John Grisham - Camino Island

“Anything to drink?” she asked.

Elaine yielded to Mercer, who quickly said, “I need a martini. Up with gin, and dirty.”

“I’ll have a Manhattan,” Elaine said.

When the waitress was gone, Mercer said, “I suppose you travel a lot.”

“Yes, too much, I guess. I have two kids in college. My husband works for the Department of Energy and is on a plane five days a week. I got tired of sitting in an empty house.”

“And this is what you do? You track down stolen goods?”

“We do a lot of things, but, yes, this is my primary area. I’ve studied art my entire life and sort of stumbled into this line of work. Most of our cases deal with stolen and forged paintings. Occasionally some sculpture, though it’s more difficult to steal. There is a lot of theft these days in books, manuscripts, ancient maps. Nothing, though, like the Fitzgerald case. We’re throwing all we have at it, and for obvious reasons.”

“I have a lot of questions.”

Elaine shrugged and said, “I have a lot of time.”

“And they’re in no particular order. Why doesn’t the FBI take the lead in something like this?”

“It does have the lead. Its Rare Asset Recovery Unit is superb and hard at work. The FBI almost broke the case within the first twenty-four hours. One of the thieves, a Mr. Steengarden, left a drop of blood at the crime scene, just outside the vault. The FBI caught him and his partner, one Mark Driscoll, and locked them away. We suspect that the other thieves got spooked and disappeared, along with the manuscripts. Frankly, we think the FBI moved too fast. Had they kept the first two under intense surveillance for a few weeks, they might have led the FBI to the rest of the gang. That seems even more likely now, with the benefit of perfect hindsight.”

“Does the FBI know about your efforts to recruit me?”

“No.”

“Does the FBI suspect Bruce Cable?”

“No, or at least I don’t think so.”

“So there are parallel investigations. Yours and theirs.”

“To the extent that we don’t share all information, then, yes, we are often on two different tracks.”

“But why?”

The drinks arrived and the waitress asked if there were any questions. Since neither had touched a menu, they politely shooed her away. The place was filling up quickly, and Mercer glanced around to see if she recognized anyone. She did not.

Elaine took a sip, smiled, set her glass on the table, and thought about her answer. “If we suspect a thief has possession of a stolen painting or book or map, then we have ways of verifying this. We use the latest technology, the fanciest gadgets, the smartest people. Some of our technicians are former intelligence agents. If we verify the presence of the stolen object, either we notify the FBI, or we go in. Depends on the case and no two are remotely similar.”

“You go in?”

“Yes. Keep in mind, Mercer, we are dealing with a thief who’s hiding something valuable, something our client has insured for a lot of money. It doesn’t belong to him, and he’s always looking for a way to sell it for big money. That makes each situation rather tense. The clock is always ticking, yet we have to show great patience.” Another small sip. She was choosing her words carefully. “The police and FBI have to worry about such things as probable cause and search warrants. We’re not always constrained by these constitutional formalities.”

“So you break and enter?”

“We never break, but sometimes we enter, and only for purposes of verification and retrieval. There are very few buildings that we cannot ease into quietly, and when it comes to hiding their loot a lot of thieves are not nearly as clever as they think they are.”

“Do you tap phones, hack into computers?”

“Well, let’s say we occasionally listen.”

“So you break the law?”

“We call it operating in the gray areas. We listen, we enter, we verify, then, in most cases, we notify the FBI. They do their thing with proper search warrants, and the art is returned to its owner. The thief goes to prison, and the FBI gets all the credit. Everybody is happy, perhaps with the exception of the thief, and we’re not too worried about his feelings.”

With her third sip, the gin was settling in and Mercer began to relax. “So, if you’re so good, why not just sneak into Cable’s vault and check it out?”

“Cable is not a thief, and he appears to be smarter than the average suspect. He seems very cautious, and this makes us even more suspicious. A false move here or there, and the manuscripts could vanish again.”

“But if you’re listening and hacking and watching his movements, why can’t you catch him?”

“I didn’t say we were doing all that. We may, and soon, but right now we just need more intelligence.”

“Has anyone in your company ever been charged with doing something illegal?”

“No, not even close. Again, we play in the gray, and when the crime is solved who cares?”

“Maybe the thief. I’m no lawyer, but couldn’t the thief scream about an illegal search?”

“Maybe you should be a lawyer.”

“I can’t think of anything worse.”

“The answer is no. The thief and his lawyer have no clue that we’re even involved. They’ve never heard of us and we leave no fingerprints.”

There was a long pause as they concentrated on their cocktails and glanced at the menus. The waitress hustled by and Elaine politely informed her that they were in no hurry. Mercer eventually said, “It looks as though you’re asking me to do a job that could possibly involve getting into one of your gray areas, which is a euphemism for breaking the law.”

At least she was thinking about it, Elaine thought to herself. After the abrupt termination of lunch she was convinced Mercer was history. The challenge now was to close the deal.

“Not at all,” Elaine reassured her. “And what law might you be breaking?”

“You tell me. You have other people down there. I’m sure they’re not going away. I’m sure they’ll be watching me as closely as they’re watching Cable. So it’s a team, of sorts, a group effort, and I’ll have no idea what my invisible colleagues might be doing.”

“Don’t worry about them. They are highly skilled professionals who have never been caught. Listen, Mercer, you have my word. Nothing we ask you to do is even remotely illegal. I promise.”

“You and I are not close enough to make promises. I don’t know you.”

Mercer drained her martini and said, “I need another.” Alcohol was always important in these meetings, so Elaine drained hers too and waved at the waitress. When the second round arrived, they asked for an order of Vietnamese-style pork and crab spring rolls.

“Tell me about Noelle Bonnet,” Mercer said, easing the tension. “I’m sure you’ve done your research.”

Elaine smiled and said, “Yes, and I’m sure you went online this afternoon and checked her out.”

“I did.”

“She’s published four books now, all on antiques and decorating the Provençal way, so she’s revealed something of herself. She tours a lot, speaks a lot, writes a lot, and spends half the year in France. She and Cable have been together about ten years and seem to be quite the pair. No children. She has one prior divorce; none for him. He doesn’t go to France much, because he rarely leaves the store. Her shop is now next door to his. He owns the building and three years ago kicked out the haberdashery and gave her the space. Evidently, he has nothing to do with her business and she stays away from his, except for entertaining. Her fourth book is about their home, a Victorian just a few blocks from downtown, and it’s worth a look. You want some dirt?”