Stolen (6 page)
“No, but it's only a short distance to the beach.”
“Short enough that someone could haul a rowboat over it?” I ask.
“That's how they did it.” Annabel is standing now. The alarmed waitress is staring. “Pete unlocked the case. The two accomplices took the peacock through the village, put it in the rowboat and took it out to sea. Come on! We have to get back to the museum. It'll be dark in a couple of hours, and then it'll be too late.”
I follow Annabel out, smiling apologetically at the waitress.
Annabel's limp slows us on the walk from the diner to the museum, but fortunately it's not far. We're impatient by the time we've hurried through the heritage village to the pond, across the narrow neck of land and onto the beach. We stand in the late-afternoon sun and stare at the gouges in the dirt where something heavy has been dragged to the water.
“These wouldn't be here if they had been made before the storm,” Annabel says, gazing out to sea. “This
has
to be where they dragged the red rowboat, with the peacock in it. But where did they go from here?”
“Not far in a rowboat. Do you think there was a larger boat waiting for them?”
“I doubt it. All of the places along this coast where you can dock something big are a day's sail away, so the boat would have had to head out in the storm, and way before the theft. They'll probably use today to get here and arrange to pick up the peacock tonight.”
“It's just a guess,” I say, “but maybe we should go to the police anyway.”
“Ideally, yes,” Annabel agrees, “but the police won't act urgently on a guess, and if we're right, the peacock will be long gone by tomorrow morning. It'll be on the open ocean, on its way to a display case in some rich collector's basement. So we've got to work out where it's being kept.”
“Kelly's place?” I suggest.
“I doubt it. Kelly and Pete live on the landward side of town. It would be too much of a risk to unload and transport it through town and then reverse the process tonight. Kelly has a reputation, so the police might even be watching him. It's got to be stored somewhere close to the beach.”
“You know the town better than I do. Can you think of anywhere?”
“It's not going to be in Warrnambool itself,” Annabel says, “and there's not much round about, but there's a lot of coast to check. If only we could narrow it down.”
It isn't exactly a lightbulb going on above my headâmore like an electrical connection sparking as my brain links a bunch of different facts. “Is there a place between where we first met and the Mahogany Ship?” I ask.
Annabel thinks for a minute. “There's an old shack in the dunes about halfway between, but no one lives there. Kids use it for partying on the weekends.”
“Anything else?”
Annabel shakes her head.
“I think the peacock might be there,” I say.
“Why?”
“Percy.”
“Percy?”
“Percy's owner, actually.” I'm speaking slowly, because my mind is putting things together as I talk. “He doesn't fit in. Expensive suit and city shoes are not what you normally wear on the beach.”
“We get a lot of strange tourists here,” Annabel says, but I can tell she's interested.
“Okay, but when we met him yesterday afternoon, he told Percy they were going home, and yet he headed away from town,” I point out. “This morning, he and Percy were walking along that trail, which has got to be a good two to three miles. He must be staying somewhere in between where we met and the Mahogany Ship. And you say that abandoned shack is the only place there is.”
“You think he was there waiting for the peacock?” asks Annabel.
“It's possible,” I say. “Maybe he's a collector who's decided to cut out the middle man. He sails here in his yacht and sets things up with Pete and or Kelly. He wants to keep an eye on what's happening, so he stays in the shack. Things are delayed, and then the storm comes along. The perfect opportunity. He tells Pete to go ahead, calls his yacht and waits for tonight.”
“That's quite the story.” Annabel shakes her head. “But we have no evidence.”
“True, but it does explain the impossible,” I point out. “And it means we don't have to involve aliens or superheroes. All of our guesses so far have been right.”
“As far as we can tell, they have,” Annabel says. I'm about to argue more, but she continues, “If we're right about the peacock leaving town tonight, the only way it can be stopped is by blocking every road and blockading the coast. Even if that's possible, there's no way we could convince the police to do it. We might be wrong, but it's our best guess and maybe our only chance to save the peacock.”
“It wouldn't hurt to cycle out to the shack and check,” I suggest. “If nothing's going on, we can pat Percy and come home.”
“Okay,” Annabel says. “Let's go before it gets dark.”
I follow her back up through the village to pick up our bikes. Something I haven't said that's sitting in the back of my mind is, what if something
is
going on? What are we getting into?
The sun is sitting on the western horizon by the time we reach the shack. It's almost hidden among the dunes, so we drop our bikes by the path and start walking toward it. On the ride here, we decided that playing innocent and walking right in is the best approach. We change our minds as soon as we see the red rowboat from the village nestled in dunegrass in front of the shack. We lie down behind a dune and watch.
“It looks deserted,” Annabel whispers after a few minutes.
“It does,” I agree. The shack is in better shape than I imagined. It's small, but the kids who use it to party obviously like their comfort. The roof is patched, and there's heavy, clear plastic nailed over the glassless windows. It looks as if it would be dry inside, but it can't have been much fun in the storm. There's a stack of empty bottles and beer cans against the wall. “Should we take a look?”
“I think one of us should,” Annabel says. “The other can stay hidden and keep watch.”
“I'll go,” I say, with more chivalry than I feel. “If it comes to running away, I'll be faster than you would with your injured leg.”
“That's rational,” Annabel acknowledges. “Be careful, see if the peacock's there and hurry.”
“Okay. And you phone for help if anything goes wrong,” I add.
“There's no service out here,” Annabel says matter-of-factly.
“Then cycle to where there is service and call.” This idea seems worse and worse by the minute, but I'm committed now.
I climb over the dune, crouched low, and head for the shack, wishing I wasn't so rational. I peer through a side window, but it's hard to make out anything more than vague shapes through the grubby plastic. Nothing inside is moving. Hugging the rough wall, I creep around to the front of the shack.
The door opens easily, and I leave it open to let in as much light as possible. I'd expected dirt and spider webs, but the room is remarkably clean. Against one wall is a cot, a sleeping bag and pillow neatly laid out on top of it. In the middle of the room, there are a couple of chairs and a small table with an oil lamp and a briefcase sitting on it. The only other piece of furniture is a tattered green couch, and there's something on itâ something about a meter and a half long, covered by a blanket.
I want to turn and run, but I have to be sure. I cross the room, kneel down and pull back the blanket. The head of the peacock looks up at me, its colors brilliant even in the dim light. That's when Percy barrels into me, knocking me over and licking my face. A voice from the doorway says, “At least one of us is pleased to see you.”
I look up to see Percy's master smiling at me. In his left hand he's holding a small black pistol. The pistol is not pointed at me, but that doesn't make me feel much better. “Are you going to shoot me?” I ask.
“Shoot you? Heavens no. That would be uncouth. This”âhe waves the pistol in the airâ“is merely a precaution. I don't like to see doors open when I know I closed them.” The man puts the pistol in his pocket. “I may tie you up until my business here is finished, but a resourceful boy such as you won't need more than a few hours to free himself. Where's your red-headed friend, by the way?”
“She's back in town,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “We had an accident at the Mahogany Ship this morning, and she injured her leg.” I hope that Annabel has seen the man arrive and is now getting help somehow.
“It looked like a dangerous place to me,” the man says pleasantly. “I prefer to do my collecting in a civilized manner.”
I drag myself to my feet, pushing Percy away. The dog instantly loses interest in me and rushes out the door.
If I can keep the man talking, perhaps I can edge toward him until I'm close enough to knock him down and run away. He doesn't look fit or strong.
“You're one of those rich, crooked collectors,” I say, taking a step forward.
The man smiles. “Rich, yes, but I don't like to think of myself as crooked. I have moneyâwhy not spend it on beautiful things?”
“Because you take beautiful things and hide them away where no one can see them and where experts can't study them.”
The man laughs. “You're very young. You think that the alternative to my hoarding is a perfect museum where everything's displayed and available for an archaeologist to study whenever he or she wishes. It doesn't work that way. Museums show only a fraction of what they have. The rest rots in back rooms because there is no funding to look after things. At least my collection is preserved.”
I steal another step forward. “You're just a thief like any other.” I expect the man to get angry, but he just smiles calmly.
“Oh, I don't know about that,” he says. “I managed to save some very nice pieces in Baghdad before a mob rampaged through the National Museum and helped themselves to whatever took their fancy. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't saved what I did?”
I'm close enough now. One quick leap and I'll be on him. I hear Percy bark somewhere outside. I'm steeling myself to jump when the man winks at me as if he can read my mind. I hesitate, and he turns and addresses someone behind him. “It's in here. Let's get it out to the boat.”
The man steps outside, and two strangers duck through the door. Neither looks like someone I'd want to mess with. The shack seems suddenly crowded, and I back against the far wall. The men ignore me, pick up the peacock and leave.
I hear their voices outside. “The rollers are pretty bad.”
“The Zodiac should handle them, but we don't want to overload her. Take the peacock out to the yacht and then come back. I've still got a couple of things to tidy up here.”
“Right you are,” one of the men replies. Percy barks again, and the same man says, “Can you keep that dog under control?”
There's silence for a moment, and then I hear, “Percy! Percy, come here!” More silence, and then the man in the suit reappears in the doorway. “All's going well so far,” he says cheerily.
“Sounds like Percy's not doing what he's told.” The man shrugs. “He's an enthusiastic puppy. Doesn't know the world yet. Much like yourself. Now, if you'd be so kind as to take a seat on the couch, I'd like to practice my knot tying.”
I sit down, and the man moves over to the briefcase. He never takes his eyes off me as he bends to remove a coil of nylon cord from it. “I'll try not to cut off the blood flow, but I must tie you securely, and I'd like to do it before the light fades.” The man moves toward me, twisting the cord between his pudgy fingers and smiling.
Just as the man gets to point halfway between me and the door, we hear a soft voice outside. “3.141592653589793⦔
“What?” The man steps back, eyes moving between me and the door. He looks momentarily confused. “Who's counting? Is that your lunatic girlfriend?” He smiles. “I hope I have enough rope.”
He moves toward the door. A handful of sand flies at him, catching him full in the face. The man curses and stumbles back a step, raising his hands to his eyes. I lunge at him. We crash into the doorframe. My injured hand is caught underneath us, and I cry out in agony. Then Annabel is through the doorway, hauling the man's jacket over his head. The pistol flies out of his pocket and clatters against the wall.
Annabel stops. “I didn't know he had a gun.”
“It's okay,” I say. “It was in his pocket.”
“That's all right then,” Annabel says, kicking the man's legs so that he falls to the floor. He's shouting something through his jacket, but I can't make out what it is.
“You'll have to tie him up,” I say, waving my bandaged hand, which has dark patches of new blood on it.
Together we manage to get the man's arms behind him. I sit on his shoulders while Annabel expertly ties his wrists together, runs the cord down and ties equally elaborate knots around his ankles. She fastens the end of the cord around the door handle. “He's not going anywhere,” she says proudly as the man struggles to roll onto his side. She picks up his gun and examines it with interest.
“Well,” the man says. “You've done a good job with the knots. I guess I'm going to find out if my high-priced lawyers are worth it.”
“Nothing seems to bother this guy,” I comment.
“You don't need to worry when you have more money than some European countries,” Annabel says.
“Did you get service on your cell phone?” I ask.
“Yeah, just up the path. Only one bar, but I texted Bill.”
“Texted?”
“I didn't want to risk losing service in the middle of a call. Besides, I don't have much battery left. Don't worryâ Bill and I text all the time. He'll get it.”