But how, exactly?
A mixture of smells greeted my nostrils as I stepped in the door: part doused campfire, part wet dog, and partly, to my hyperactive imagination, the odor of death. I pointed out the spot where I’d found Alex to Constable Chu, then looked around as she made notes.
The fire itself had done surprisingly little damage. The storage room door had blown out, and it and the frame were badly singed, the walls in that area marked by smoke stains. The sprinkler system had done what it should and put out the blaze very quickly.
The water damage was something else, however. Already the paint on some of the antique wood pieces was beginning to peel away, and watermarks were showing up on everything. The sofas were absolutely sodden, and the carpets on the floor, some really lovely old kilims I’d picked up on a hair-raising trip through Pakistan a few months earlier, squelched as I walked over them. I desperately wanted to get an industrial cleaner in, but the doors were still barred by yellow police tape. If we weren’t allowed in soon, nothing would be salvageable. I could have cried.
Lewis arrived. “Anything missing?” he said in his usual succinct manner.
I looked around. The store is a bit of a barn really, just one large room with a teeny office behind the front desk, the storage room at the back, and another small showroom off to the right. In order to make the merchandise look more inviting, we had room arrangements in several areas of the shop: a dining table and chairs with places set, a candelabra hanging from the ceiling above; a living room arrangement against one wall, with a sofa, side chairs, end tables, coffee table with accent pieces on it, and perhaps a wall hanging or a carved mirror behind the sofa.
When someone bought an item, we rearranged the setting so that it wouldn’t look bare. In other words, our merchandise was constantly in motion. Alex would have known exactly where everything was, but it would take me days to make a complete inventory. In any event, I did my best to have a careful look around.
I started with the office where I had left the jade snuff bottle. Much to my relief, and somewhat to my surprise, it was still there. It had been tossed into a corner along with the contents of the three drawers in the desk, but it was not damaged in any way that I could see. The safe was still locked. The place was a mess, but I couldn’t see anything missing.
I forced myself to go and look in the storage room. That room was pretty well a write-off. I could see the chalk outline on the floor where Lizard had been found.
“There’s nothing missing in the office that I can find,” I said to Lewis, giving him a progress report. I looked toward the storage room. “Did he burn to death?”‘ I asked, my voice shaking, and thinking what a really horrible way that was to die.
“Garroted. Wire pulled so tight, it cut into his neck.
Burned too, and locked in just to make sure. Somebody wanted him dead.“ Lewis paused. ”Your keys too. In the storeroom door. Locking him in. Not necessary. Wasn’t going anywhere.“ Before I could respond to that implied accusation, he concluded, ”Keep looking.“
Horrified, I carried on as instructed. A jewelry case at the front desk had been opened and the contents jumbled up. There were a few nice pieces in there, but as far as I could tell, nothing was missing there either.
I was perplexed. I’d thought that Lizard was interested in the snuff bottle: It was the only thing of any value in the box from the auction. But it was still there. So what else could it be? On the assumption that it was no coincidence that I’d taken the objects he’d wanted at Molesworth Cox, I thought about the contents of the box.
I turned back to the main room. The vase, the reproduction pre-Columbian piece with the lovely serpents on the rim, was missing. I spent almost an hour going over the place, in case Alex had moved it while I was out, but it was the only thing I could find that was gone.
I was afraid to tell Lewis that only a strange-looking vase from Peru was missing. If it wasn’t robbery, then he’d go immediately to some other theory, one I was certain I wouldn’t like, and one that would not be good for Alex. Remembering my commitment to myself of the night before, I decided I had to tell him regardless. It occurred to me that if I did it right, I might be able to set him on the right track in his investigation.
“There’s only one object that I can see that is missing,” I told him. “It is a vase, about six and a half inches high, and it is a reproduction pre-Columbian ceramic made in Peru. It was quite lovely, actually. I got it in a job lot at Molesworth Cox, the auction house, a couple of weeks ago.” There, I’d told him about the auction. Maybe he could take it from there.
But no. “Fake, is it? Look again,” he said. “Can’t imagine someone taking a fake Peruvian pot and leaving the jewelry and money, can you? Unless, of course, there was a reason other than robbery.” It was the longest sentence I’d heard him utter, and I didn’t like what he was implying any more than when he’d hinted at it the first time.
After another hour of looking about, Lewis let me leave. PC Chu drove me home. She told me I’d be asked to come in to headquarters to sign a copy of my statement.
My house seemed very quiet and very lonely. I checked my answering machine to hear Moira telling me in a motherly way not to forget to take my pills and to be sure to have something to eat. Sarah had called from a phone booth on the edge of Algonquin Park to say she’d been delayed and wouldn’t be back for another day. She apologized for calling me at home rather than the shop, but she said she hadn’t been able to get through to the store. “Maybe there’s a problem with the phone, or maybe I dialed incorrectly,” she said. There’s a problem with the phone, all right, I thought. It’s been trashed, burned, and doused. I was not looking forward to telling her about what had happened. There was a message from a friend and colleague, Sam Feldman, telling me how sorry he was to hear about the store, but no message from Rob.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t heard from many of my colleagues and friends, but perhaps I couldn’t blame them under the circumstances. It was possible, of course, that people were giving me time to recover. But I was more than a little concerned that people, people I considered friends, were out there wondering if indeed I had arranged for the fire at Greenhalgh and McClintoch. The newspaper reports seemed a little ambiguous on the subject, I would have to say.
I began having rather morose thoughts about the future, along the lines of maybe if this doesn’t get cleared up soon everybody will be crossing the street to avoid having to talk to me. I knew if I stayed at home by myself I would get really depressed, so I decided to pull myself together and go out. I’d imposed on Moira too much already, but Sam Feldman had been nice enough to call, so I thought I’d pay him a visit.
Sam and I had met years before when I’d taken a conservation course he’d given at the University of Toronto. At the time he was a museum director, but later he decided to go commercial, as he described it, and opened a gallery on Queen Street West. His museum had specialized in eastern antiquities, and he’d been very helpful in sharing his contacts in that part of the world when I branched out and started buying there. In return, I’d given him advice on setting up shop, and we’d stayed in touch. I liked Sam: I always found him funny and articulate, and I thought a visit with him would cheer me up.
I carefully eased myself behind the wheel of my car and headed down for Queen Street. Sam was there, along with his young assistant. “Hi,” I said. “Thanks for your message. I’m a bit at loose ends, so I thought I’d see if you had time for a coffee. Do you think you could drag yourself away?”