“Easily copied, of course. I’d be happy to authenticate anything you’ve found. Weaponry and warfare are my areas of expertise.”
“Thank you. We may take you up on that.” Vito hesitated, considering. He had to ask about the chair sometime. Might as well be now. “We also found a chair.”
“A chair,” Brewster repeated with a hint of disdain. “What kind of chair?”
“One with spikes. Lots of spikes,” Vito said and watched Brewster’s face flatten in what might have been genuine shock before the color rose in his tanned cheeks.
The man quickly recovered his poise. “You think you’ve found an inquisitional chair? You have it in your possession?”
“Yes,” Vito lied. “We were wondering how someone might have come by it.”
“Artifacts like that are very rare. What you have is most certainly a copy. We’d have to authenticate. If you brought it to me, I’d be happy to help.”
On a cold day in hell, Vito thought. “But if it is authentic, where would it come from?”
“Europe, originally, but few survive. Rarely do they come up for sale or auction.”
“Dr. Brewster, let’s cut through the bull, shall we? I’m talking about the black market. If someone wanted to buy an artifact like a chair, where would he go?”
Brewster’s eyes flashed. “I haven’t the faintest idea. I don’t know anyone who deals in illegal merchandise, and if I did, I would report them immediately to the authorities.”
“I’m sorry,” Vito said and watched the fire in Brewster’s eyes bank. If he was an actor, he was very good. Vito thought of Sophie. Brewster must be one hell of an actor. “I didn’t mean to imply you’d be involved in anything illegal. But if one of these chairs were to suddenly surface, would you hear about it?”
“Most assuredly, Detective. But I have not.”
“Do you know of any private collectors who might have interest in such items, were they to come up for legal auction?”
Opening his desk drawer, Brewster took out a pad and jotted down a few names. “These men are of the highest ethics. I’m sure they will be as unable to help you as I.”
Vito slipped the paper into his pocket. “I’m sure you’re right. Thank you for your time, Dr. Brewster. If you do hear anything, please call me. Here’s my card.”
Brewster swept the card into the drawer with his notepad. “Stephanie will see you out.” Vito was at the door when Brewster added, “Please tell Sophie I said hello.”
Controlling his surprise, Vito turned, forcing confusion to his face. “I’m sorry?”
“Please, Detective. We all have our sources. I have mine and you have… Sophie Johannsen.” He smiled, a sly gleam in his eye that made Vito want to poke the man’s eyes out. “You’re in for a real treat. Sophie was one of my most able assistants.”
Vito lifted a shoulder, barely controlling the pagan urge to leap across that mahogany desk and rip Brewster’s face off. Instead he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Brewster. You really do have me at a loss. Maybe this Sophie Johnson-”
“Johannsen,” Brewster corrected smoothly.
“Whatever. Maybe she talked to my boss, but…” Vito shrugged. “Not to me.” He made himself smile conspiratorially. “Although it appears I missed something special.”
Brewster’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That you did, Detective. That you did.”
Tuesday, January 16, 10:30
A.M.
It had been, Vito conceded, a professionally unproductive trip. Brewster hadn’t provided anything of real use and Vito didn’t believe the names he’d been given would be of any use either. He’d pursue the leads though, and see what more he could learn.
His cell buzzed, Riker’s number on the caller ID. “Vito, it’s Tim. We just left Claire Reynolds’s parents’ place. Her parents had all of Claire’s things boxed in their basement. Bev got some hair from Claire’s old brush so we can get DNA. Her parents said they went to her apartment just before Thanksgiving a year ago when she hadn’t returned their calls, but she hadn’t been there in a long time. Then they checked her job and found the library where she’d worked received a letter of resignation fifteen months ago. The mother insists the signature isn’t Claire’s. We’ll bring the letter in, too.”
“Huh. Somebody didn’t want anyone to investigate her as missing.”
“That’s what we thought. But that’s not the best part. In the box with all her belongings were two prosthetic legs, one for running and one for water sports. And…” he paused dramatically, “one bottle of silicone lubricant.”
Vito sat up straighter at that. “Really? Isn’t that interesting?”
“Yeah.” There was a triumphant smile in Riker’s voice. “This one had never been opened. Claire’s mother said she used the lubricant to put on her leg and that she kept bottles in her apartment, her car, and her gym bag. The family didn’t find the car or the gym bag, so Claire may have had a few bottles on her when she was killed.”
“A very practical souvenir for our killer.”
“Yeah. We’ll have the lab match it to the samples Katherine took from the two vics.”
“Excellent. What about Claire’s computer?”
“Her parents say she didn’t have one. When we’re done at the lab we’ll get on the phones and see if we can find Brittany Bellamy.”
“Then we’ll be three down, six to go. I got a few names of personal collectors from the professor I visited this morning and I’ll run those down. After hearing the Luger was vintage, I’m more convinced our guy is going for the most authentic weapons he can find. But just in case, I’m going to visit a few of the dealers that sell reproductions at the medieval festivals. We’ll see what shakes out. Keep in touch.”
Vito closed his phone and sat with it clenched in his fist, staring at the little shop in front of which he’d parked. Andy’s Attic was the only seller on Sophie’s list that had a physical shop. All of the others sold through Internet sites. For now, Vito wanted to confine his interviews to people he could see so that he could watch their reactions.
Like he’d watched Brewster. Slimy little sonofabitch. But how had Brewster known Sophie was his source? She wasn’t supposed to have made any calls, just given him names. Frowning, he dialed Sophie’s cell.
She answered, her tone guarded. “This is Sophie.”
“Sophie, it’s Vito Ciccotelli. I’m sorry to bother you again, but…”
She sighed. “But you just talked to Alan Brewster. Did he give you anything?”
“The names of three collectors he insists are ethical and legitimate. But Sophie, he knew you’d given me his name. I tried to evade my way out of it, but someone had told him before I got there. Who else did you talk to?”
She was quiet for a moment. “A guy who was a grad student with me the summer I worked for Brewster. His name is Clint Shafer. I didn’t want to call any of them, but I couldn’t remember Kyle Lombard’s name and back then Kyle and Clint were friends.”
“Did you call anyone else?”
“Only my old graduate advisor, the one I put on the list. I called Etienne before I saw you last night and left him a voice mail saying he should talk to you when you called. He called me back late last night.”
She’d changed graduate programs after she left Brewster, he thought. Her tone had become defensive, as if she expected him to be angry, so he kept his voice gentle. “Did your old advisor say anything useful?”
“Yeah.” Some of the tightness in her tone eased. “I sent it to you in an e-mail.”
So she wouldn’t have to talk to him again. She’d known what Brewster would tell him and still she’d given his name. “I haven’t checked my mail yet. What did he say?”
“It’s all rumor, Vito. Etienne heard it at a cocktail party.”