Jack was walking through the I-HIT office on his way to Inspector Dyck’s office when he spotted Connie at her desk. He decided to detour to see her.
“What’s up?” she asked when he walked in.
“You didn’t hear what came over Anton’s phone today?”
“No. I’ve been out at a homicide all afternoon. Got back ten minutes ago and have about three dozen messages waiting. Why? What’s up?”
“I don’t have time to explain,” replied Jack. “I have to see Inspector Dyck before he leaves for the day, but I may as well give you these.” He tossed a set of keys on her desk, then took out his notebook and jotted down a record of the time and date he gave them to her.
“What are these for?”
“They’re keys,” said Jack, looking up. “They unlock things.”
“Yeah, smartass. What’s going on?”
“Same thing as last week. In fact, they’re the same keys. The van is parked outside. I brought you another one.”
“Yeah, right,” said Connie in a tone that indicated her disbelief. “Not fucking likely.”
“Wish it was NFL,” said Jack, “but I’m serious. Also brought you this.” He pulled a plastic bag that held a pistol out of his pocket, then placed it on her desk. “It’s the murder weapon. Figure you might want Forensics to take a look at it.”
“What the —”
“You can thank me for the help later,” said Jack. “I want to make sure Dyck knows before the brass calls him.” With that he turned and left her office.
“Thank you for it! You freakin’ asshole!” she yelled, getting up from behind her desk. “Are you shitting me?”
Jack didn’t reply as he headed for Inspector Dyck’s office. He heard Connie cursing as she locked the murder weapon in her desk drawer before heading out to the parking lot.
Inspector Dyck’s door was open, and when Jack knocked to catch his attention, he was waved in.
“What can I do for you?” Dyck asked.
“Brought you another one,” Jack said wearily as he sat down.
“Another one?” Dyck’s eyebrows shot up
“Same as last time,” Jack said. “The victim’s in a van outside. I took the liberty of giving Connie the keys, along with the murder weapon. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“I do now,” replied Dyck grimly.
“I expect you’ll be receiving a call from Assistant Commissioner Isaac shortly, but wanted to give you a heads-up. I witnessed another murder but haven’t had time to do my notes yet. I’ll get at them as soon I tell you what happened.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re aware that Klaus Eichel was waiting for the chance to kill me?” Jack began.
“I was at a meeting this morning with Rose and Isaac,” replied Dyck. “I’m up-to-date on the file as of last night, where you ended up taking him to the hospital. What’s happened since then?”
Jack told Dyck the details about his breakfast meeting with Wolfgang and what took place afterwards.
Dyck’s reaction was calm. He didn’t seem angry, but neither was he particularly pleased. He was about to say something when his phone rang. He mouthed “Isaac” to Jack and quickly answered.
“Yes, sir, he’s in my office right now.”
Jack listened to Dyck’s side of the conversation, which mostly consisted of a repetition of “Yes, sir” and “That’s what he told me, sir.” The conversation droned on. During the call, Connie entered the office, and Jack put his finger to his lips and whispered, “Isaac’s on the line.”
When at last Dyck hung up, he stared blankly in Connie’s direction.
“Sir? Should I read him his rights?” she asked, and Jack sensed she was completely serious.
Dyck looked at Jack. “Rose debriefed Isaac on what happened and suggested you receive an official commendation for the dangerous situation you faced.”
“Commendation?” Connie squawked.
“Isaac told me in no uncertain terms that you will not be receiving that,” said Dyck, maintaining his focus on Jack. “You are free to go, but he wants a copy of all your notes on his desk by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I suggest you get started.”
Jack felt the tension leave his body. As he left the office, he overheard Dyck say to Connie, “Make sure nobody ever gives him back the keys to that van, will you?”
Would you rather I use FedEx? Jack thought. He called Laura to let her know that all was okay before returning to his office and writing up his notes.
Three hours later he called Laura again to find out where she and Otto were. He could tell by the background noise that his tab was going to be expensive. Laura told him where they were, then said, “Hang on, Otto wants to speak to you.”
“Wanted to tell you,” Otto said, “that you Canadians have peculiar eating habits.”
“How so?”
“Laura said she was taking me out to have the soup of the day.”
“With olives?” Jack chuckled.
“Ja, das ist richtig,” Otto said. Apparently realizing he had spoken German, he added, “Yes, that is right.”
“You like ’em?”
“At first I didn’t, but now I don’t care,” he replied.
* * *
It was seven o’clock at night when Big Joe met with Anton at a restaurant in Vancouver and told him what had happened.
“So they took the body out at the car wash and drove it to be cremated,” Anton repeated, “but then what did you say about the car? What do you mean they stripped the VIN? What is that? My English isn’t that —”
“The tow-truck driver did that after he siphoned the gas out. Stripped the VIN — means he took off the vehicle identification number. Then he probably replaced it with one taken from a wreck so if the police ever checked the records at the scrapyard, it wouldn’t come up.”
“I see.”
“Then he towed it to a scrapyard and turned the car into a cube about the size of my lunchbox,” Big Joe said. “My tracking transmitter along with it.”
“Yes, you told me. Anything else?”
“No, that’s about it, except … I know I said I would do it for free, but I didn’t expect to lose my equipment.”
Anton pursed his lips. His instinct told him to tell Big Joe to get lost, but decided that paying him may preserve the discretion that was needed. “Five hundred cover it?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.
“Cash … you bet.” Big Joe grinned. “The only way to do business.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later Anton met with Wolfgang in his room at the Fairmont Hotel and told him what happened to Klaus’s body and car.
Wolfgang nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve said it before — Jack is an interesting man. The Ringmaster has said so, as well. He’s a man who no doubt could be a valuable asset. ”
“If his tastes were in something other than art …”
“Exactly. It’s unfortunate that the painting is in bonded storage, but as the Ringmaster said, if he is truly genuine, his love for the painting will not let him keep it imprisoned for long.”
“After all this, you still suspect he is not genuine?” Anton was surprised.
“As the Ringmaster told me, we are in his domain. It may all be an illusion.”
“Smoke and mirrors,” Anton said. “Perhaps … but I don’t think so.”
“I’ve been told to invite him to our side of the world, where we control the stage.” Wolfgang paused. “In the long run, whether he is genuine or not doesn’t matter. He will still be killed.”