Hot Rocks

involved in an accident a few days ago.”
    “Oh dear. Oh dear, I was afraid it was something of the kind.” In a nervous gesture, Jack removed the glasses, polished the lenses briskly on a stiff white handkerchief. “He was injured then? He’s in the hospital?”
    Vince waited until he’d perched the glasses back on his nose. “He’s dead.”
    “Dead? Dead? ” It was a fist slammed into the belly, hearing it again, just that way. And the genuine jolt had his voice squeaking. “Oh, this is dreadful. I can’t . . . I never imagined. How did it happen?”
    “He was hit by a car. He died almost instantly.”
    “This is such a shock.”
    Willy. God, Willy. He knew he’d gone pale. He could feel the chill under his skin where the blood had drained. His hands trembled. He wanted to weep, even to wail, but he held back. Peter Pinkerton would never commit such a public display of emotion.
    “I don’t know precisely what to do next. All the time I was waiting for him to meet me, growing impatient, even annoyed, he was . . . Terrible. I’ll have to call my employer, tell him . . . Oh dear, this is just dreadful.”
    “Did you know any of Mr. Peterson’s other associates? Family?”
    “No.” He fiddled with his tie, fussily, though he wanted to yank at it as his throat swelled. I’m all he had , Jack thought. I’m the only family he had. And I got him killed. But Peter Pinkerton continued in his snooty Harvard drawl. “We rarely talked of anything other than books. Could you possibly tell me what arrangements have been made? I’m sure Mr. Mantz would want to send flowers, or make a donation to a charity in lieu.”
    “Nothing’s set, as yet.”
    “Oh. Well.” Jack got to his feet, then sat again. “Could you tell me, possibly, if Mr. Peterson was in possession of the book when he . . . I apologize for sounding ghoulish, but Mr. Mantz will ask. The Faulkner?”
    Vince tipped back in his chair, swiveled gently side to side with his cop’s eyes trained on Jack’s face. “He had a couple paperback novels.”
    “Are you certain? I’m sorry for the trouble, but is there any way to check, a list of some sort? Mr. Mantz has his sights set on that edition. You see, it’s a rare find with the dust jacket. A first edition in, we were assured, mint condition—and he’ll, Mr. Mantz, he’ll be very . . . oh dear, insistent about my following through.”
    Obligingly Vince opened a drawer, took out a file. “Nothing like that here. Clothes, toiletries, keys, a watch, cell phone and recharger, wallet and contents. That’s it. Guy was traveling light.”
    “I see. Perhaps he put it in a safe-deposit box for safekeeping until we met. Of course, he wouldn’t have been able to retrieve it before . . . I’ve taken enough of your time.”
    “Where are you staying, Mr. Pinkerton?”
    “Staying?”
    “Tonight. Where are you staying, in case I have something further on those arrangements.”
    “Ah. I’m at the Wayfarer tonight. I suppose I’ll fly out as scheduled tomorrow. Oh dear, oh dear, I don’t know what I’m going to say to Mr. Mantz.”
    “And if I need to reach you, in Boston?”
    Jack produced a card. “Either of those numbers will do. Please do contact me, Chief Burger, if you have any word.” He offered his hand.
    “I’ll be in touch.”
    Vince walked him out, stood watching as he walked away.
    It wouldn’t take long to check the details of the story, and to run the names Pinkerton and Mantz. But since he’d looked through those cheap lenses into Laine’s blue eyes, he figured he’d find they were bogus.
    “Russ, call over to the Wayfarer, see if they’ve got this Pinkerton registered.”
    He’d confirm that little detail, haul one of his men out of bed to keep tabs on the man for the night.
    He’d have another look at the effects, see what O’Hara—if that was O’Hara—had been interested in finding. Since he was damn sure he didn’t have a few million in diamonds sitting back in the property room, he’d just have to see if he had something that pointed to them.
     
     
     
    Where the hell was it? Jack walked briskly for two blocks before he began to breathe easily again. Cop houses, cop smells, cop eyes tended to constrict his lungs. There was no ceramic dog on the list of effects. Surely even a suspicious cop—and that was a redundant phrase—would have listed something like that. So there went his tidy little plan to break into the property room and take it.