“Scared is not the word.”
“Terrified?”
“No, you don’t get it. I saw an opportunity to help out my old pals. I had already put Hugo through law school, helped him change his name, set him up at that big firm of his. I figured buying the painting and letting the others split the proceeds was an easy way to give the three of them the payoff they had been waiting for without tipping my hand. Let them all retire in high style.”
“So you sent in Lavender Hill to make a deal.”
“That’s right.”
“And you were going to buy the painting.”
“You got it.”
“With what? I look around here and I see rooms empty of furniture, I see a pool without a pool boy, a yard gone wild, I see a man on the edge of financial ruin.”
“It’s an up-and-down business, kid. I’m down right now, sure, but I’ve had more comebacks than Lazarus. And I got a new film coming out that’s going to make a bundle.”
“But if you’re down now, how were you going to pay the money you were promising Charlie?”
“I worked it out. There’s a Swiss banker who dabbles in the movies and the arts. He’ll be putting the painting above his fireplace.”
“And you’ll get your cut.”
“God bless America.”
“What about the murders?”
“Yeah, what about them? Who’s doing the killing?”
“You.”
He shook his head. “Not my doing, kid. They were once my friends, all of them. I only wanted to help. Best I can figure it, the killings are all about Charlie. He fell into some bad company after our little deal. His old gang doesn’t want him to come home and talk, that’s the story. It’s why I want him to take Lavender’s offer and stay away. That’s why I let you into my house, to convince you to convince him to take the offer and save his life.”
“That’s what you want?”
“You got it. Make the deal, send him to some far-off place. Belize, maybe. You ever been to Belize?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Nice place to retire, I hear.”
“Not really,” I said. “And why do I have the feeling, Theodore, that as soon as you find my client, he’s going to end up as limber as Ralph and Hugo?”
“Don’t be a fool. They were my friends. Why on earth would I want to kill my friends?”
“Because of Chantal.”
He sat back, stared at me for a moment with those big blue eyes framed by his oversized glasses. “It’s a little insane to tattoo on your chest the name of a girl you never met, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.”
“I admire the hell out of that. You might have the makings of a producer after all. But tell me, kid, what’s the point?”
“I guess it’s so I don’t forget.” I lifted my wineglass and waved it about. “So I don’t get swayed by luxury and recreation.”
“You’re her avenging angel, is that it?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
He laughed. “It’s almost romantic, kid, except you got the wrong idea about everything.”
“You said Chantal was the best part of your story,” said Monica. “What did you mean by that?”
“Just what I said. You think I created my new life only on a crime, but you’re wrong. There was something heroic, too. I didn’t hurt your sister, I saved her. Gave her the life she always dreamed of.”
“We’re supposed to believe that?” I said.
“Lou,” he called out, “let’s get on with dessert. I got a date tonight. She’s twenty-four. The jaw of a wrestler, but twenty-four. And she wants to be in the movies. Imagine that.”
“You don’t really think you can just brush us off with your bland assurances, do you?” I said.
“If I thought that, you wouldn’t be here, kid.”
“Then tell us what happened to Chantal.”
“Why ask me? Why don’t you ask her?”
“Chantal?” said Monica.
“Sure, kid. How about tomorrow? Afternoon good? I’ll set it up. About time you met your sister, don’t you think?”
55
“I think I’m going to throw up,” said Monica Adair.
“That’s my line,” I said.
“No, really. Stop the car. I need to get out. Please.”
“We’re on an L.A. freeway, Monica. If we stop the car in the middle of the highway, someone will shoot us.”
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”
“Calm down.”
“I can’t calm down. I’m having a heart attack right here in this crappy rent-a-car.”
“But I got the premium model. It set me back an extra seventy-five bucks a day.”
“My arm. I’m seeing lights.”
“That’s the sun glinting off all the bumpers. You’re having a panic attack, Monica. You’re going to be fine.”
“How are you so certain? Are you a doctor?”
“If I were a doctor, I’d be better at golf. I like golf. Not so much the game, which is actually a little silly, but the outfits. Sweater vests, white gloves, plaid pants.”
“Shut up, Victor.”
“You don’t approve of plaid pants?”
“There should be a law against plaid pants.”
“It’s the state pant of Connecticut, did you know that?”
“Why are we talking about plaid pants?”
“Because you’re having a panic attack, and nothing cures a panic attack as quickly as garish men’s attire.”
“Is that why you wear that tie?”
“Keeps my anxiety level low.”
“Well, if I am having a panic attack, can you blame me?”
“No, not really,” I said. “Panic away.”
“It just, I think this might be the most important moment in my life.”
“Or not.”
“I’m meeting Chantal. Finally, after all these years. I’m meeting my sister.”
“Or not.”
“I am,” she said. “It’s her. I can feel it. All this time she’s been silently communicating with me. And through the tattoo and the missing painting and all the mess in Philadelphia, she’s been drawing me to her.”
“Wouldn’t it have been simpler if she called?”
“Don’t be silly, Victor. That’s not the way saints work. They don’t just pick up the telephone or send e-mail. They give mysterious messages, they place barriers in your way, they require you to move toward them on faith and faith alone.”
“And your sister’s a saint?”
“Why not?”
“If you have such faith, then why are you so nervous?”
“What if I’m not good enough? What if she rejects me? Victor, don’t tell her what I do. Promise me you won’t.”
“I promise.”
“I work in a law office. I’m dating a nice young man. I have a dog.”
“But you do have a dog.”
“Victor.”
“Monica, tell her whatever you want to tell her. That’s between you and her. I’m just there to listen.”
“You don’t believe in her. Still.”
“What did I tell you about him?”
“But maybe he’s telling the truth?”
“And maybe fish fly and birds swim.”
“But they do, don’t they? It’s a matter of faith, Victor. Do you believe in anything?”
“Pain and money. Everything else has disappointed me.”
“That’s sad. Really. No, really. You should get some help, something to change your outlook on your life. Maybe a tan, for starters.”
“What do you believe in, Monica?”
“Chantal.”
“You want to know something strange? In my own way, so do I.”
The address Purcell gave us was in West Hollywood, just north of Hollywood Boulevard. It was one of those beige apartment complexes they don’t have on the East Coast, places with names too fancy for the building, with two levels of bland apartments surrounding a small, cloudy swimming pool, with a tattooed super and rusted wrought-iron railings and the old, pale-faced lady in apartment 22 who clutches her housecoat as she answers the door for the liquor-delivery boy and tells him she was once in a movie with Jean Harlow, yes, Jean Harlow, a real star, not like these skinny little waifs they have today. The place was called the Fairway Arms, though the nearest golf course was twelve blocks south.