Paul Robertson - According to Their Deeds

“According to the alarm company, they did call and he answered. There was some kind of password he gave them to verify who he was. He told them to wait five minutes for him to call back and if he didn’t, to send the police. He didn’t call back.

“Apparently, he started looking around. He went into the office. The burglar must have heard him coming. By the angles, it looks like he was hiding behind the door when Bastien came in. He hit Bastien on the head with the marble statue, and that killed him. He probably never knew what hit him.”

“I hope not,” Charles said.

“Yeah, that’s the part I never liked.” Frank Kelly looked appropriately sad. “There’s the victim, knowing he was about to get hit or killed. That must be a rotten feeling.”

“It must be.”

“At least it wouldn’t last very long. Lots of blood on the desk, and lab analysis said it was all his.”

“Mr. Kelly, would they have taken the desk to a lab to do that analysis?”

“Taken the desk?” Kelly scratched his head. “I don’t think so.” He looked through the papers still in the folder. “No. It was a pretty big desk. They just wiped samples of the blood. Crime scene techs would have done it. They didn’t take the whole desk.”

“Whoever paid so much for it, I’d hate to think it had been banged around and damaged being moved.”

“They didn’t take it. They only took the statue. ‘Early eighteenth century Florentine marble statuette of James the Second of England, fourteen inches, thirty-five pounds.’ No fingerprints. He would have been dead already, after he’d been in exile.”

“In exile?” Charles was confused. “The burglar or Derek?”

“James. The Second. After he got deposed.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“Louis the Fifteenth had dozens of those statues made and sent them everywhere. Little presents to all his friends, you know, to stick the needle in George the First whenever he could. Eight thousand dollars market value. Wasn’t sold at the auction. I guess they still have it here in evidence storage.”

“Anyway,” Charles said, “I think it does answer my questions. It really was just a random burglary.”

“Looks like it. Fifth house in three weeks. If he’d just stayed in bed, he’d still be alive. Yeah, with somebody like Bastien, I bet D.C. Homicide checked real close to see if there was any way it could have been a real murder, and they didn’t find anything.”

“Have any of the things that were stolen appeared yet?”

“No. Nothing from any of the five houses.”

“You said it was fifty-fifty whether they would?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’d say. That many pieces, you can’t sell them all individually without someone catching on. ‘Someone’ being me. But they might put them in a basement for a few years. Being connected with a murder makes all that stuff real hot.”

“Of course.”

“But now, you tell me. Do you see anything in there that sticks out?”

“Well, of course, the Kant wasn’t on the list of things stolen.”

“Right. And I looked-it was on the main inventory, the one Bastien kept himself. So somehow it was missed when they were figuring out what was stolen. What else do you see?”

“Not really anything else.”

“Do you recognize many of the things on the list of stuff that was stolen?”

“I think so. I think they were all from his office.”

“Huh. All of them?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, so the guy started in the office and never got anywhere else. Probably doesn’t mean anything.”

“And Derek was lying across the desk?”

“He must have fallen onto it. There is a picture in here, but you don’t want to look at it.”

“I don’t. The desk was several steps from the door. He would have gone well into the room to reach it.”

“Yeah. That’s pretty obvious in the pictures. Does that mean anything?”

“Just that he went to it. Had he turned the light on?”

“The light was off. Remember, no power.”

“Of course. Well, no, I can’t think of anything.”

“Right-oh, hey, that’s Watts out there. He’s the detective. Hey, Harry!”

A very plain black man came at the call. He was a little stout, and a little gray.

“Hi, Frank. This your guy?”

“Charles Beale,” Charles said.

“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Watts said.

“I showed him some pages,” Mr. Kelly said. “Nothing jumped out.”

“I appreciate being allowed,” Charles said.

“It’s okay.” Mr. Watts seemed only politely interested. “Here’s my card, if you do think of something.”

“Antiques, me,” Frank Kelly said, “murder, him. I’ll walk you back down to the lobby.”

“Oh, dear.”

“After me, the deluge,” Frank Kelly said, watching the torrents of rain from the front door of the police station. “Speaking of Louis the Fifteenth.”

“I think I’ll wait until it’s over.”

“I’ll give you a ride. I’m in the garage.”

“After you,” Charles said.

“ Apres moi.”

Charles followed again through more passages but this time going down, and then Mr. Kelly’s car had to circle back up through the maze of the garage.

“Do you know anything about antique desks?” Charles asked.

“Bastien’s desk? I asked a few people about it. Honaker four-drawer pedestal, 1875.”

“What is Honaker?”

“Manufacturer. Honaker and Sons, Philadelphia.”

“Could you find out who bought it at the auction?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. They’d probably just tell me if I asked, or else I’d get a warrant. But I don’t know if it’s hooked up with the art thefts. You’ve got to be careful.” The car came out into brilliant sunlight.

“And now the rain is over,” Charles said. “You could just drop me off at a Metro station if you want. You don’t have to take me to Alexandria.”

“No problem. I got a call to make in Leesburg next. That’ll take the rest of the day. Yeah, you’ve got to be careful asking some people questions. Somebody important might have bought that desk for some reason, and they find out I was asking about it with no good reason, that’ll be a mess. I’ll go anywhere I need to, but I watch the lines real careful.”

“Do you think there is any chance it is connected with the burglaries?”

“I don’t see it. How could it?”

“I don’t know.”

“But, sure, I’ve thought about it, and I’ve been poking around a little. But I don’t see enough connection yet to do any real investigating.”

“Poking around?”

“Right. I read up on it, called a few crooks who might know anything.”

“Crooks?”

“Shots in the dark. With crooks, you don’t have to worry as much about them blowing a whistle because you’re going outside the line.”

“I see. Do you know a lot of crooks, Mr. Kelly?”

“That’s my job. At least my guys are usually a little higher up the scale than muggers. And that makes me wonder what you’re doing with that friend of yours.”

“Which friend?”

“Your night watchman.”

“Oh. Angelo. That’s a long story.”

“I know the story. I looked it up.”

“You look up a lot, Mr. Kelly. Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “Just following leads. That’s my job.”

“What lead would that be?”

“Nothing.” Frank Kelly pulled up in front of the bookstore. “Anyway, let me know if you think of anything else.”

“I will.”

“Thanks.”

“And thank you for the ride.”

“Have we sold anything?” Charles asked, walking through the door.

“A Dostoevsky.”

“ Crime and Punishment?”