Lifeguard - James Patterson [78]
“Dennis Stratton, please?”
I told her my name, and she went to find him. I told myself that it was all going to end soon. I’d made promises. To Dave. To Mickey and Bobby and Barney and Dee.
“So, it’s the famous Ned Kelly,” Stratton said when he finally came on the line. “We get a chance to speak. What can I do for you?”
I’d never talked to him directly. I didn’t want to give him a second of phony bullshit. “I have it, Stratton,” was all I said.
“You have what, Mr. Kelly?”
“I have what you’re looking for, Stratton. You were right all along. I have the Gaume.”
There was a pause. He was evaluating just how to react. Whether I was telling the truth, or screwing with him. Setting him up.
“Where are you, Mr. Kelly?” Stratton asked.
“Where am I?” I paused. This wasn’t what I expected.
“I’m asking where you’re calling from, Mr. Kelly? That too difficult for you?”
“I’m close enough,” I replied. “All that matters is, I have your painting.”
“Close enough, eh? Why don’t we put that to the test? You know Chuck and Harold’s?”
“Of course,” I replied, looking nervously at Ellie. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Chuck & Harold’s was a bustling, people-watching watering hole in Palm Beach.
“There’s a pay phone. Near the men’s room. I’ll be calling it in, let’s say, four minutes from now. And I mean exactly, Mr. Kelly. Are you that ‘close enough’? Make sure you’re there to pick it up when it rings. Just you and me.”
“I don’t know if I can make it,” I said, glancing at my watch.
“Then I would scoot, Mr. Kelly. That’s three minutes and fifty seconds from now, and counting. I wouldn’t miss my call if you ever want to discuss this matter again.”
I hung up the phone. I looked at Ellie for a split second.
“Go,” she said.
I ran through the house and into the front courtyard. I hopped into Ellie’s work car. She and the two FBI agents ran behind, climbing into another car. I shoved it into gear and took off through the gate, screeching in a wide arc onto County. I sped the six or seven blocks down to Poinciana as quickly as I could. I took the corner at about forty and screeched to a stop right in front of the place.
I glanced at my watch. Four minutes on the nose. I knew the way to the men’s room. I used to hang out at the bar.
Just as I got there, the phone started ringing.
“Stratton!” I answered.
“I see you are resourceful,” he said, as though he were enjoying the hell out of this. “So, Mr. Kelly, just you and me. No reason to have other people listening on the line. You were saying something about a painting by Henri Gaume. Tell me, what do you have in mind?”
Chapter 97
“I WAS THINKING of handing it over to the police,” I said. “I’m sure they’d be interested in a look.” There was silence on the other end. “Or we could strike a deal.”
“I’m afraid I don’t deal with suspected murderers, Mr. Kelly.”
“That gives us something in common already, Stratton. Usually, neither do I.”
“Nice,” Stratton chuckled. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“I don’t know. Just sentimental, I guess. I heard somewhere it was your wife’s favorite.”
This time Stratton didn’t make a sound. “I am looking for a piece by Henri Gaume. How do I know that what you claim to have is even the right one?”
“Oh, it’s the one. A washerwoman staring into a mirror over a sink. Wearing a simple white apron.” I knew anyone could have gotten ahold of the police report. That description wasn’t exactly proof. “It was in your bedroom hallway the night you had my friends killed.”
“The night they robbed me, Mr. Kelly. Describe the frame.”
“It’s gold,” I said. “Old. With filigree trim.”
“Turn it over. Is there anything written on the back?”
“I don’t have it in front of me,” I said. “Remember, I’m at Chuck and Harold’s?”
“Now that wasn’t very smart, Mr. Kelly,” Stratton said, “for the kind of discussion you have in mind.”
“There’s writing on it,” I said. I knew I was about to reveal something good. “To Liz. Love forever, Dennis. Very touching, Stratton. What a crock.”
“I wasn’t asking for your commentary, Mr. Kelly.”
“Why not? It