Tomb With a View

“She wasn’t making it up. She had that card. And she could have gotten her hands on lots more of them. That’s why she told Ray she was wrong about the get-rich-quick scheme, right?” Scott didn’t contradict me, so I went right on. “But then she saw that she was getting nowhere with Ray and she decided to keep the credit card secret to herself. But if Patankin found out she took the card and that she knew about the cache of them upstairs, he would have been plenty pissed. He could have killed her. That would explain everything.”

It really wouldn’t. I knew it even as the words left my mouth.

It wouldn’t explain the personal Garfield item Nick discussed selling to Ted Studebaker.

It wouldn’t explain crazy Gloria Henninger, the neighbor who wanted to see Marjorie dead.

It wouldn’t explain Jack and what he was doing hanging around the memorial and how he was connected to Patankin and that sign up in the stairway.

But it would be a start.

Or not.

The or not part plonked down on me like a ton of bricks when Scott shook his head. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear that things are that easy. Patankin told us he was out of the country when Ms. Klinker was killed. Your friend . . .” He tiptoed back into personal territory for a nanosecond, but drawn by the siren song of his case, he shook himself back to reality. “Detective Harrison spent the better part of last night verifying Patankin’s alibi for the day of the murder. He said he was in Toronto picking up another shipment of counterfeit cards. We’re still checking into that part of the story, but Harrison talked to Customs this morning and they confirm the rest of it. Patankin really was in Canada. He couldn’t have killed Ms. Klinker.”

“Then who—?”

Scott was carrying a leather portfolio. He flipped it open, pulled out a single sheet of paper, and handed me a sketch of a man.

“It’s Jack,” I said, looking at Scott in wonder. “How did you—”

“Patankin is a citizen of Uzbekistan and he’s not thrilled about the prospect of going back there. He’s decided to cooperate and he’s singing like a bird. Oh, how I love when that happens!” He allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “He swears he’s just the middleman, and this guy . . .” Scott tapped a finger to Jack’s nose. “He’s the mastermind of the counterfeiting operation.”

“Jack?” I studied the drawing again. There was no mistaking the face; Patankin had described Jack to a tee. The hair was right. The eyes were perfect. His mouth was just the way I remembered it. Except that when I remembered it, I remembered him kissing me.

“Nice-looking guy.” As if he could read my mind, Scott tossed out, “I can see why you were attracted to him.”

“Who says I was?”

“You didn’t need to.”

“It doesn’t really count if he’s a bad guy.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

I’d suspected that Jack was up to no good, so none of this was much of a surprise. It was kind of shocking, though, to hear he was some kind of Dr. Evil. I did my best to stay focused. “Did this Patankin guy tell you where to find Jack?” I asked.

“Jack . . .” Scott pulled out another paper from the portfolio. This one featured a small color photo of Jack in one corner and an official-looking insignia in the other. I read the printing beneath the symbol. “Interpol?”

Scott’s nod was barely perceptible. “One of our agents recognized him from the sketch. That’s how we caught on to who he really is. Your friend Jack has quite a reputation.” He pointed to the information below Jack’s photo. “His real name is Jonathan Bryce-Conway. He’s a Brit, and he’s wanted in just about every country you can name.”

“Jack?” OK, I was repeating myself, and it was annoying, but it wasn’t exactly easy to wrap my brain around Scott’s information. “I knew he was up to something,” I said, “but—”

“When it comes to crime, he’s one of the superstars. I can’t wait to get my hands on this guy.”

“But you’ve got Patankin. And the credit cards. How are you—”

Scott didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The way his eyes glittered told me everything I needed to know.

“Jack doesn’t know you arrested Patankin. And you were careful to make sure the media didn’t find out. You’re not going to tell anyone now, right?”

He nodded.

“Which means you’re hoping Jack shows back up here, either looking for Patankin or those credit cards. And when he does—”

Like I said, Scott is pretty low-key. Except when it comes to his job. Just the prospect of arresting Jack practically made him salivate.

17

Iwas glad the feds cleared up the phony credit card case. Honest. Of course, Ella and Jim couldn’t have agreed more. Seeing as how they’re both big-time cemetery geeks, the fact that the memorial was being used by the crooks as a drop-off and pickup point didn’t sit well with them. As much of a cemetery fan as I’m not, I can’t say I blamed them. Even though I knew better than anyone that they didn’t all deserve it, there is a certain amount of respect we owe the dead. The memorial as a stash house . . . that went above and beyond, even in my book.