The Opposite of Dark (13 page)

Reid gasped for air. “He's a mate of yours, isn't he? That's why he came after me.”

“Then you've never seen him before?” She glanced at Ziegler who returned an amused expression.

“No.”

Strange. Dad and Ziegler had either kept their client lists quite separate or Reid was lying.

Reid squirmed under Ziegler's weight. “Tell your mate to bugger off.”

Ziegler yanked his arms upward. “You're not the one in charge, so why don't you tell the lady if you killed her father.” He looked at Casey. “It's what she came to find out, isn't—?”

“What? No! I didn't kill Marcus. W-who said I did?” Reid stammered. When he tried to throw Ziegler off, Ziegler pushed his face into the mud once again and yanked Reid's head back by his hair.

“Can you prove you weren't in Vancouver on Sunday, April twenty-fifth?” Casey asked.

“I was in London that night, at a gallery opening in Chelsea.” He gave her the name.

“You said you have an idea about who killed my father,” she said. “Let's hear it.”

“Marcus's partner, Theodore Ziegler.”

Casey watched Ziegler's amusement fade. “Why do you think that?”

“There have been rumors about big money problems between them for years. Latest one is that Marcus stashed three million American dollars that was supposed to go to
TZ
Inc. It wouldn't surprise me if Ziegler ended things for good.”

“Are there any facts to back up these stories?”

“If you don't believe me, talk to his fiancée. She'll know.”

“Fiancée?” What did Rhonda have to do with this?

“Lives in Amsterdam; name's Gislinde.”

Oh, no. “You've met her?”

“No, but Marcus and I had a few drinks last time he was here, and he told me what a fancy bit she is. There were problems between them, mind you; something about his past with other women. Maybe she killed him.”

Casey looked at Ziegler. “Let him up.”

Ziegler took his time doing so.

“I still want my drawing,” he said, as he tried to wipe the mud from his face.

“I'll get it after you open the gift shop. I want to buy a souvenir.”

“Bloody tourist.” He stomped off, cursing and muttering to himself.

Not wanting to be left alone with a possible killer, Casey followed close behind. She walked fast, her muscles tense and her body ready to bolt. Ziegler stayed close behind, but said nothing. As they crossed the lawn, Casey noticed that the gardener was still working and other people were wandering around in the afternoon sunshine. At least there was safety in numbers.

At the gift shop, Daphne unlocked the door and went inside, but Casey stayed near the cluster of people window shopping. She studied Ziegler, who, apparently oblivious to the mud on his clothes, looked at her chest, then up at her face. The black jumpsuit with gold zippers across his chest, thighs, and arms was a bit flashy and kind of weird for a businessman.

“You took a big risk confronting Reid,” he said.

“I didn't see the knife until he flashed it at me, and I've had run-ins with bigger guys. Bigger knives, too.” Casey crossed her arms. “Why have you been following me?”

“I needed to know if you were being watched by some nasty clients of Marcus's, which you were. I'm here now, as I was in Vancouver, to protect you.”

Not the answer she'd expected. “If the clients are that bad, why didn't you tell the police? They've been trying to talk to you about Dad's murder from day one.”

“They would have probed into my affairs, so I thought it'd be better to approach you over here, away from prying eyes.”

Casey stepped back, “Pretty convenient, Mr. .Ziegler.”

“Call me Theo. And for the record, I didn't kill Marcus.”

“Can you prove that?”

“I expected you to ask, so I brought these.” Ziegler reached in a pocket and pulled out an airplane boarding pass and ticket, which he handed to her. “I was flying to Vancouver that night. We didn't touch down until ten-fifteen.”

The pass and ticket looked legitimate. Still, she'd have Lalonde check it out. “Why did you take off so fast from my house that Monday night? You must have seen me approach your car.”

“Yes, but I spotted the clients up ahead and went after them.”

Another convenience. “Who are they?”

“A couple of Mexican businessmen only known as Carlos and Joseph, and no, I don't have proof of their existence, although I've been trying to find it.”

Casey noticed that the window shoppers were wandering into the gift shop. “Is Reid's story about the stolen money true?”

“No. The truth is that a little over three years ago, one of Marcus's more complicated deals with these Mexicans fell through and they wanted their fee back, but Marcus said he'd fulfilled his part of the bargain. The clients threatened to kill him, so he went underground.”

“How much was the fee?”

“Three million in cash.”

God, what type of importing had Dad been into? “What was the bargain?”

“I don't know; the clients demanded secrecy.”

“But if it was complicated and worth that much money, wouldn't he have told you?”

Theo scanned the grounds, glancing at the gardener. “We had separate client lists and most of them insisted on privacy, so we only shared information when necessary. Marcus thought it'd be better if I didn't know about the arrangement, which proved to be a good plan because Carlos and Joseph came after me at one point. It took a hell of a lot of convincing to get them off my back.”

Casey wondered, again, what else
TZ
Inc. imported and exported besides art, furniture, and unique tarot cards.

“Marcus would have had a detailed record of the transaction somewhere,” Theo said, “and he kept contact information on everyone, but my staff and I couldn't find anything at the Geneva office he shared with us.” Theo watched her. “You wouldn't have come across these names, by any chance? They could be on a memory stick or a computer printout or a Rolodex, or in an agenda book. He always carried one.”

“No, I haven't.” If Dad had wanted Theo to have the book, he would have left it with him and not Simone Archambault.

“Casey, my sources tell me that Joseph and Carlos discovered Marcus was still alive a few weeks ago. Since you're his heir, I'm afraid they'll come after you for the money.”

“What makes them think it's still around, especially when Dad owned an expensive home and car?”

“For reasons I never understood, Marcus kept the cash from this business arrangement hidden away.”

That sounded a bit strange. “Where did the money for the house and car come from?”

“We had some profitable years.” Theo's large brown eyes softened. “Marcus once told me that he wasn't around for you as much as he thought he should have been. I think he built that house as a gift for you. I believe he planned to move to Amsterdam permanently.”

Casey shook her head. Damn it, the house should have been for Rhonda.

Theo said, “Can you think of any place Marcus might have hidden a couple of suitcases or duffel bags full of cash? Some place only you'd know?”

“Not offhand.” Even if she could, she wouldn't tell him. Maybe Theo wasn't a killer, but she sure as hell didn't trust him. “Wouldn't the money be in a bank?”

“From what I heard about the Mexicans' connections, they would have tracked it down by now. These guys are ruthless, Casey. That's why Marcus couldn't contact you. He was afraid Joseph and Carlos would use you to get to him, but I can protect you.”

“Why would you care? Wasn't your partnership with Dad ending?”

“Reid got that wrong too.”

Casey wandered toward the gift shop entrance. “Did this Gislinde woman and Dad have problems like Reid implied?”

“I have no idea, I rarely saw either of them.”

“Maybe Dad left the money with her.”

“She told me that they'd paid her a visit, which is why she now has a bodyguard.”

“What's she like?”

“Young, naïve, and quite self-absorbed with her own little fantasy world.”

“Does she know about the murder?”

“Don't know; I haven't told her.”

“I will.”

Theo looked at her. “You're not leaving for Amsterdam right away, are you?”

“No, I've had enough traveling for one day.”

“Can I buy you dinner tonight? I know a sensational Italian restaurant not far from here.”

“Thanks, but I don't think so.” She thought of Mother's warning to stay away from him. Besides, she'd planned some sightseeing in the seaside town of Whitby. “And thanks for your help with Reid, but, if you'll excuse me, I have some souvenirs to buy.” And phone calls to make. With that, she disappeared inside the shop.

•  •  •

As the bus ambled along the road to Whitby beneath a sky dotted with clouds, Casey watched shadows spill over the moor. The shapes looked like people hovering in the distance, but after a second look they disappeared, only to reappear farther along the road like ghostly hitchhikers slipping in and out of the earth.

Because of the time difference, she hadn't been able to get hold of Detective Lalonde, so she left a message with the West Vancouver Police Department about Ziegler's presence here and his alleged alibi. Since she hadn't brought her cell phone on this trip, she left the hotel's number.

A second phone call to Mother in Geneva had eased her mind a little. It seemed that Mother had done her own research and confirmed that Theo had been on that flight and therefore couldn't have killed Dad, which was why she hadn't freaked out when Casey told her he was here in England. Even if he wasn't a killer, there were still trust issues. “Don't spend too much time with him,” she'd warned. “The man's a chronic liar and a manipulator.” Mother would know, having mastered those skills herself.

When the bus stopped at the harbor, Casey stepped down. She'd walked two blocks before Ziegler approached her, this time in a sport jacket and white shirt. Oh, hell.

“Please have dinner with me. I promise I'm not up to anything sordid,” he said. “I hate eating alone and I know a great Italian restaurant only a block from here. It's a busy, very public place, and I'll even pay a taxi to take you back to the hotel, so you won't have to be alone with me, okay?”

Well, she was hungry, and she doubted the guy would take no for an answer, anyway. “All right, but you don't have to pay, and how do you know there's a good Italian restaurant down the road?”

“I spent several summers in Yorkshire. My father's parents are from these parts.”

As they walked, she said, “Where's your mother's family from?”

“Everywhere. My heritage encompasses three continents and half a dozen cultures.”

He did all right by them. “Are you married, Theo?” Not that she cared, but acting casual and friendly might get him to open up about a few things.

“Part of me still likes to think so. I'm a widower. So, what are your plans after Amsterdam?”

“A trip to Paris. I want to see some people there, including a man named Gustaf Osterman who might have been a client of Dad's. Do you know the name, by any chance?”

The lashes on those long dark eyes flickered a moment. “He's a former employee, but we didn't part on the best of terms and I haven't seen him in years.” Theo pointed the ruins of a building high on a cliff overlooking the North Sea. “There's Whitby Abbey. I'll take you to see it tomorrow, if you like.”

“Sorry, but I'm leaving town early.” No reason to tell him she'd be heading for London first to meet with a couple of Dad's clients she'd tracked down. “I've been wondering why Dad stayed in touch with his fiancée after he went underground? If these Mexicans were after him, wouldn't she have been in danger too?”

“Exactly. I told Marcus that if he wanted to make his death real, he'd need to break contact with his European friends, which he did, except for her. Gislinde's an interior designer who moves around with her work, so she hasn't had a fixed address in some time. Marcus thought they'd have trouble tracking her down, and I suppose he had people watching out for her as well. Anyhow, Marcus and I agreed that it'd be better if I knew as little as possible about his life, so we didn't communicate. His death had to seem genuine, particularly to his family and close friends.”

Casey studied rows of buildings crammed against the lower slope of the hill on the east side of the city. “I take it you don't know the name of the man I buried?”

“No.”

Theo opened a heavy oak door for Casey and ushered her into a candlelit room where a painting of a Venice canal and a golden sky covered one wall. The waiter hovered around them, his face beaming as he and Theo spoke Italian. An elderly couple emerged from the kitchen and embraced Theo. Grinning and nodding at Casey, they led her and Theo to a table with a view of the harbor. The waiter handed Casey a menu, and then draped a linen napkin over her lap.

After the couple and waiter left, Theo said, “Try the Filetto di Manzo Capricciosa. Beef medallions in brandy sauce, topped with crab meat and Edam cheese gratinée.” After Theo studied the wine list, the waiter reappeared, took their orders, and left. Theo leaned forward and said, “I'd like to take you to Amsterdam.”

“Thanks, but it's not necessary.”

She doubted the guy was offering out of kindness. Vincent had overheard Dad argue with him about money, and Reid had confirmed the financial problems. Maybe Theo wanted the missing three million and a chance to get rid of the Mexican clients, if they really existed. She certainly hadn't noticed any Mexican men following her since the murder.

“Casey, the next stranger you approach about Marcus's murder could be carrying something more dangerous than a penknife. Why did you come to Europe in the first place? What do you hope to accomplish?”