Chapter 49

Simon parked in front of Rudy's townhouse ten minutes before seven. The idea of holding off until the top of the hour didn't even cross his mind. He'd waited long enough.

Rudy's girlfriend answered again, and once more he had the sense he'd seen her somewhere other than at Rudy's.

"Oh, hey, you're back. He's in his studio."

Simon mumbled his thanks and headed downstairs.

Rudy was at the far end of the room, looking through several paintings piled against the wall. He didn't look up as Simon entered the room.

"I'm here for the paintings," Simon said.

Rudy looked over his shoulder, then motioned to a small group of paintings covered by a drop cloth, leaning against a wall. "Have at it."

Simon strode over. "I could use your help carrying them."

"I'm busy."

Simon glared at him, then huffed and shook his head. He retrieved the painting at the front of the stack—Summer at Sheep Meadow—turned toward the stairs, and immediately stopped in his tracks.

Standing between him and the way out were Stone Barrington, Rudy's girlfriend, and a man who looked familiar.

"Stone, what are you doing here?" He tried to sound casual but failed miserably.

"You first."

"Me? Well, you see…these…these are the paintings you're buying. My friend Rudy was kind enough to store them for me. You can take them with you now and save me the trip back to the gallery."

"Thank you, Simon. I'll do that. After which I'll be returning them to the people you stole them from. Well, except the one you're holding. That one is actually mine."

"Stole? Why, I would never. How—how could you even think such a thing?"

"Allow me to introduce you to my friend Monica Reyes." He smiled at the woman Simon had thought was Rudy's girlfriend. "You've probably heard her name before. She was a fraud investigator at Vitale Insurance, working for your late friend Dalton Conroy. You remember him. He's the one you had killed along with Tristan Williams."

The blood drained from Simon's face. "K-k-killed? That's pr-pr-preposterous!"

"Don't forget Joshua Paskota," Monica said.

"That's right," Stone said. "And Joshua Paskota in Santa Fe."

"Joshua died in an accident."

"That was the preliminary determination. But at the urging of my good friend Dino Bacchetti, commissioner of police for New York City"—Stone indicated the man next to Monica—"the Santa Fe Police Department has taken a closer look. Dino, you want to tell Simon about the conversation you had with Detective Eldridge on our way over here?"

"Happy to," Dino said.

Simon realized where he recognized the man from. He had never met him before, but he had seen him multiple times on the news.

"Turns out it wasn't an accident at all, but sabotage. When the detectives realized that, they went back and looked at CCTV video and found video of a man tampering with Joshua's car just prior to the accident. They even uncovered his name. Hold on a second…" Dino consulted a notepad. "Phillip. Phillip Pierce. That's the same Phillip Pierce who works for you."

"You're also tied to the death of Randall Vernon," Stone said.

"Who?" Simon asked. He didn't know anyone by that name.

"He was the owner of the home your people hit the other night. He died in the fire. That's four homicides on top of the thefts."

"I don't know where you're getting your information, but I didn't have anything to do with any of it!"

"Just like you have nothing to do with the stolen painting in your hands?"

"Or the ones leaning against the wall behind you," Dino said.

"Or the one supposedly destroyed in a house fire on Martha's Vineyard, or the one from a sunken boat in Lake Michigan," Monica said. "If you'd like, I could go on."

"How…?" Simon hadn't meant to say that, but he couldn't stop himself.

"You're not quite as clever as you thought you were."

"Rudy," Stone said, "if you don't mind, please take my painting from Simon."

Simon barely registered Rudy relieving him of his burden.

This couldn't be happening. A few more hours and he'd have been on a jet heading south. He was so close. There must be a way out of this. Maybe if he made a run for it, he could get by them.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Stone said, as if reading Simon's mind. "Besides, we have some friends who are very interested in talking to you."

Dino called up the stairs, "Come on down."

Several police officers, some in uniforms and some in suits, descended the stairs.

Simon stared at them, mouth slack, as any hope that he could escape went up in smoke.

One of the uniformed officers cuffed Simon's hands behind his back, while a detective read him his rights.

"I didn't do anything. It was…it was my brother and his friends. They stole everything! They're the thieves!"

"We look forward to hearing everything you have to say, Mr. Duchamp," a detective said.

Four of the officers escorted him up the stairs.

"One down," Dino said.

"Two, if you count our helpful forger," Monica said.

Across the room, Rudy was in the process of being put into his own pair of handcuffs and receiving his recitation of rights.

"I think we should classify him as a bonus," Stone said.

"I'm fine with that."

The information Monica had wrung from Rudy on the forgeries he'd created for many more customers beyond just Simon was going to rock the art world.

Stone glanced at his watch. "Look at the time. I think we have a party to attend."

"Will there be more prizes?" Monica teased.

"Now who's trying to jinx us?"