Woman Chased by Crows (26 page)

“That would impress the girlfriends.”

“I don't think he ever brought one up here. I mean it. Asked him once, said he didn't like long goodbyes. Gone like a cool breeze, that was Paulie.”

They watched the coffee dripping far too slowly into the carafe. Stacy broke the silence. “His piece wasn't here?”

“I wish. Nope. Found some other stuff, though.”

“Such as?”

Adele waved off the question, took her time, long enough to get her first sip. “Bless you,” she said. “Follow me. Sit down over there.” She emptied keys and spare change out of the brass bowl and put it on the coffee table in front of Stacy. “You said jewels, right?”

“Yes.”

“Big jewels.” She shifted her weapon, picked up the envelope, shook it gently. “Check these out.” She tilted the envelope, the brass bowl rang like a tiny gong.

“Oh yeah.” Stacy looked at them for a long breath. “
Big
jewels.”

“Maybe like Russian crown jewels?”

“Might as well be.” She poked them with a finger. “And they're real?”

Adele sat across from her. “People going to a lot of trouble if they aren't.” The stones glittered, held their eyes like crystal balls. “Do you have any fucking idea what's going on?” Adele asked.

“I know some of it.”

“Yeah? Well I know squat. Except I know my dead partner stepped on his dick big time. He's involved in the theft of at least two of those diamonds — which two exactly I couldn't tell you since he got them all mixed up — but I have his recorded admission that he lifted two of them at a crime scene. Strike one. Then he went back to the crime scene and found the other ones. You could say he stole them too, but I'll withhold that charge pending further evidence.” Adele began picking up the gems, one by one, sapphire first, then the diamonds, counting quietly. Stacy counted with her. “One blue, four white, right?”

“Right.”

Adele sealed the envelope. “Sign it?”

“Pleasure.” Stacy signed the flap. “So what are you going to do?”

“Turn them in.”

“Today?”

“Yeah, well, it's fucking Saturday.” She folded the envelope into a tight square and stuck it in her back pocket. “Definitely don't owe Paulie my freakin' badge!” She went to the balcony window, leaned her head against the glass, banged it three times.

Stacy waited, watching Adele. “But you don't like thinking that the guy you partnered with for . . .”

“That bastard is
not
getting me jammed up in this, whatever it is.”

“. . . how many years?”

“Five, almost six, who cares?” She banged her head against the glass again, gently this time.

“He had your back.”

“Yeah. Mostly I had his.” She picked up her weapon, checked it, holstered it and strapped it on. “Plus, I just had a conversation with a guy named Sergei who insinuated that he either has Paulie's gun, or knows where to find it.” She gave Stacy a grim smile. “Strike two.”

“Maybe just a foul ball,” said Stacy.

“Still a strike.” She emptied her cup. “Good coffee.”

They had breakfast at the New York Café, a few blocks south of Paul's apartment. Adele had steak and eggs. It was her first meal in twenty-four hours and she wolfed it. To keep her company, Stacy had an English muffin with honey and a small orange juice. The power smoothie she'd sucked back before leaving Dockerty contained enough protein and nutrients to keep her going most of the day. Adele chewed and scowled at the Saturday traffic moving up and down Broadview; streetcars and taxis, a double-decker tour bus, dog-walkers, joggers and double-wide baby buggies. Stacy had her notebook open. She did most of the talking.

“Sergei Siziva. He was one of five people from a ballet company who defected back in '81. Of the five, three are dead. Ludmilla Dolgushin, murdered in Montreal twenty-five years ago, Vassili Abramov, eight years ago. And Viktor Nimchuk, barely a week ago.” She looked up. “The two survivors are the ballet teacher, Anya Zubrovskaya, a.k.a. Anya Daniel, and Mr. Sergei Siziva. Ms. Daniel is convinced that Mr. Siziva, or someone connected to him, or hired by him, is out to kill her.”

“Because?”

“The way she tells it, Sergei's been tracking down the jewels to return them to their rightful owners.”

“The Russians? So? This guy Sergei's official? Didn't sound official. Sounded bent.”

“Yeah. That sort of thing usually goes government to government. Happens all the time — works of art being identified, recovered, returned to their rightful owners. Might take a hundred years, but there are procedures.”

Adele pointed at Stacy's uneaten muffin. “Gonna eat that?”

“Help yourself.”

Adele had a bite, wiped honey from her bottom lip. “So, if he doesn't have some piece of paper giving him diplomatic immunity or some such bullshit, which I doubt, then my friend Sergei's just another shitheel looking for buried treasure.” She had another bite. “We got a picture?”

“Of Sergei? Nope. Description from the Daniel woman — this is at least ten years old — not too tall, black hair, ‘nasty eyebrows.'”

“Yeah, he sounds like the kind of prick who'd have nasty eyebrows.” Adele finished the muffin. She'd run out of things to eat. She still looked hungry. “I don't think you want to get stuck in this,” she said.

Stacy laughed. “Are you kidding? I mean, come
on
! Russian royal treasure. A ruby as big as a hockey puck. My boss figures I've got until maybe noon Monday before visitors start showing up: your guys, Peel Division, maybe Montreal, maybe even the Russian ambassador. After that I'll be on the sidelines. You, too.” She put money on the table. “My treat. I've got an expense account.”

“Forty-eight hours?”

“Give or take.”

Both entrances to Grova's Pawn were taped and guarded. Patrol cars were parked at angles in front of the building, lights flashing. Traffic was crawling, uniformed officers in the street, drivers inconvenienced and unhappy about it.

“Well now,” said Adele, “what have we here?”

“Something serious.”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

“Can you get us in?”

“Kidding me? I own this town.”

Adele parked in a no parking zone with her red four-ways flashing. Her stride across Danforth with arms spread could have parted the Red Sea. Stacy had to jog to catch up with her. Adele flashed her badge at the uniform at the entrance. “Goin' on?”

“The owner. His son found him. Body's still up there.”

“Who caught it?”

“Heatley and his partner.”

“Lacsamana,” Stacy threw in.

The uniform looked at Stacy.

“She's with me,” Adele said. “Dockerty
PD
. We're working a homicide that's likely connected. Door unlocked?”

The uniform opened the door next to the shop entrance. A staircase went straight up. Stacy looked back to catch the uniform watching her climb. Well, who could blame him? He blinked and closed the door.

Two more uniforms were on the landing outside the apartment door. Adele showed her badge and they shifted sideways. The main room was crowded; medical examiner's crew, crime scene techies. The body of an old man was being bagged. Stacy saw blood on a handlebar moustache before the zipper hid his face. In the kitchen area, two detectives were talking to a man with stringy hair and a dirty shirt. The man was sitting at a cluttered kitchen table. He looked numb, or badly hung over. One of the detectives spotted them, said something to his partner and headed in their direction.

“Yo, Moen. Thought you were in the Bahamas.”

“Somewhere down there.”

“Missed the wake.”

“That was my evil plan. You remember Detective Crean?”

“Crean the brain. Right. How's it goin'?”

“Detective Lacsamana. Nice to see you again.”

He looked them over briefly. “What's up?”

Adele took it. “Vic is the owner? Louie Grova? We were on our way to talk to him.”

Lacsamana nodded at Stacy. “Your interest?”

“My Chief's got a bee in his bonnet about Detective Delisle's missing revolver. Sent me down to look for it. Was this guy shot?”

“Not hardly. Lamp cord around the neck. He died hard. You find his piece?”

“No sign of it yet,” said Adele. “We took a break. You ever see Paulie's apartment?”

Lacsamana made a snorting noise. “Sure, we were asshole buddies from way back. Hell, count the number of beers we had with what? One finger?”

Adele nodded. “Yeah, he wasn't much for hanging out.”

He gave them both a hard searching cop look. Like most detectives, he disbelieved most of what he saw and all of what he heard. “How do you figure his piece was here?”

“All I've got is a list of names that
might
be connected to that ballet dancer he tracked to my town,” said Stacy. “She's gone missing. Del and I were looking to talk to her.”

“How'd this go down?” Adele wanted to know.

“Somebody was looking for something. Vic was put through some serious pain, looks like. Burned fingertips, split lip. Worse than that maybe.”

“Yuck.”

“Definitely. Know what they were looking for?”

Adele stood aside to let the medical examiner and the body squeeze by down the stairs. “Something worth more than Paulie's old six gun.”

“You make a connection, you'll let me know.”

“Oh yeah. Happy to hand it off.”

The other detective, Heatley, was motioning for his partner to wind it up. Lacsamana had a last, dubious look at the two women. “Stay in touch,” he said.

“Count on it,” Adele said.

At the bottom of the stairs the
ME
's team was having some trouble squeezing the gurney through. Adele, two steps above, leaned over them to hold the top of the door, then followed them to the back of the meat wagon.

“So what's it look like to you guys?” she asked. “Strangled?”

“Won't know for a while,” said one of the men. “Just a guess, I'd say he had a heart attack.”

“Hate that,” Adele said. She slammed the car door and fired up the engine. “Hate it. Did it all the time, but I don't like it.”

“You didn't lie.”

“Didn't tell the truth either.” She checked her mirrors. “I was always covering Paulie's ass. He was
not
a team player.” She stared across at the pawnshop. “I don't see your ballet dancer pulling a stunt like that, you?”

“Not the type, wouldn't have thought. Tough little cookie, though. Come up behind him with an electrical cord. Could happen.”

“And the burning?”

“That's nasty.”

“Oh yeah. Fucking jewels, hunh? Never could see it myself. You?”

“I got a diamond ring once. Gave it back.”

Adele laughed. “One more than me.” She put the car in gear and eased out into the traffic stream. The uniform in the street made a space for her. Horns honked. Adele thanked him with a wave.