Clive Cussler: Pirate

“No, sir. But forewarned is forearmed.”

No luck?” Sam asked as Remi called Bree Marshall’s number again. They had just arrived by taxi at the new San Francisco Police Headquarters, at Mission Bay, after being contacted by Sergeant Fauth, who wanted to ask a few more questions.

“Her phone must be off,” Remi replied, disconnecting. She didn’t bother leaving a voice mail. She’d left one last night after the robbery, and this morning as well, telling Bree to call them at the Ritz-Carlton or call her cell as soon as possible. The last thing she wanted was for her friend to learn what happened to her uncle from a phone message. “I feel so bad. Between the robbery and — now this…”

“I’m sure she’ll call soon. Let’s see what the investigators have learned since yesterday.”

“Hope it’s good news. We could use some.” The salt-tinged wind gusted at them, and she wrapped her jacket tight to ward off the chill. “What on earth am I going to tell her when she calls?”

“Maybe she already knows and that’s why she’s not answering.”

Sam held open the glass door, and the two walked inside the lobby to the left, where a few security guards waited to screen those entering.

Once through security, they checked in with an officer who was sitting behind a glass window, Sam saying, “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo to see Sergeant Fauth.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“He is. Regarding yesterday’s bookstore robbery.”

She picked up the phone, repeated the information to whoever answered, then told Sam, “Sergeant Fauth’s not here. But his partner, Sergeant Trevino, will be right down.”

A dark-haired man stepped off the elevator about two minutes later, introducing himself. “Have to apologize for my partner’s absence. Something came up,” he said, escorting them to an interview room. “And, naturally, we’re sorry for making you come all the way down here. But after Gerald Pickering’s death, we’re upgrading the case to a homicide.”

Sam held the chair for Remi, then took the seat beside her. “The paper led us to believe his death was possibly due to a heart attack.”

“And it may very well have been. Of course, we won’t know until the findings of the autopsy are complete. But in our minds, the timing is suspect. We’re looking at all angles. Either way, the crime was violent, and we’d like to catch the suspect.” He opened his notebook, turned a page, saying, “I believe you told my partner yesterday that you were in Chinatown specifically to look for a book? Can you tell me why this particular shop?”

“A personal recommendation,” Remi said. “I’d been searching for a specific book as a gift for my husband. I found out about it through Mr. Pickering’s niece, Bree Marshall.”

“And how do you know her?”

“She’s done some volunteer work for the Fargo Foundation.”

“Family business?”

“Family charitable organization,” she said. After Sam had left DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, to start his own business, he met and married Remi. With her encouragement, he invented the argon laser scanner, a device that at a distance could detect and identify mixed metals and alloys. There was an instant market. Four years later, they sold the Fargo Group to the highest bidder, securing the future for the rest of their lives. From there, they started the Fargo Foundation.

“Bree Marshall,” she continued, “helped us on our last fund-raiser for a new branch at the La Jolla Library. She’s the one who mentioned that her uncle was trying to find a good home for an early-eighteenth-century book on pirates and maritime maps.”

He looked up from his notes. “This would be the book we believe was stolen from the safe?”

“I never actually saw the book taken from the safe. Only the box. But I was definitely under the impression she was referring to a first edition.”

“Because…?”

“Mostly the way she talked about how her uncle would be so pleased to find someone who would appreciate it for its historical value.”

Sergeant Trevino eyed them, his pen poised over his notebook. “I understand you’re professional treasure hunters?”

“We are,” Sam said. “With the proceeds going to charity through the Fargo Foundation.”

“I’ll admit to knowing very little about rare books. But, seeing as how it was a book of pirates and maps, is it possible that someone stole this book because they thought it would lead them to some long-forgotten pirate treasure?”

Remi laughed. “I suppose anything’s possible. Honestly, though, had it not been for Mr. Pickering’s niece saying he had a first edition for sale and us being in the area around the same time, I doubt I would have sought it out.”

“Assuming the stolen book was a first edition, how much are we talking?”

“Depending on the condition…” Remi had researched the book when she’d first considered buying it for Sam. “I’ve seen copies for sale from several hundred dollars to a couple thousand. It’s not a particularly valuable book because it was popular in its day. There are still a lot of first editions out there. For us, it was more sentimental,” she said, placing her hand on Sam’s.

“Exactly,” Sam said. “We enjoy maritime history.”

Sergeant Trevino closed his notebook. “That’s about all I have for now. Unless either of you can think of anything we might’ve overlooked?”

“Not at the moment,” Sam replied.

And Remi added, “We’ll call if we think of anything else.”

“Thanks again for coming all the way out here.”

He escorted them back to the lobby.

Remi, about to follow Sam out the door, asked, “What’s going to happen to Mr. Wickham?”

Sergeant Trevino’s brows went up.

“The bookseller’s cat.”

“Right. I believe Pickering’s next-door neighbor came by to pick it up. He’ll be well cared for until we hear from Pickering’s niece or his daughter and find out what she wants to do with it.”

“Have you been in touch with either of them?” she asked.

“Not yet. I think his daughter lives on the East Coast. As for his niece, we have the number you provided. We’ll try to reach her through that.” He thanked them again, then headed back toward the elevator.

Back at the hotel, Sam handed his keys to the valet. “Not quite the relaxing diversion I’d hoped San Francisco would be.”

She sighed. “I suppose that’s my fault for suggesting we go to the bookstore to begin with. I thought the book would add to the nautical theme of your new office.”

“I’ll enjoy the reproduction as much, if not more. Especially with its checkered past.”

“And where is it we’re off to?” she asked as they walked into the lobby.

“First to get our luggage. Then a drive down the coast to Monterey.”

“Dinner and key lime pie at Roy’s?”

Before he had a chance to answer, they were met by the on-duty manager, his face etched with concern. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. I can’t tell you how very sorry I am. And if there’s anything I can do, I — nothing like this has ever happened before. At least not as long as I’ve worked here.”

“What’s never happened before?” Sam asked.

“The police. They came with a warrant to search through your things.”

“A warrant?” Remi asked, certain she’d misunderstood. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine anything they might’ve done that would result in a police investigation.

“We tried to call you, but it went straight to voice mail.”

They’d both turned off the ringers on their cell phones while being interviewed by Sergeant Trevino.

Sam asked, “You have a copy of the warrant?”