The Angel Singers (18 page)

“Really?” Stella Conrad said, leaning forward in her chair. “How exciting! I love detective stories. Who was the victim, and how was he killed?”

“He was an acquaintance of Jonathan’s in the Gay Men’s Chorus,” I said. “He died when someone planted a bomb in his car.” While I addressed my answer to her, I kept Johnson in my peripheral vision. There was no discernible reaction.

“We read about that!” Hunter Pyle said. “Terrible way to die.”

“But quick,” his partner observed.

“So, how is the investigation going, if you can talk about it,” Stella’s husband Ernest asked. “Any prime suspects?”

I laughed. “Too many, I’m afraid. The victim wasn’t exactly in line for a Mr. Nice Guy award.”

At this point, Johnnie-Mae appeared in the doorway to announce that dinner was ready, and the conversation paused as we all moved into the dining room.

*

The subject of Johnson’s being an art dealer had been mentioned several times, and I had to admit I was impressed that he didn’t immediately jump in and start spreading his net for new customers. I suspected that, like any good fisherman, he had the patience to wait until the fish came to him.

Ernest Conrad broached the subject as Johnnie-Mae was removing the salad plates.

“So, where do you find your clients?” he asked.

Johnson smiled. “Usually, they find me. Most of my new clients are friends of other clients.”

Subtle,
I thought.

“Do you have a showroom?” Porter Meade asked. “I have a conference in New York next month, and we’d love to stop by and see it.”

“Sorry, I’ve never found the need for one,” Johnson said modestly. “I do this more or less as a hobby. I have several personal contacts in Europe who put me in touch with private parties who, for one reason or another, wish or need to divest themselves of part or all of their collections. If you’d be interested in something specific, I’d be happy to see what I could find for you.”

Bait dangled.

“I appreciate that,” Porter said. “Be sure to give me your card before we leave.”

And we have a bite!

I have to hand it to Johnson—he played it very casually and gave the impression he knew what he was talking about. But that, after all, is what con artists do.

*

All-in-all, a very pleasant evening, which broke up around ten. The Conrads were the first to indicate they were ready to leave, and I took the opportunity to offer Johnson a ride to his hotel.

“That’s kind of you, but I can easily take a cab,” he said.

“It’s no bother.” At one point in the evening, I’d heard him mention he was staying at the Montero. “The Montero’s practically on our way home.”

Jonathan gave me a quick glance, knowing the Montero was, in fact, quite a bit out of our way, but said nothing, understanding that I wanted the chance to talk with Johnson outside the group setting.

“Well, if you’re sure it won’t be an imposition…”

We took our leave of the Glicks shortly thereafter, and Arnold made sure I overhead his making arrangements to meet Johnson at the Montero at ten the next morning.

*

As we got to the car, Jonathan started to get into the back seat so that Johnson could sit beside me to make conversation easier, but Johnson insisted on sitting in the back.

“That way, you won’t have to change seats when you drop me off,” he said.

Actually, I was glad that he did—having Jonathan switch from back to front would have involved getting his fingerprints on both door handles. This way, only Johnson’s would be on the back.

“Do you know many people here?” I asked as we drove toward his hotel.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I know a few people who are into art who might be interested in meeting you.”

“Really?”

I could sense his attention level rising.

“Yes. I’m thinking particularly of Crandall Booth, who owns several car dealerships. I know he’s recently taken an interest in art.”

While I didn’t turn directly to him when I mentioned Booth’s name, I did glance in the rearview mirror and thought I noticed a flicker of…something…cross his face. It may have been the reflection of a passing streetlight, but I made note of it, nonetheless.

“Perhaps I could set up a meeting with him for you,” I suggested.

“That’s nice of you, but I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Perhaps on my next visit.”

Hmmm. Playing it cool, or was it that he recognized Booth’s name? I decided to step a bit further out onto thin ice.

“Interestingly, the victim of the murder I’m investigating was Booth’s…house guest…at the time he was killed.”

“Is he a suspect?” he asked.

“He’s not been ruled out. But I must say, Booth’s been very secretive when it comes to the details of exactly how they got together. They met in Atlanta, is all I know.” Glancing into the mirror, I caught another flicker, but there was no passing streetlight this time.

I hoped indicating I didn’t know much about Grant’s background might forestall Johnson wondering if I were on to him—assuming that he and Robert Smith were the same person.

“A lovely city, Atlanta,” he observed. “I’ve not been there in years, but I always enjoy it.”

I do love games, and had no doubt now we were playing one.

“Would you happen to have another card on you? Perhaps I could give it to Crandall next time I see him.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, took on a puzzled look and withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I seem to have given the last one I had on me to Porter.”

“No problem,” I assured him. “Perhaps next time you’re in town we can get together.”

I reached into my own shirt pocket with my right hand, took out one of my own business cards and handed it to him over my shoulder.

“That would be nice,” he said.

As we pulled up in front of the Montero, he leaned forward and extended his hand. “Thank you for the ride. Nice to have met you, Jonathan.”

Jonathan turned to shake hands.

“Likewise,” he said.

They released the handshake, and Johnson got out. He closed the door, bent down to give a wave through the window and strode into the hotel.

“That was odd,” Jonathan said as I pulled away from the curb.

“What was?”

“I saw him give his card to Doctor Meade,” he said, “and he had a bunch of them. I saw him put them back into his pocket.”

Chapter 9

Well, I obviously had quite a bit of thinking to do about Kenneth Johnson, and I knew I should do it before calling the Glicks first thing in the morning. I knew they expected my impressions before their ten o’clock meeting with him at the Montero.

But this was Jonathan’s and my first full evening alone together in what seemed like an eternity, and as I knew would happen, the minute we got back to the apartment Grant Jefferson and Kenneth Johnson and everything else took a back seat to us being us. I should have felt guilty, but I didn’t.

After Jonathan finally fell asleep around two, I opened the closet of my thoughts. Johnson’s not wanting to give me his business card was a little pointless, since I’m sure he knew I could get the information from the Glicks. Whether or not he suspected the reason why Jonathan and I were at dinner I couldn’t say. I think we covered it quite well, and I had gone out of my way to avoid giving him specific reason to think I was targeting him. Still, the guy was far from stupid, and I was sure the very presence of a private investigator, no matter how innocent, would be enough to put him on guard.

So, what did I think of him? With absolutely no solid evidence to back it up, I was sure that Kenneth Johnson and Robert Smith were the same person. In dealing with him, the Glicks were opening themselves up to being scammed. If I was wrong and he was legit, what would the Glicks be out, really? They could pursue their art collecting from any number of other unquestionably legitimate sources.

But for them to close the door on Johnson before I was able to determine whether he might, as I suspected, have been in town at the time Grant was killed would be to risk his disappearing into other identities and who knows what other locations.

The Glicks had been vague as to exactly when Johnson had first come into town, and I hadn’t pressed them on it; but now I really wanted to see if I could pin them down, or if they might be able to check the date on any receipt or paperwork they may have exchanged on their first purchase from him.

I wasn’t sure whether or not to let them know that my interest in Johnson went beyond their immediate concerns. If he were, by some chance, legit, this wouldn’t be exactly fair to him, but on the other hand, if I didn’t mention it, they might think I’d been hiding things from them. I definitely did not want that.

*

Jonathan awoke me in a most unusual but pleasant way Sunday morning.

“Hey, it’s our last chance before Joshua comes home—we might as well take advantage of it.”

I like the way that boy thinks.

Later, while he was in the shower, I threw on a robe out of habit and went into the living room to call the Glicks. It was only eight fifteen, but I hoped they’d be up.

Iris answered, since Sunday was Johnnie-Mae’s day off. After thanking her for a pleasant evening, I asked if Arnold might be able to pick up another phone so I could talk with them both.

“One moment,” she said. “I’ll get him.”

There was a brief pause and then Arnold’s “Good morning, Dick. I was hoping you might call. Did you have the chance to form any opinions of Kenneth Johnson?”

“Yes, I did. He’s very convincing, but then, that’s part of being a con man. Based mostly on instinct and another matter, I would advise against making any sizable investment in him at the moment.”

“Another matter?” Arnold asked.

I paused, not sure exactly how to proceed. So, as always, I jumped in.

“I’m afraid there’s considerably more involved here than whether Johnson is a con man or not.” I quickly outlined the situation and circumstances surrounding Grant Jefferson’s murder, and my belief that Kenneth Johnson was not only a scam artist but was also known as Robert Smith and may possibly have been involved in Grant’s death.

“Can you possibly check your records for the exact date Johnson first came to town to see you?”

“Of course,” Arnold replied. “And I must say I’m shocked by all of this. We’ll cancel our meeting with him immediately.”

“Ahh, please don’t do that,” I said. “I know I haven’t any right to drag you into all this, but if you give Johnson any indication that you’re on to him, I’m afraid he’ll disappear into another identity and move on to scam someone else.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“Nothing that you wouldn’t have done if we’d not had this conversation. I assume he didn’t bring any pieces with him that he’s expecting you to buy today?”

“No…he said he had photos of several pieces he thought might interest us, which he’ll be showing us this morning. Frankly, if he made a habit of wandering around the country with a suitcase full of antiquities, I’d have closed the door on this long ago.”

“Good. So, we have some leeway here as far as time is concerned. While I hate to ask you to risk a cent of your own money, you mentioned that the deposit he asked for on the first piece you bought from him was reasonable?”

“Yes. Generally ten percent of the purchase price, which we feel is both logical and reasonable and an investment we would happily make if you think Johnson might conceivably be involved in a murder. We’ll be happy to do whatever we can to keep him from slipping away.”

“That’s really very kind of you,” I said and meant it sincerely. “And in the meantime, I would suggest you take your earlier purchase to a professional appraiser. If, by chance, it was stolen shortly before you bought it, it may not have had time to appear on stolen goods lists when you first took it for authentication. But now that some time has passed…”

“An excellent idea,” Arnold said. “I’ll put in a call to Doctor Gunderson at Mountjoy to see if he knows of an appraiser. I doubt he would have access to stolen property lists, but he may be able to refer us to a dealer who would.

“In the meantime, we’ll play it by ear and see what develops. We’ll call you this afternoon, say around two?”

“That will be fine. And I really appreciate your going out of your way like this.”

“We’re glad to help,” Iris said. “And now we’d better finish getting ready for our meeting.”

We exchanged good-byes, and I heard Jonathan enter the room as I hung up.

“Are you going to try to make church today?” I asked as I turned around to see him standing there, naked as a jaybird, toweling his hair. “…and don’t do that!” I added hastily.

“Do what?” he asked, innocently, still toweling.

I gave a flip of my hand toward his nakedness. “That,” I said. “We’ve got to go pick up Joshua before midnight, and this ain’t helping.”

He grinned and sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. But it feels kind of nice to wander around in the altogether.”

“No argument from me there,” I said, fighting off the urge to strip down myself. “But about church…?”