“Who’s financing all this?” Quirk said.
“I don’t know,” Lloyd said. “The foundation seems to have enough money.”
“Didn’t you have to lend them a car?” Quirk said, as if he was puzzled.
Lloyd smiled.
“That, I think, had more to do with low profile,” he said, “than money.”
I glanced at Belson. He seemed to be sitting blankly, looking at Lloyd. But I knew he heard every word.
“They do any fund-raising?” Quirk said.
“No, I don’t think so,” Lloyd said. “I offered to introduce them to philanthropic members of the Jewish community, but they said they didn’t want to be beholden.”
Quirk nodded.
“But they had money,” Quirk said.
“Apparently,” Lloyd said.
“Do you know where they got it?”
“No,” Lloyd said.
Quirk nodded again.
“Tell me more about Ariel,” he said. “Did you think his dedication was real?”
“To the point of obsession,” Lloyd said.
“Would he kill someone?”
“Kill someone?” Lloyd said. “He’s trying to do good.”
“So he wouldn’t kill anybody?” Quirk said.
“No,” Lloyd said. “Good God, of course not.”
“So what are you scared of?” Quirk said.
I smiled to myself.
Gotcha.
Lloyd was silent. It wasn’t a silence of pondering the question. It was a silence of I don’t know what to say. He had relaxed as he talked, feeling more and more lawyerly, confident that he could play these cops. Quirk was patient. He waited, letting the pressure of the silence work on Lloyd.
“This seemed personal to him,” Lloyd said finally.
“Enough to kill people?”
Lloyd contemplated his answer for a bit.
Then he said, “If you knew too much.”
“You know too much?” Quirk said.
“I know what I’ve told you.”
“You think he killed others?”
“Prince, and Prince’s wife, maybe,” Lloyd said. “A building supervisor in a building on Marlborough Street.”
“Because they knew too much?”
“Maybe,” Lloyd said.
“What did they know too much about?” Quirk said.
“This damn painting,” Lloyd said.
“Lady with a Finch?” Quirk said.
“Yes.”
“And you?” Quirk said.
“I guess I might know too much about the organization.”
“What?” Quirk said.
“Several former Israeli commandos work for the foundation.”
“How many?”
“Don’t know,” Lloyd said. “I just know that a couple of them often accompany Ariel. I think they are armed.”
“See any tattoos?” Quirk said.
“Yes, some of them, those where I could see it, have a number tattooed on their forearm. Ariel has it, too.”
“Know any names?” Quirk said.
“No,” Lloyd said. “I don’t think so.”
“Joost?” Quirk said. “Or Van Meer?”
“No, I . . . Joost,” he said. “There was a baseball player. . . .”
“Eddie Joost,” I said.
“Yes. I don’t remember him, but my father was a big fan of his,” Lloyd said. “I think he liked the name, mostly.”
“And this other guy Joost worked for the Herzberg Foundation?”
“Yes,” Lloyd said. “Is it important?”
“I think it might be,” Quirk said.
He looked at Belson.
“Frank,” he said, “I’ll look after Mr. Lloyd. Why don’t you take some people and go get Mr. Herzberg.”
Belson nodded. He stood and glanced at me.
“Want to ride along?” he said.
“I’d be a fool not to,” I said.
62
An apprehension team, wearing vests and helmets with face masks and sitting in an unmarked van, met us in the parking lot at District 14 Station on Washington Street. They were under the command of a sergeant who looked as though he might floss with a crowbar.
The sergeant looked at me and said, “Who’s this?”
“My bodyguard,” Belson said. “You’ve looked at the site?”
“Yeah.”
“I want the building covered on all four,” Belson said. “I want the guys at each corner of the property in visual contact with the guy at the corners on each side of him. You’ve done this before.”
“Sure,” the sergeant said. “One question. Your buddy here a cop, or we gotta take care of him?”
“He’ll take care of himself,” Belson said. “Let’s get to it.”
The apprehension team went first, and we followed. They pulled up in front of the Herzberg Foundation and poured out of the car. In thirty seconds they had the place surrounded. Two guys with a short ram stood by the front door. The sergeant looked at Belson and nodded.
Frank and I went up the stairs and tried the door. It was open. Frank and I both took out our guns and went in. Nothing. The place throbbed with emptiness. No people. No papers. No coffeepots. No water bottles. Neat, clean, and deserted.
“Balls,” Belson said.
“Exactly,” I said.
Belson looked at the command sergeant.
“Make sure,” Belson said.
The sergeant nodded, and the team searched the house. It was as empty as it felt.
“They been a step ahead of us pretty much all along,” Belson said. “How’d they know.”
“Might be my fault,” I said.
“They decided to bail after you told them how much you knew?” Belson said.
“I was trying to bait him, get him to do something hasty,” I said.
Belson nodded.
“Case like this,” Belson said, “there’s not that much choice. You poke and push and see what happens. Better than doing nothing.”
“This time what happened is that they took off,” I said.
“Maybe,” Belson said. “Maybe something else.”
The sergeant came back and reported that the building was empty.
“Okay,” Belson said. “Canvass the neighborhood, see if you can learn anything.”
The sergeant nodded.
“When they left, how they left, where they went, whatever,” Belson said.
“We’re on it,” the sergeant said.
“And take off the armor so your people don’t scare the neighbors to death.”
The sergeant grinned.
“Some of my people look better with the armor on,” he said.
While the neighborhood was being canvassed, Belson and I walked through the building, opening drawers, looking in wastebaskets. We didn’t find anything.
“Could get the scientists in here,” Belson said.
“Prints?” I said.
“Whatever,” Belson said.
“It appears to me that this place was rented furnished,” I said.
“So there might be quite a few prints?” Belson said.
“An embarrassment of riches,” I said.
“You’re probably right,” Belson said. “But I’ll have them take a look, anyway. Makes them feel important.”
The sergeant came back into the building.
“Left a couple days ago,” he said. “Took a few boxes. In some kind of rental van. One guy thinks it might have been a Ryder. Nobody got an idea where they went.”
“I’ll check the rental van,” Belson said. “We’ll see who owns this building and who they rented it to. Something might turn up.”
“So you don’t need us no more, we’ll pack up and go home,” the sergeant said.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Belson said.
The sergeant looked at me.
“You carry a gun,” he said. “I seen you take it out when you went in the house.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” I said.
“You ain’t a cop,” he said.
“Not anymore,” I said.
“He’s a private license,” Belson said. “He’s been working on this case longer than I have.”
The sergeant nodded.