Bones of Contention (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

Jacko ordered the two men traveling with him to set up flares on the road and comb the scrub for Victor. He asked Thad to spell his name and count to twenty forwards and backwards. To Dinah’s surprise, Thad performed like a whiz kid and Jacko pronounced him fit to go home. He called the dispatcher and ordered a backup police vehicle in addition to the ambulance. Brusquely, he ordered Dinah into his Land Rover.

She wanted to go with Seth to keep an eye on him, but did as she was told. Jacko ordered Seth to drive Thad back to the lodge, then climbed behind the wheel of the Land Rover.

“Getting to know your new rellie, are you, Dinah?”

“Somewhat.”

He gave her a sardonic look, cranked the engine, pulled around Seth’s car and took off at speed, indifferent to the danger of darting cats and wallabies and the blizzard of dust and stones thrown back into Seth’s windshield.

“You’ll want to put your buttons in their proper holes before we blow in at the lodge. I understand the family’s bashing about in a bit of a lather. Wouldn’t want to give them a scandal.”

Hot-faced, she turned away and corrected her buttoning. Jacko didn’t know the meaning of the word scandal. She stewed for a minute, but common sense kicked in. She’d been chomping at the bit to tell him about her own scandalous discovery and air her fuzzy suspicions, and here he was.

His radio blared and a voice said, “I think I see him. There, on the far side of that fallen tree.”

Jacko turned down the volume. “The lad’s probably too wonky to get far. I just hope he doesn’t take a header and crack his skull.”

Dinah thought about Victor floundering around in the dark. “Is sniffing petrol very dangerous?”

“Not for the Dobbs boy. He’ll not do it after he leaves the Territory. But make a habit of it, as some Aborigine lads have done, and it rots the brain.”

Dinah wished she could help Victor. She wished she could help Tanya. Instead, she was about to add to her misfortunes. “Did you get the results from the autopsy?”

“It was the fugu like we thought.”

Perhaps that “we” meant he was back in a friendly mood.

“Tanya may have had a motive to kill Dr. Fisher.” She recapped the scene where Tanya called Fisher a galka, giving Seth’s definition.

“Why would the poor woman think Fisher was a galka? He’d not hypnotized anyone to kill himself, had he?”

She didn’t know if anyone had clued him into Cleon’s planned suicide and she was beyond caring. “You’ll have to ask Tanya why she said it. I’m not accusing Tanya. Other people had motives.” She told him about Wendell’s and Neesha’s affair.

“You saw them pashing?”

“No, but I heard them talking. Wendell was anticipating a windfall from Fisher’s will.” Jacko would find out soon enough about the provisions of Fisher’s will. She decided to earn Brownie points by being first with the news. “Fisher left Wendell millions and it turns out the doctor collected some valuable art, which he left to Lucien.”

“Your brother gobsmacked by his good luck, was he?”

She tried not to sound defensive. “He was surprised.”

“I’ll bet.”

She disregarded the sarcasm. “You said that Dr. Fisher had crossed swords with a lot of people, Jacko. Were there any rumors linking him to stolen art?”

“Starve the lizards! You must have psychic powers. I was just thinking of stolen art. Would you believe it? It’s fine art that’s gone off from the lodge.”

“You have every reason to be fed up with all the chicanery, Jacko. So am I. I don’t know what’s going on, but I guessed it was the Homer watercolors that were stolen. They’re the most valuable things in the house.”

“And yours, I hear, or will be at your uncle’s death. We’ve had a long yack, your Uncle Cleon and I. I hope this doesn’t come as too great a shock, luv, but he may cark it sooner than later. Cancer, he tells me. Inoperable. So little time to spend with the son he didn’t know he had. It tears the heart.”

They passed Cleon’s Mercedes with the left front tire stuck in a ditch. Jacko pulled off the road and, as he did, Seth drove past them with Thad hunched in the backseat. Dinah didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what Seth was thinking. Where’s the money? And from the way Thad sneered when Jacko said there’d been a robbery, she assumed he was thinking he’d hidden the cash too well for anyone to find it without his help.

While Jacko inspected Cleon’s car, Dinah revolved the series of crimes and possible crimes through her mind. Thad had ripped off Fisher’s cash, which Fisher must have brought home from Katherine on the day of his death in his medical bag. Where did the money come from? Had Cleon paid him $300,000 to help him commit suicide or was it payment for something else? For changing his will in favor of Wendell and Margaret and Lucien? For inflating his assets to make them think they’d be getting more than they would?

She thought about all that art the doctor owned but didn’t hang. Did it actually exist? And if it did, where had it come from before Fisher acquired it? Had Lucien procured it for him? He’d procured the Homers for Cleon and Neesha. Dear God, was it possible that her paintings were hot and that’s why Lucien didn’t want them on the market? Had he stolen them to make sure she didn’t try and sell them?

Jacko returned to the Land Rover and growled into his radio. “What’s the good oil, Norton? Any sign of the boy? Well, keep on it. I don’t want to have to tell his aunt he’s gone walkabout with a herd of pink elephants lolloping about in his head.” He told Norton the location of Cleon’s car. “Have it pushed out of the ditch and, if it’s drivable, drive it on to the lodge. I’ll want you there in any event. For mob control.”

He signed off, turned on the overhead light and gave Dinah a crimped smile. “All right, luv. Let’s have your guess at who took the bloody pictures.”

“I don’t know.”

“But you’ve an inkling.”

“No.”

“Crikey!” He whammed the steering wheel with the heels of his hands and she winced. “Don’t try my patience, Dinah. I’m not out here at three in the bloody morning for a lark.” There was a bite in his voice, an announcement that beneath the codger act was a hard-nosed cop who’d crack heads if he had to.

“I have inklings about a lot of things, Jacko. Most of them have been pretty unreliable over the last few days.”

He turned off the light, started the car, and drove on toward the lodge. When he spoke again, he sounded like the old, affable Jacko. “You asked me why I latched onto you in Darwin. Fair crack of the whip, I’ll tell you. The feds have been monitoring a group called Earth’s Turn for over a year. We think they’re the push that’s been dynamiting docks and disrupting fish harvesting operations in the area. Just after the Melville murder, one of the heavy hitters for the group turned up in Sydney in the company of your Uncle Cleon.”

“Seth?”

“Spot on. Mr. Farraday’s a man of many facets. We don’t know if he’s the demolition man or just an errand boy and spotter for the big hammers. I thought you’d be his wife flying in for a get-together.”

“He’s married?”

“The missus is a Cuban girl from south Florida. She’s the group’s roving ambassador. Looks quite a bit like you from the photo we have on file. Not knowing your uncle’s relationship to the Farradays, I had to find out if she was the one he’d wired the ticket to. If so, she’d be entering Oz under a false name.”

A headache began to drum dully at her temples, like elephants lolloping. “Did Seth know Dr. Fisher before he arrived?”

“They were in Sydney at the same time. We don’t know if they ever met.”

“Was Seth on Melville at the time of the murder?”

“There’s no proof. The bloke assigned to follow him shot through a red light and had a nasty bingle. Landed in hospital, himself, and we lost Farraday for a few days.”

“Can’t you arrest him for something? He has a gun, you know.”

“His permit is in order. There aren’t any outstanding warrants.”

“How about fraud or misrepresentation? Is he really Cleon’s son?”

“Your uncle’s better placed to answer that and he says that he is.”

They had reached the lodge. He pulled the Land Rover close up in front of the porch as if to block the escape route and radioed Norton again. This time there was good news. Victor had been found, fuddled and scrappy, but otherwise all right. They were taking him to the hospital for eval to be on the safe side.

“One fire put out.” Jacko turned on the overhead light and eyeballed her for a long minute. “I don’t believe Tanya poisoned the doctor, accidentally or on purpose, and it’s a dead cert she’s not rapt about the brushwork of Mr. Winslow Homer. You know who’s left, luv. And in case you didn’t know, Mr. Eduardo Conti spent a year in chokey for drug possession and your half-brother Lucien was bailed up for assaulting an art dealer in New York last month.”

“Lucien was in jail?”

“Overnight. The charges were dropped and I know what you’re thinking. What does a skerrick of cannabis or a little punch-up have to do with murder or stolen art? Maybe bloody everything, or maybe bugger all. But when you’re deciding whether to cooperate with the police and dob on your rellies, keep in mind there’s a law against impeding a police investigation.”

Chapter Thirty

The wives and K.D. sat shoulder-to-shoulder on one side of the dining room table, each in a different colored robe. Like a lineup of surly parakeets, thought Dinah. K.D. held a panting Cantoo in her lap and jotted notes in her little book of smears.

Thad moped in a chair in the corner, temporarily out of the spotlight. Petrol sniffing and car jacking apparently ranked lower in priority than the theft of the Homers. Seth stood over Thad with his arm on his shoulder, possessive as a prison guard.

Wendell languished against the wall at one end of the sideboard, his hands balled in the pockets of his tartan robe. Lucien leaned heavily on his crutches at the other end. Cleon stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest like a teacher facing down a classroom of cutups, and frowned at the naked wall between them where the Homers had hung. Eduardo, dressed as if for a day at the races, puttered about with the coffee service and helped his nemesis, Mack, pass around cups and saucers.

As Dinah sidled past Seth, she whispered, “I’m going to tell Jacko about Fisher’s bag of money, so don’t think you can get your paws on it.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners and her skin itched with loathing. She sat down next to Neesha and tried to catch Lucien’s eye. He kept his head down. Seth was right about his body language. He looked guilty as hell, but of what? Was he an art thief? A fence for stolen art? Had he heisted a shipment of major art works and sold them to Fisher? Were the Homers he’d fobbed off on Cleon hot?

Jacko shook hands with Cleon and the two of them ducked into the kitchen for a private tête-à-tête.

“You’ve got some nerve,” hissed Neesha.

Never a dull moment, thought Dinah. “What did I do?”

“While the men are taking care of this embarrassing situation, let’s have ourselves a toddy, shall we?” She snapped on a frosty smile, linked her arm in Dinah’s, and dragged her up and out of the room.

When they got to the great room, she dropped Dinah’s arm like a dead possum. “First, you talk Cleon into leaving you my pictures and, knowing he’d change his mind, you steal them.”

“I was out of the house all afternoon, Neesha, first with Cleon and tonight with Seth. I couldn’t have stolen them.”

“You probably enlisted that impostor to help you.” She swept her long hair around to one side of her face and fiddled with the ends. “It’s intolerable. Margaret trying to chisel me out of my money on one side, Seth Farraday on another. And I should have known you’d worm your way into the will. Your mother probably put you up to it.”

It cost Dinah no small amount of willpower to restrain herself. “You can’t blame me for how your husband chooses to leave his money. And certainly, not my mother.”

“Why not? Depravity runs in your family like a disease. You get it from both sides, don’t you?”

Dinah saw red. This two-faced viper was asking for it. “Oh, Wendell, darling, I could have stood three more nights…sob, sob. Oh, darling, this is my idea of love…zip, zip.”

Neesha blanched and Dinah felt a frisson of triumph. “How’s that for depravity, Neesha?”

“You spied on us?” Her voice was tremulous, but defiant.

“The walls have ears.”

She gave Dinah a venomous look. “Have you told Cleon?”

“Do you really think I’d have to? But just so you know, I did tell Inspector Newby.”

Remarkably, her old beauty-pageant poise rallied. She raised her chin and struck a pose. “There’s nothing anyone can do to us now. Cleon can’t disinherit his minor children and as Margaret says, I’m entitled to a third of the estate and all the gifts he’s given me. Including those Homers. And if you stole them, I’ll see you do time for it.”

Dinah clenched her fists. If she ever let her inner Injun loose on that platinum scalp…

The front door bumped open and there was an irruption of voices in the hall. Dinah turned her back on Neesha and went to see what was happening. The three-chevron deputy she remembered as Norton and a black deputy walked in, their radios sputtering, and met Jacko as he ushered the family toward the great room. Cleon marched past Dinah and went straight to the bar, followed single file by Margaret, Wendell, K.D., Thad, Lucien, Eduardo, Seth, and Mack.

Jacko ordered the black deputy to find Tanya and break the news about Victor, then drive her into Katherine to the hospital. He took Norton aside. Dinah watched as they huddled at the end of the hall for a few minutes. When they finished their parley, they returned to the great room. Jacko stood in the doorway and announced that he would be interviewing each member of the household separately in the dining room. They could wait in the great room until called or move about the house, if they liked.

“Norton will find you when it’s your turn,” he said.

“Will you be searching the house?” asked Margaret.

“As soon as the warrants arrive.” He leveled his gun-barrel gaze on Thad. “I’ll start with the youngest Mr. Dobbs. Follow me, please, sir.”

Thad cast an appealing look at his mother. “Don’t you have to be present, Mom?”

“Not this time, Thad. When Inspector Newby has finished questioning you, go up to your room. I’ll be up to say good-night in a little while.”

He looked to Cleon, but Cleon was rattling his martini shaker next to his ear like a maraca and paid him no mind.

“Fine. Sure, okay.” Thad curled his lip and scuffed out of the room behind Norton and Jacko.

“What? Say again?” Wendell moved as far from the noise as possible, his cell phone glued to his ear. “I know it’s an important closing, Bud, but I’m out here in the sticks. Can’t it…what?”

Violating his rule on how to treat good gin, Cleon rattled the ice in the shaker so hard it sounded like small arms fire.

Neesha said, “I have a splitting headache. K.D., will you please tell Sergeant Norton I’ll be waiting in my room.” She cinched her robe more tightly and steamed out the door.

Wendell’s eyes trailed after her. “All right, Bud, I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.” He pocketed his phone. “I’m going upstairs to get my laptop. When the inspector’s ready for me, I’ll be in the kitchen trying to get a dial-up connection.”

He left and Mack and Seth and Eduardo sat down to wait. Lucien stood in the corner scowling.

Margaret settled herself on a bar stool. “Make one of your silver bullets for me, Cleon. And tell me why you’re shaking the bejesus out of the gin.”

Cleon poured himself a drink and started shaking up another one for Margaret.

Lucien exploded. “Will you stop that noise? You’ve brought all this on yourself, you know that? It’s your own goddamn fault, all of it, for riding roughshod over us and digging the spurs in at every chance. What did you expect?”

Cleon looked up, deadpan. “Not this.”

“Oh, the hell with it,” said Lucien. “Tell Norton I’ll be on the veranda.” He made a disgusted face and vaulted out the door, legs kicking out from between his crutches like battering rams.

Cleon reached for a bottle of Makers Mark. “Here, Eduardo.” He held out the bottle. “Your paramour’s got hisself wrought up. Better go see if you can revive him.”

Eduardo didn’t reply. He took the bottle and two glasses and went after Lucien.

Dinah sensed that the tension between Cleon and Lucien had come to a head. She wasn’t sure what they’d just said to each other, but whatever it was, they knew. Eduardo knew, Margaret knew, Seth knew. Even K.D. had a knowing look on her smug little puss. Everyone seemed to be on the same page but Dinah and she didn’t feel she was even in the same book. In frustration, she stalked out into the hall and began to pace.

Before long, Norton came out of the dining room with Thad. The kid didn’t seem as cocky as he did a few minutes before. He peeled off from Norton and went obediently up the stairs. Norton continued into the great room and called for K.D. Dinah watched them march toward the dining room and, spontaneously, she about-faced and headed for the veranda. Lucien was going to tell her what was going on if she had to beat it out of him.

She opened the back door and he and Eduardo broke off in mid-sentence. Pretending she hadn’t noticed, she stepped outside. One of them had lit the citronella candles and placed the lantern on a wine crate with the bourbon. Eduardo stood at a distance, his back against a column. Lucien slouched in a chair nursing his bourbon.

Dinah took a deep breath and planted herself in the chair next to Lucien. “Another eventful day, huh?”

Lucien sighed. “I feel a third degree coming on and if it’s all the same with you, Torquemada, I’d rather wait for Newby to put me on the rack.”

“We’re out of sorts,” said Eduardo. “De pis en pis.”

“For chrissakes, Eddie, will you can the faggy French? We’re not in Paris.”

“We would be if you’d listened to me,” said Eduardo.

Dinah saw no gain in being tactful. “It might behoove you to talk to me before the inspector gets to you, Lucien. It’ll give you a chance to trump up a better bunch of lies. I’m sure he’ll have a number of questions about that bonanza of Pollocks and Hartleys and Homers you just inherited. They give you a jim-dandy motive for murdering Dr. Fisher.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Well, then, get your head out of the sand, big brother, and help me figure things out.”

“You want a crisis, figure out who stole the Homers, why don’t you?”

“Okay,” she said, dismayed that a couple of little pieces of pilfered art outranked a murder in his mind. “We can start there. Who first noticed the paintings missing?”

“I did,” said Eduardo. “When I passed by the dining room around ten this evening, I saw they were gone. At first, I thought Cleon had taken them down. I asked him and he hit the roof.”

Lucien was pessimistic. “They could’ve been lifted anytime during the day. By now they could’ve been bundled off to Katherine and sold to a private collector or a pawn broker or the Russian mob.”

“Famous paintings aren’t that easy to sell,” said Dinah. “You know that. A buyer would want certificates of authenticity and a bill of sale. But even if they’re not found, Uncle Cleon must have insured them.”

“Fuck the insurance. It doesn’t matter.”

Dinah threw up her hands. “Okay, Lucien. I get it. You want the paintings for yourself and if they’re found, you can have the damn things. Just tell me what it is you’re hiding. Did you steal them from your dealer friend in New York? Is he the guy you beat up last month? What the hell is going on?”

“Tell her,” said Eduardo.

Lucien put his head in his hands.

Eduardo came and put a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “If you don’t tell her, I will.”

Her fear magnified. “Lucien?”

“They’re forgeries, Di.”

“What?”

“Your Homer watercolors are forgeries. Some of my best work.”

“You? You forged them?” She felt as if she’d been blown off a cliff.

“I copied them from the originals.”

She stared at him in complete shock. This was a turn-up she couldn’t have imagined. The one person whose honesty and integrity she’d have staked her life on was a liar and a scammer, apparently from way back.

He said, “They started out as a joke.”

“A man walks into a gallery. Ha-ha.” What did he want from her, absolution?

“Neesha walked into a gallery, the one belonging to my old art school friend, St. Jean. It was just after she and Cleon married and he’d given her a blank check to refurbish the farmhouse. She and her decorator were in New York trolling for antiques. They met St. Jean and me for lunch and I just happened to be showing the pieces to St. Jean. They weren’t for sale. They were like, exercises. Experiments. Neesha’s decorator saw them and went wild. They’d be the crowning touch for the new drawing room.”

Dinah cut to the crux. “And you and St. Jean got dollar signs in your eyes. You strung them along and cashed in.”

“Things got out of hand,” put in Eduardo, in a sort of proxy apology. “Lucien didn’t know how good an artist he was.”

“How good a con artist, you mean.” She got up and stomped around the veranda. What offense against the gods had she committed to deserve so many pretenders and connivers in her life?

“I was in my early twenties,” said Lucien. “Fresh out of school and experimenting with lots of styles and media. It wasn’t the crime of the century. Neesha and Dad are philistines. They didn’t know the difference.”

“From the stink bombs he’s dropped into the conversation lately, I’d say Cleon knows the difference now. How’d he find out he’d been flimflammed?”

“I don’t know. He never came right out and said that he knew until tonight when the things went missing.”

“Did you tell Mom? Maybe she put him wise.”

“I told her when Cleon first bought them, but she’d never blow the whistle on me.”

“A tad lackadaisical of her, wouldn’t you say, sitting quietly by while her son fleeces his father out of millions?” Her tone was scathing, as she meant it to be.

Lucien answered in kind. “You know something, kiddo, I’m tired of being your personal coloring book where you get to color me however you like, inside your lines. And for your information, Mom didn’t think what I did was much of a swindle. Those pictures are damn good. They wowed Neesha and, as far as I knew, they were going to stay in the family indefinitely.”

“Maybe it was Mom’s indulging your big fat ego that led you to think you could outshine Winslow Homer in the first place.”

“Just what is it you’re…?”

Eduardo said, “I’ll be happy to referee this family spat later. Right now, we need to concentrate on finding the paintings.”

“Fine.” Lucien finished his bourbon and picked up his crutches. “Neesha is the only other person who wants them. If what you told me about an amour with Wendell is true, then maybe he stole them for her. It was either Wendell or Neesha. I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe they’re in the trunk of Wendell’s car,” said Eduardo.

Lucien pooh-poohed the idea. “Too risky. They’re probably in a locker at the Katherine Airport.”

“With the key safe and warm in Neesha’s cleavage,” said Eduardo.

“And she accused me of stealing them.” It wasn’t hard for Dinah to transfer some of her anger onto Neesha. But the woman had sounded so convincing. “What if it was Cleon who took them?”