Steven Havill - One Perfect Shot

“The best thing to do,” I said judiciously, and hesitated as I frowned at the steering wheel, “is to hand this over to Tom Mears to handle. He’s careful, thoughtful, thorough…” I stopped there, amused at the expression on Estelle’s dark face. Deputy Mears could handle the art case thoroughly and efficiently, and, I was willing to bet, the young lady would bite her tongue and go with it. But she didn’t know me well enough yet to realize my suggestion was in jest.

“You really don’t want to sit dispatch, do you,” I laughed. “Any excuse at all.”

“I’m looking forward to it, sir. It’s just that…”

“All right, then, what do you want to do? What do you think your next step should be?”

Her relief was palpable. “At least we might talk with Mr. Raught again, sir. I want to know how he acquired that artwork.”

“And if he chooses not to tell us?”

“I think he will, sir. He’s too proud of it not to.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “And if it’s an innocent fake, acquired legally?”

“I’ll apologize to him for wasting his time, sir.”

“And if it is, in fact, the original Orosco?”

“Then it needs to be returned to its home in Veracruz.”

“If you’re tied up with dispatch tomorrow,” and I glanced at my watch, “that means we should go after this today.”

“Yes, sir.” She managed not to sound too eager.

I sighed. “There’s always something else on the horizon in this job,” I said. “All right, we’ll go see Jim Raught. After some dinner, we’ll pay the gentleman a visit.” Estelle Reyes looked down and smoothed the leather cover of her soft brief case, forcing patience. “That’s one thing you’ll learn as you go along, sweetheart. When a few minutes present themselves to enjoy a green chile burrito, you take ’em.”