The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [90]
I smiled. With my telephone evidence, I felt I could be magnanimous. “Still have to link him with a gun of that sort, though.” I held up the copy of Borglan’s phone bill. “I think this might change the, uh, direction of your investigation?”
Art looked at it for a few moments, and at first seemed gratifyingly startled. Then he lowered the phone bill, and gave me the best example I’d ever heard of bending the evidence to fit the theory.
“Insurance scam.” That was all he said, but he did it with such conviction I wondered if I’d missed some printing at the bottom of the bill.
“What?” I truly didn’t understand.
“Insurance scam,” he repeated, patiently “They called Borglan to tell him they were inside. He must have commissioned them to break in while he was gone, and was going to split the insurance take with them.”
I was speechless. So was George, who’d been in the rest room, and had stepped back into my office just as I’d showed the phone bill to Art.
“I’m thinking that, when Fred heard just how much the take was going to be,” continued Art, “he decided to kill the brothers and keep it all for himself.”
Ignoring, of course, the likelihood that Fred wasn’t in the house. That there wasn’t enough “take” in the whole house to make that worthwhile, anyway.
Any thoughts of clueing Art in evaporated. So, that left me right where I was, with the additional burden of keeping Art busy, but also keeping him ineffective. The last thing I wanted was for him to pop up at the wrong time, and blow the whole case. Accomplishing that could be a career in itself. Getting rid of him temporarily, though, turned out to be pretty easy.
Lamar stuck his head in the door and asked where we wanted to eat.
“Let’s go up to the boat,” I said, “and have lunch with Hester.” My unstated plan worked, as Art excused himself by saying that he wanted to talk with Fred’s attorney about an interview with Fred. Fat chance. But a distraction for him. All well and good.
We went in my car, and on the way, I handed the photos that Shamrock had taken over to Lamar and George.
“Check out the dude in the rear. I never saw the man, but I’m told that might be Gabriel.”
Lamar just shrugged. He’d never actually seen Gabriel, either.
George had seen at least a photo. He was pretty quiet as he looked at the photo. Then he put it down and leaned up into the front seat between Lamar and myself. “I believe it’s him,” he said. “When was this taken?”
I told him, and he got on his cell phone. We could hear him talking softly in the backseat, but couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. I knew it had to be Volont, though. Just by the tone of George’s voice.
As we drove down the bluff-side road into town, you could see the General Beauregard tied up at her own dock, all white and glittery in the sun. The Beau, as they called her locally, was a Mississippi River boat, a false side-wheeler, with the tall, almost delicate smokestacks that Mark Twain would have seen every day on the river. She was a false side-wheeler because she was really driven by a screw at the stern, with two bow thrusters for maneuvering. The big paddle wheels were for show. The main deck was about three feet off the water, with the top of the stacks clearing at about seventy-five feet. She was especially pretty from a distance. As you got closer, the red neon tubing on the side-wheels got a little much. She’d been glitzed up for the gaming trade.
She was moored alongside her own pier, which also supported a large restaurant and entertainment pavilion, with offices on the third and fourth floors.
We three walked down the dock, and I was, as usual, amazed at the number of people on and around the boat. She was about two hundred and fifty feet long, and three decks were full of gaming machines, tables, and bars. They told me that she could carry nine hundred gamblers, and I had no reason