member at the university? I’ve been there about fifteen years now, since I got my PhD. I met Alex years ago at some university function—I don’t even remember now. He’s—he was with the geology department, but that didn’t mean much to me in the beginning. He’s not married, and I think he was lonely, and we got to be friends, after a while. Things went on that way for a few years.”

Denis stopped and ran his fingers through his already-messy hair. “We were both making decent money at the university, so we came up with this idea to start investing some of it, making it work for us. This was maybe five, seven years ago? And it looked like this whole area was really booming. I’m sure you’ve noticed—all these housing developments going up around the city, even further and further out. So we started buying up undeveloped land. We weren’t in any hurry—we’re a long way from retirement, and we don’t have any kids to put through college. We could afford to sit on the land and wait for it to appreciate, and it worked pretty well for a while. We turned over a few properties for a nice profit, and put a lot of the money into more.”

I could figure out where this was going. Tucson—and the rest of Arizona—had been booming for a long time, with lots of population moving in, and lots of new construction. But over the past year or so, the national economy had slumped, and so had the local economy, if not quite as quickly. Most likely Denis and his pal had been caught with their pants down, so to speak. “And then the market changed, right?”