Claws for Alarm (20 page)

F
or a minute you could have heard a pin drop in the room. I slid off the bed, plastering what I hoped was a bright smile on my face.

“Daniel. Hey. Fancy meeting you here.” I attempted a laugh, which came out sounding more like the yelp of a nervous hyena.

His frown deepened. “What are you doing here?” He paused, let his gaze rake over Ollie. “And you brought reinforcements along.”

“Well, that's easy to answer. She's sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong. Still, I might add.”

I stifled a gasp as the burly figure of Leroy Samms appeared next to Daniel in the doorway. Samms shook his finger at me. “And here I thought we had an understanding.”

Daniel looked from Samms to me. “An understanding?”

“It's no big deal,” I began, and then Samms's baritone laugh cut me off.

“True, it's no big deal, Daniel. Just a tiny matter of Ms. Charles, here, impersonating an heiress and a police officer. She told me she'd learned her lesson and was going to leave the detecting to the trained personnel, but—” His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. “I knew she'd never keep that promise, even for old times' sake.” His gaze fell on my hands. “At least you were considerate enough to wear gloves.”

Daniel looked from me to Samms, his expression clearly puzzled. “Old times' sake? Do you two know each other?”

I swallowed. “It's really not even worth mentioning,” I said.

Samms turned to Daniel. “She's right; it's no big deal. We both went to U of C, and senior year we worked on the college newspaper.”

Daniel's eyebrow rose. “You studied journalism, Lee?”

“English, actually. I thought about being a teacher or a writer.” He barked out a laugh. “Life took me in an entirely different direction from Nora.”

“Well, well.” Daniel trained his gaze on me. “Seems as if you've been giving your old friend a hard time.”

“We're not friends,” I barked out, a little too quickly. “I mean, we haven't seen each other in years.” I glared at Daniel. “You two seem pretty chummy, though.”

“We've been working together,” Daniel admitted. “Because of Julia.”

“Julia? Oh, of course.” I slapped my palm against my temple. “How stupid of me. Of course you'd know her. She's FBI.” I dangled the badge in the air, then paused as a sudden thought occurred to me. “The case you said you were working on—was this it? The suspected forgeries?”

Daniel shook his head. “No, this was entirely Julia's specialty. She worked the Art Fraud Division. I got involved because she thought she'd found evidence indicating her case was connected to the one I am working on.”

I struggled to remember what I knew about the Art Fraud Division. Back in the day, art fraud had traditionally been under the jurisdiction of local law enforcement, but the overflow of other crime—namely, murders, drugs, and other acts of random violence—had meant local law couldn't spend quality time tracking down stolen or forged masterpieces. Enter the FBI, who decided to form a specialized unit dedicated to tracking art and art criminals. It made perfect sense, actually. Stolen and forged art was considered to be the third most profitable international crime, and it was often used to launder drug money and as collateral for arms deals.

I wondered briefly if that was what was going on here. Was the Wilson Galleries a front for drug money, or arms dealings? Either would fall under Daniel's jurisdiction. Another thought struck me at the same time. Was it possible Pitt had discovered something besides a forgery? And could that have contributed to his death?

Samms's voice broke into my thoughts. “So, Nora, we had this place locked up tight. How did you two get in? Did you bribe the landlord? Or have you added walking through walls to your list of talents?”

Ollie opened his mouth to speak, but I clamped my hand down on his arm and squeezed hard. “I have many talents,” I said in a purring tone. “You two are the hotshot detective and FBI agent. I'm sure you can figure it out.”

The two of them exchanged a look, and then Samms scratched behind one ear. “I guess I can add B and E to the
list of charges you're racking up. Getting you into a cell seems to be the best way to keep your nose out of police business.”

Daniel crossed over to stand in front of me. “Nora might be a trifle overzealous, shall we say? But past experience has proven she is good at ferreting out clues. As much as I hate to admit it, we'd probably learn more working together.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That seems a rather abrupt change of heart.”

He shrugged. “Not really. And I do know you have a tendency to do just the opposite of what you're told, so your appearance here isn't all that much of a shock to me. So tell me: Why did the two of you come here? What is it you were hoping to find?”

I clasped my hands together in my lap. “I can tell you what I didn't think I'd find—a badge identifying Julia as an FBI agent. And certainly not that gun.”

“Gun?” the two of them said in perfect unison. I got up and went to the closet, picked up the shoe box, and handed it to Daniel without a word. He opened it, looked inside, then closed the box and nodded to Samms.

“It's the gun all right. It fits the description.”

“So it's not her gun?” I asked, and got two black looks for my trouble.

“No,” Daniel said quietly. “It's not. This gun is evidence in a murder.”

“Well, it can't be evidence in Pitt's murder. That would be the knife that conveniently only had my sister's prints on its handle. And this can't be evidence in Julia's because a) she was strangled and b) it would be impossible for her to be hiding her own murder weapon. Ergo, this gun somehow relates to your case, doesn't it, Daniel?”

“You don't need to know that,” Samms began, but Daniel held up his hand. Thank God, because I was getting ready to tell Samms what he could do with his “need to know” mantra.

“Yes, it does.” His eyes met mine, held. “I have a feeling, Nora, you've found out some things we should know. Like I said, we'd get further along pooling our resources. How about it? Want to share information?”

Samms let out a groan and rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Oh, for the love of—”

“Sounds reasonable to me.” I interrupted Samms before he could continue his rant, tossing him a saucy grin. “Go ahead. Share. Whose murder is the gun evidence in?”

“Uh-uh.” Daniel wagged his finger. “I'm perfectly willing to the concept of share and share alike, but ladies first. Tell us what you were looking for in Julia's things.”

I looked from one to the other and, figuring they weren't going to cave any more, said, “Fine, we'll go first. Ollie and I came here looking for a leather pouch.”

Samms and Daniel exchanged glances. “A pouch?” Samms asked.

I nodded. “When I visited Lacey at the jail, she said this girl Jenna Whitt had accused her of taking a leather pouch. Lacey said she seemed very anxious to retrieve it. Lacey mentioned she'd seen Julia with a pouch that looked similar, so I thought it was worth a look. There had to be something in it Jenna wanted back, and I thought maybe . . . it might have been drugs. Tranquilizers, specifically.”

“Tranqs, huh? What made you think of that?” Samms asked.

“Because it occurred to me that a man of Pitt's size and strength would never have willingly succumbed to an attack
upon his person unless he wasn't able to, of course. Lacey said that when she approached the body, the first thing that hit her was the smell of wine, so I thought perhaps someone might have drugged it. Someone who was familiar with Pitt's ritual of imbibing in the evening.”

“Good reasoning,” Samms said, “and really quite nice of you to try and lend a helping hand; however, yours wasn't the only brilliant mind thinking along those lines. I had the decanter tested right away. It came up clean. There was only wine in it, nothing else.”

“Damn,” I swore softly. “What about the body? Any traces of tranquilizers, any needle marks?”

“I'm still waiting on the toxicology report, but I'm betting no. And it's a no to needle marks on the body.”

I tapped my finger against my lips. “That doesn't make sense. Even if Pitt knew his attacker, he was a strong man. He should have been able to put up some sort of fight, yet there were no signs of a struggle. Being drugged makes sense. It would have made him unable to fend off an attacker.”

“The DA might argue the point that rendering him helpless might not have been necessary if his attacker was a pretty blonde intent on improving her grade by using her feminine charms.”

Samms's eyes narrowed. “I also got a tip from Lacey's lawyer regarding parking tickets. I don't suppose you know anything about that?” He didn't wait for me to answer and rushed on. “There was one issued to Mrs. Pitt's vehicle; however, she denies taking her car to the scene of the crime.”

I couldn't help my sneer of satisfaction. “Of course she does, because she didn't. It was Taft Michaels. He confessed that to me, just about an hour ago.”

Samms rolled his eyes. “And
that
you don't call and tell me?”

I ignored his sarcastic comment and focused on Daniel. “He works at a pub, the Sip 'n Slip. He was working Sunday night, so he's got an alibi for Julia's murder. He's also got witnesses who can testify he had nothing to do with Pitt's murder, even though he was in the building.”

Daniel frowned. “The man has lied before. Why should we believe him?”

“I realize his track record isn't the greatest, but I did believe him. He's a pompous, arrogant ass, but I really don't think he's our killer. A cheater, definitely, a forger, maybe, but not a killer.”

“Julia suspected Taft might be involved with the forgeries,” Daniel said. “She was going to try and persuade him to confess. She'd gotten permission to promise him immunity.”

“Hm. That would explain his remark about her death changing everything, wouldn't it? He was upset, though. I could tell. He's confused, unsure of what to do. Maybe if more pressure were put on him . . .”

Daniel flicked a glance at Samms. “Have someone go to that pub and haul Michaels in for questioning if he hasn't already skipped.”

“If he has, we know who to thank,” said Samms, leveling me with a hard stare.

“Me?” I jumped off the edge of the bed. “It's because of my probing he's in the mood he's in. You should be thanking me, not glaring at me.”

“It's because he's in that particular mood he's also susceptible to running off, too. Then we'll really be in a pickle,” Samms shot back.

“Be fair. How in heck was I to know he was under suspicion?” I got my face right up in his, my eyebrows drawn together. “Had I known, I might not have said what I did, but, of course, I wasn't on that elite
need to know
basis.”

“You haven't changed at all, have you?” Samms hissed. “Still the same stubborn, opinionated . . .”

“Look who's talking!”

Daniel stepped in between us. “Your sniping at each other isn't accomplishing anything here,” he began, but I whirled on him, eyes flashing, and jabbed the air under his nose with my finger.

“Okay, I kept my end. I shared. Now it's your turn. Whose murder do you suspect that gun was used in?”

“No one local. Of course, I won't be entirely sure this is the gun used until I've turned the gun over to FBI ballistics, but it matches the description we've gotten from several witnesses.”

I folded my arms and glared at him. “You said it yourself: Art forgery isn't your area. So for you to be involved, it's got to be something else, something much bigger. What is it—contraband, drugs?” I gulped. “The mob?”

Daniel gave me a good hard look, then cleared his throat. “Are you familiar with the term ‘bling ring'?”

I nodded. “Yes. Hollywood Hills Burglar Bunch aside, they're usually organized jewel thieves from South American countries like Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru.”

“Right. They're so well established we've given them a name: South American Theft Groups. About four months ago, one of these groups engineered a heist in France. A security guard was killed. They made off with over a quarter million dollars' worth of gems.”

A low whistle involuntarily escaped my lips. “So that's where the gun comes in? You think this is the one used in that robbery? That's what you're hoping a ballistics test will prove?”

He nodded. “We've managed to track down some of the bling ring, and finally we got a clue as to where the remainder was. The gang has a contact here in the States. They've been shipping the booty here to be disposed of, and the money wired into an offshore account.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “You think the gallery's involved in—”

“Smuggling,” Daniel nodded. “Valuable gemstones; specifically, diamonds. Julia thought she'd finally figured out how they had the gems smuggled in, and how they got them to their purchasers. She thought it might have something to do with the forged paintings.”