Double eagle, p.24
Double Eagle, page 24
“Forgive the intrusion,” said Rawat. “But we are curious as to the progress of house buying.”
“There are many mistakes in purchasing house,” said Stas.
“Structuring a mortgage,” said Rawat. “Very complicated. Down payment, fixed term, variable term. Finding an honest lender.”
“Many houses need repairs. Roof, plumbing, electrical, foundation. Do windows need to be replaced? Furnace? Air conditioner? Can be expensive.”
“I’m not sure I’m interested in buying a house.”
“Are you uninterested,” said Rawat, “or disinterested?”
Thumps was sure he didn’t want to answer that question.
“If you are uninterested,” said Rawat, “it means you have little interest in buying a house.”
“But disinterested,” said Stas, “means you are impartial to idea.”
“Many people think the two are the same,” said Rawat.
“If I decide to buy a house,” said Thumps, “I’ll let you know.”
“It is what friends do,” said Rawat.
Al arrived with a steaming plate of eggs and hash browns. “Let the man eat his breakfast in peace.”
“Thank you.”
“If he’s going house hunting with Ora Mae,” said Al, “he’s going to need all his strength.”
THUMPS STOPPED AT the Cash and Carry to restock his house. Bananas, tomatoes, cheese, orange juice, chicken thighs, potatoes.
Stas and Rawat had had more to say about house buying, and before he knew it, Al had joined in. When he slipped away, they were debating the pros and cons of condo living as opposed to life in a trailer park.
The mangoes looked good, and he decided to take a chance on a cantaloupe from Mexico.
He took his time putting all the food away, arranging everything in its place. He filled the cats’ bowls and cleaned their litter boxes. Freeway and Cookie weren’t hard to find. They were on the sofa, staring at the computer monitor, waiting for the show to start.
“Cat videos aren’t made for cats,” he told them to no effect. “They’re made for people who are trying to block out the world.”
Freeway began yowling. Cookie joined in.
“It didn’t work last time,” said Thumps. “It won’t work now.”
Though now that he thought about it, the complaining had worked last time. And it wasn’t like smoking or drinking or gambling. There were probably worse things than letting cats watch cat videos.
Thumps typed “cat videos” into the search bar. The first one up featured a bunch of kittens tumbling over each other, falling on their backs, and leaping about.
Okay, so they were sweet.
THE SHERIFF’S CRUISER was already in the parking lot. Duke had commandeered a table by a window, so he could look out and see the street. Atticus was sitting across from him.
“Did you know that Atticus here almost got to the big leagues?”
“Basketball?”
“Baseball,” said Poe. “Pitcher.”
“Triple-A,” said Duke.
“Double-A,” said Poe. “Fastball wasn’t fast enough. Slider wouldn’t slide.”
“So you became a coin dealer.”
“It was either that,” said Poe, “or an underwear model.”
Duke smiled, shook his head. “He’s not kidding.”
Fancy came over. “Looks like the gang’s all here,” she said. “These two rascals were waiting for yourself to arrive before they put in their order.”
“Coffee,” said Duke, “and a chocolate-coated.”
“I will try one of your crullers,” said Poe, “and a glass of milk.”
“And Mr. DreadfulWater will have an unglazed old-fashioned and coffee,” said Fancy.
“Please,” said Thumps.
“You appear to be all serious and the like,” said Fancy. “Is this a law-enforcement moment?”
“More a law-enforcement break,” said Duke.
“And should I lock up the shop and turn off the microphones?”
“She’s kidding,” said Duke.
“I am, am I?” said Fancy. “I won’t be bothering you. If you need a restocking of any sort, you’ll have but to hold a finger in the air, and I’ll come running.”
POE TOOK THE envelope out of his messenger bag, slid it across the table to Thumps.
“I think these are yours.”
“Keep them if you like,” said Thumps. “I have copies.”
Poe took the photographs out of the envelope and arranged them on the table. “Quite the rogues’ gallery,” he said, touching each photograph in turn. “Arkady Lukin, Boris Lukin, Otto Myers, Katheryn Souto, Emily Hunter, Nicodemus Eliopoulos, Hannibal Barca, and, of course, myself.”
Thumps waited.
“Not a particularly good shot of Hannibal,” said Poe. “But then he was not partial to cameras.”
“You knew the Lukins,” said Thumps.
“Everyone in the business knew the Lukins,” said Poe. “I only met Arkady once. I knew the son better.”
Thumps separated out several photos. “These were taken when both Arkady and Hannibal were alive. This is the only one I could find of them together. These two were taken of Arkady after Hannibal disappeared.”
“If you say so.”
“Here Arkady is on his own. And here are several with both Lukins together.”
Poe used his fork to cut the cruller into quarters.
“This one is of Boris at a big gala just after his father died. It was taken about a year back.”
Duke ran a hand over the photographs. “I’ll be damned. Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes,” said Thumps. “I believe it is.”
“Maybe Mr. Poe would like to fill us in.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about,” said Poe.
“This picture of Barca and Lukin Sr.,” said Thumps. “There. On Barca’s lapel.”
“This stick pin,” said Duke. “I’ll be damned.”
“Okay,” said Poe, “it’s a stick pin. As I recall, Barca did wear a stick pin.”
“Enamel on gold,” said Thumps. “In the shape of a tulip.”
“Yes,” said Poe. “I believe you are correct.”
“And then Barca disappears,” said Thumps. “And the stick pin disappears. In all the photos of Arkady Lukin after Barca’s disappearance, there is no photo of him with that stick pin.”
Poe put his fork down.
Thumps pushed a photo forward. “But after Arkady’s death, here’s Boris with the stick pin on his lapel.”
“And you think that’s the same pin.” Poe sat back, crossed his arms.
“I do,” said Thumps. “I saw that pin on Boris when he arrived for the show. Took a photo of him. Here’s a blow-up.”
“So, you’re suggesting that Arkady had Hannibal killed and that he took the stick pin?”
“No,” said Thumps. “I think Arkady and Hannibal were friends. I think the two of them didn’t always agree, but they respected one another. I think Arkady was probably upset when Hannibal disappeared, especially when it was suggested that he had something to do with it.”
“The meeting in New York,” said Duke.
“The meeting in New York that Arkady was supposed to have arranged, but didn’t.”
“That’s what Barca told me,” said Poe.
“But now you know what happened,” said Thumps. “You’ve known what happened for the better part of a year.”
“Contrary to popular belief,” said Poe, “gold-coin collectors are not clairvoyant.”
“You knew when you saw the picture of Boris with the stick pin. You knew it was Boris who had killed Barca.”
“I’m intrigued,” said Poe. “If Boris did indeed kill Hannibal, why wouldn’t he sport the pin immediately? Spoils of war and all that.”
“Do you want me to guess?”
“I want you to guess,” said Duke.
“Please.”
“I think Boris wanted to impress his father. I think he wanted to get Barca’s eagle. I think he used his father’s name to set up a meeting. I think he tried to buy it, and when that didn’t work, he threatened, and when that failed, he killed Barca. Maybe it was premeditated. Maybe he was enraged at being told no. Certainly, he would have been worried that Barca would tell his father about the deception. He couldn’t allow that to happen.”
Duke ate half his doughnut with one bite. “So he killed Barca and took the eagle?”
“No,” said Thumps. “I don’t think Barca took the eagle with him to the meeting. He trusted Arkady to a point, but he was a cautious man. I think he left it someplace safe. Just in case.”
“The pin,” said Poe.
“Right,” said Thumps. “Boris took the pin, but he couldn’t wear it. At least not as long as his father was alive. If Arkady had seen it, he would have known what happened.”
Thumps moved a photo to the centre of the table. “But with his father dead . . .”
Duke nodded. “Boris felt safe.”
“Well,” said Poe, “that’s as good an explanation as I’ve heard. It has a bit of the Poirot mystery to it, but all in all, it’s logical and plausible.”
“Thank you,” said Thumps. “Now, all we have left is who killed Boris. And why.”
41
Duke signalled Fancy for more coffee.
“I can bring more doughnuts, yeah? Serious conversation can wear you out.”
“Coffee’s fine,” said Thumps.
“I wouldn’t mind another doughnut,” said the sheriff.
“I’ll join you,” said Poe. “Mr. DreadfulWater is very entertaining.”
Thumps waited until Fancy filled the cups and brought the doughnuts.
“Where were we?”
“You were going to tell us who killed Boris,” said Poe. “And why.”
Duke broke his doughnut into quarters. “Well, seeing as I didn’t kill Boris, and Thumps here didn’t kill Boris, that seems to leave you.”
“And why would I want to kill Boris?”
Thumps fished two of the photos out of the pile and set them together, side by side.
“I couldn’t figure that one out until I discovered exactly who Hannibal Barca was.”
Poe looked at the photos, touched each one in turn.
“Hannibal Barca was your father.”
Poe smiled. “And you were doing so well.”
“I asked Scoop Macleod to look at the two pictures. Dimples are inherited. So is nose structure, hairline.”
“You are joking,” said Poe. “If you haven’t noticed, there’s the little matter of race.”
“It’s a construct,” said Thumps. “Your mother was from Barbados. Your father was from Russia.”
“I guess we better do a DNA test,” said Poe.
“No,” said Thumps. “That’s a non-starter. Unless we could find Barca’s body, and I doubt Boris was that incompetent.”
“So, all of this is conjecture.”
“It is,” said Thumps. “The rest of it is guesswork.”
Poe spread his hands. “There’s more?”
“There is.”
“Am I going to need another doughnut?” said Duke.
“When Boris killed your father, he didn’t find the double eagle because Barca had left it someplace safe. He might have left it with you. He might have left it with your mother. Safe enough because no one knew about you two. You were his secret family that he kept out of sight. He was a cautious man. He knew the points of vulnerability. Family being number one.”
Poe stared out the window for a moment. “All right, let’s play hypothetical. Let’s say that Hannibal was my father. And let’s say he left the double eagle with my mother. And let’s say that Boris killed my father. Why would I wait all this time?”
“You didn’t know,” said Thumps. “Until you saw the stick pin, you didn’t know that it was Boris who killed your father.”
“All this on a stick pin?”
“A stick pin I’m guessing your mother made for your father. She was a jeweller. A very good one from everything I’ve read. The pin would have been precious to your father.”
“That’s a great deal of guessing.”
“Now that you knew what had happened, you used the one thing that Boris desired to lure him out into the open. He was too hard to get at in Miami. So you sent him a postcard, offering the possibility of a 1933 double eagle. Barca’s eagle. And you sent similar postcards to the other dealers for cover. It was, in many ways, the perfect ploy, the coin show the perfect time and place.”
“We all saw the coin at the same time,” said Poe.
“A recording you made,” said Thumps. “The idea was the dealers would bid on the coin, the highest bid would take it, but it was never for sale. Then, after the video, you let Boris know he was the high bidder, invited him back to the room, and killed him.”
Poe began a slow clap. “You should write crime fiction. That’s a decent plot.”
“When we found Lukin’s body, the one thing missing was the pin. It wasn’t on his lapel. It wasn’t in the room. He was wearing an expensive watch, had over five thousand dollars cash in his wallet. None of that was taken. Only the pin.”
“You can search me,” said Poe.
“We won’t find it,” said Thumps, “and we won’t find the double eagle. And we won’t find the stun gun you used.”
“No,” said Poe, “I suspect you won’t.”
“Well,” said Duke, “I’m impressed. I hope this is where you roll out the proof.”
“No proof,” said Thumps. “Just a bunch of guesses.”
Poe licked his fingers, took a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket, and slipped it under his coffee cup. “Those were excellent doughnuts.”
“Nobody makes better doughnuts than Morris Dumbo,” said Duke.
“What are you going to do?” said Thumps.
“Go home,” said Poe. “My mother is in a long-term care facility. Whenever I return from a trip, I tell her about my exploits. She enjoys listening to my stories.”
“I imagine she will enjoy this one in particular.”
“Yes,” said Poe. “I believe she will.”
“We may have to arrest you,” said Duke.
Poe took a card out of his jacket. “Doubtful, but if you have the urge, here’s where you can find me. And if you do come to New York, please look me up. I’d love to show you the city.”
42
Thumps left the photos where they lay. Duke cut the rest of the doughnut into thin slices and ate them in a slow, deliberate ritual.
“My theory,” said Duke, “is that if you eat doughnuts in small amounts at a slow pace, the sugar won’t hurt you.”
“Interval eating.”
“That’s right,” said Duke. “You should try it.”
Fancy came by with the coffee pot. “So, your friend has off and left you, has he?”
“Not a friend,” said Duke. “He’s a suspect in a murder case.”
“Really,” said Fancy. “Seems like a decent chap.”
“He killed a man,” said Thumps.
“That the guy at the resort?” Fancy cocked her head to one side. “And you’re not arresting him?”
“No proof.”
“He have a good reason? For killing this guy?”
“He did,” said Thumps. “Man he killed murdered his father.”
“So it’s not exactly as though he got away with murder.”
“He did get away with murder.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Fancy, “but there’s some sympathy to be found at the bottom of that bucket.”
“Why don’t you box up a dozen to go,” said Duke. “Assorted with at least four chocolate.”
“So, what are you going to do?” said Thumps.
“Try to figure out a way to get Amazon to unlock my account.”
“Good luck with that,” said Fancy. “Now there’s a corporation needs a bit of discomforting.”
Fancy went to sort the doughnuts in a box. Thumps and Duke stayed at the table.
“You going to tell Cruz?”
“Probably not,” said Thumps.
“Might help,” said Duke. “The FBI is getting ready to kick Benoit through the goal posts of life.”
“Not sure knowing is going to do any good,” said Thumps. “Benoit was supposed to be watching Lukin, and she blew it.”
“She was drugged,” said Duke. “Most likely by Poe.”
“Needed to have her out of the way.”
“Not sure FBI regulations make allowances for extenuating circumstances,” said Duke.
“Think that’s a good guess.”
“Maybe we should tell them,” said Duke. “Even if they can’t prove that Poe was behind it, they could make his life a misery.”
Thumps yawned. “You tell them. I have to go look at open houses.”
CLAIRE AND IVORY were waiting for him at the first house. A 1950s bungalow on a large lot with a garage and workshop. Three bedrooms, two baths. The kitchen was knotty pine with a turquoise Formica and chrome countertop. One bathroom had a pink tub. All the bedrooms were off a long hallway with a floor furnace across from the linen closet.
“An all-original charmer” was how the listing agent described it. Thumps guessed that meant the place had not been touched since the day it was built. It might look dated now, the agent told them, but the style was on its way back.
The second house was an infill in a neighbourhood of other infills. Two bedrooms, two baths, all spanking new and up to date. The kitchen featured an induction stove. The refrigerator had French doors with a cold-water dispenser. The living room was spacious and bright in part because there were no window coverings, which, according to the young man showing the place, was a plus, as it would allow the lucky buyer to put their own decorative mark on the place.
Thumps and Claire and Ivory stopped after the second house to get burgers and fries at Skippy’s.
Claire tried to look enthusiastic. “How many more?”
“Two.”
“More open houses?” Ivory threw herself down on the table, as though she had been shot.
THE THIRD HOUSE was a front-to-back split-level. Thumps had never heard of the term but discovered it simply meant that the house was built on a slope and that you could walk out the basement to the backyard, which continued to slope down the hill until it plunged over the edge of an embankment and onto the railroad tracks that ran through town.
