Jane Cleland - Consigned to Death

Once we were settled, Alverez turned on the tape recorder, spoke the date and time, listed our names as those present, and then said, “Thanks for coming in. Our investigation has progressed and I wanted to give you some information.”

“Okay,” Max responded.

Alverez leaned back, stretching out his legs. He looked the same as always, his demeanor providing no clue about his message. I was anxious, but braced to deal with whatever came my way.

“Unless new information comes up, which I don’t expect, Josie has been cleared as a suspect.”

“What?” I exclaimed, stunned.

Alverez half smiled, and nodded. “We don’t think you were involved in the murder.”

Max gripped my shoulder for a long minute, a contained gesture of celebration. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I didn’t try to stop the flow. I took a deep breath, realized I’d had a death-grip on the sides of my chair, and lifted my hands to the table top, clenching and unclenching my fists to relax. I reached over and put a hand on top of Max’s, still on my shoulder, and squeezed, then reached into my purse for a tissue, and wiped away my tears.

As stress and anxiety receded, anger rushed in. I stuffed the crumpled tissue in my purse, turned to Alverez, and asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean ‘What do I mean’? You drag me down here to tell me that I’m no longer a suspect? Don’t you think I might have been interested in hearing that news right away? Would it have killed you to have called and told me?”

He shrugged, and I took the gesture to mean that he thought I was overreacting. “Sorry. There’s something else I need to discuss, so I knew we’d be talking anyway.”

I looked at him and shook my head, his cavalier dismissal of my distress fueling my rage. “You needed to talk to me ? How thoughtful of you to balance my needs with your own,” I added, unable to suppress the sarcasm.

“I didn’t mean it that way. Sorry. Guess it was a little insensitive of me not to have called.”

“A little!” I exclaimed.

Max reached for my arm and squeezed, gently. “Josie,” he said. “Point taken. Let’s move on.”

I shook off his hand. “No, Max. This is too important.” I pushed hair aside. “It seems I should be grateful that you have something else to talk to me about,” I said to Alverez. “Otherwise I might have learned that I’ve been cleared-when? Tomorrow? The next day. Oh, I know! Probably you’d have given Cathy a note to call me when she got a chance, right?”

“Okay, Josie,” Alverez said, unsmiling. “I get it. I was thoughtless. I apologized once and I meant it. I’m sorry. Can we move on now?”

Stop , I reminded myself. Breathe. Think . I took a deep breath and turned to Max. He was watching me with compassionate eyes. I looked out of the window. The tall grass that dotted the dunes waved in the light breeze. My anger dissipated as suddenly as it had arisen, leaving me spent. I felt exhausted and emotionally raw. Taking a deep breath, I looked at Alverez and smiled a little, a nonverbal offer of detente. His stern demeanor eased in response.

I felt awkward, uncertain what to do or say next. One emotion after another washed over me-the fatigue that had eclipsed my fury now gave way to an almost giddy volatility. I smiled again, broadly this time. Alverez smiled back, and I found myself admiring the flecks of gold that glistened in the brown of his eyes. His eyes were hypnotic, drawing me in. After a long minute, Max cleared his throat and the mood was broken. I looked away. “Sorry about that,” I said. “I guess this situation has made me a little emotional. I don’t normally rant like a fishwife.”

Alverez smiled. “It wasn’t so bad. I’ve been called worse than insensitive.”

“Really? Like what?”

Alverez smiled and shook his head slightly. “That’ll be a topic for another time, if you don’t mind,” he said, shifting in his chair.

“So,” I asked, pleased at his obvious discomfort, “what made you realize I wasn’t guilty?”

“That too can be covered later. We have something important to discuss now, if that’s all right.”

“Sure. What?”

“The reason I asked you to come in is to ask for your help. We’ve reached a point in the investigation where we need an expert.”

“An expert in?…” Max asked.

“Appraisals.”

“Why Josie?”

“She’s the logical choice. We can bring in an outside expert if we have to, but my plan is more likely to work if Josie will help us.

“What do you need?”

Alverez cleared his throat and idly tapped his pen against the wooden table. “A couple of things. First, what do you know about the Renoir? I mean, according to Mrs. Grant’s ledger, the three paintings, the Renoir, the Matisse, and the Cezanne were all bought from someone or something called A.Z. Do you know what, or who, that is?”

“One second,” Max said to Alverez, reaching out his hand to stop me from speaking. He leaned over toward me and whispered, “Do you know what it means?”

“No,” I whispered back.

“Do you know anything about the paintings.”

I paused, then decided to tell Max the truth. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“What?”

“It’s complicated.”

Max straightened up, glanced at the recorder, the red light indicating it was on, and said, “Josie and I need to consult for a moment. We’ll step outside and walk a little, if that’s all right.”

“Sure,” Alverez said, narrowing his eyes. “But you can stay here. I’ll leave the room, like I did before.”

“I’d just as soon stretch my legs,” Max answered.

Alverez shrugged and hit the Off button. “Let me know when you’re ready to resume.”

Max and I walked across the street and stepped up onto the sandy dunes. I picked up a flat gray rock and hurled it toward the ocean. Clouds were rolling in from the west, white-topped waves rippling the ocean’s surface. Max stretched and bent down.

“That’s a relief, huh?” he asked, standing upright.

I choked on sudden tears. “You have no idea.” I grasped his upper arm and leaned my forehead against his sleeve. “Thank you, Max.”

He reached over and patted my shoulder. “Sure, Josie. I don’t know that anything I did had anything to do with anything, but it’s a pleasure to work with you.”

I smiled as best I could given that I was still feeling emotional. My tears gradually abated, and I turned toward the sea. The salty air smelled fresh. I stood up, my smile broader, my confidence returning. “How come you wanted to come outside?” I asked.

“Well, I wanted to make the point that we could. This time, we aren’t here for an interrogation. You’re being asked to do a favor.”

I smiled. “Wow, that’s right, isn’t it?”

He shrugged, and looked mildly embarrassed. “I wanted to crow a little.”

I tapped his shoulder and smiled again.

Max smiled back. “So,” he said, “talk to me.”

“I’ve researched all three paintings. They were stolen from Jewish families before or during World War II. The Matisse disappeared from a small museum on the Mediterranean. The other two were taken by the Nazis.”

“My God,” Max said, turning to look at me, shock registering on his face.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding, responding to his overall reaction, not only his words. “I know. It’s horrible. I think that’s why Mrs. Cabot hired me. I think her daughter, Andi, who’s an immoral shrew, by the way, would make it impossible for her mother to return the paintings to their rightful owners. But if I find them, and announce the discovery publicly, well, Mrs. Cabot will have no choice.”