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It was then that I remembered the detail that had been tantalizing me to the point of distraction for weeks: Heinie had been wearing gloves. He had cold hands even in warm weather. I looked at de Buitliér. “You also removed his gloves, didn’t you?” I swear I could have punched him in the face, such was my anger.

“No, why would I?”

“To make it look like a murder,” Lieutenant Tracy said. He stood up and disconnected the cell phone. “I’ll be taking this for the time being. It obviously clears you of von Grümh’s murder. But you may still be charged with tampering with evidence.”

“For what crime, may I ask?” De Buitliér had some of his old confidence back. “Suicide was decriminalized in this state several years ago.”

“Then why did you take the gun?”

“Someone else might have found it and used it to commit a crime.”

With uncharacteristic sarcasm, the lieutenant said, “You mean you were being a public-minded citizen?”

“You could say that.”

“Why didn’t you just lock the car?”

“I didn’t think of it.”

The police officers asked him a few more questions and told him not to leave town without calling first. Turning to me, the lieutenant said, “I’ll call you. Good work.”

When they had left, I regarded de Buitliér for a long minute. “So why?” I asked finally.

“Why what?”

“Why not come forward when I got accused of accessory to murder?”

A red flush of anger suffused his face, but he kept his voice in check. “Why not?” He stood up and pointed his finger at me. “Because people like you … you look down on people like me. You get all the credit and we do all the work. But I got my own back, didn’t I?”

“You did it deliberately just to get at me?”

“Don’t pride yourself. I did it … for reasons of my own.”

“You did it because Malachy Morin promised you that he would name you director of the MOM if you found a way to get me out of the way?”

He shrugged as though to say, So what?

“And the fake coins were only a start?”

“Yeah, that was nice. And I kept my eyes open. Then I heard about the problems with the Neanderthal exhibit.”

“And you leaked that to the Bugle?”

“Leaked? No, I just turned on the spigot.”

“And you took the gun more to discredit me than to honor your promise to Heinie?”

“I did. The fact that it was your gun was a bonus.”

I turned to go. I stopped at the door. I tried to think of something utterly damning to say to him. But nothing sufficed. It would be like trying to insult a cockroach. “Keep packing” was all I said.

25

From where I lounge I can see a rubythroat preening its gossamer wings with its long, slender bill. I have read that they use spider silk to line the tiny nests in which they lay their tiny eggs. Yet what large, enchanted lives they lead, including an annual round-trip to Mexico or thereabouts. To watch in angled light one of these creatures stationary in flight over a nectarous, deep-throated flower is to know that evolution, among other things, is the wellspring of beauty.

I am rusticating. Some golden days of summer remain, and I have retreated to the cottage by the lake with Diantha, Elsie, and Decker. Here I spend hours drowsing on the porch, book or notebook in hand, undergoing something akin to isostatic rebound — the slow rising of compressed land after an ice age, when high glaciers retreat and release all beneath from their cold, heavy grip.

There are the usual loose ends to this sad case of Heinrich von Grümh. The original coins have not been found. According to Lieutenant Tracy, Interpol reports that the person known as Alain LeBlanc has lived up to his name. I picture him enjoying life in some Swiss lodge with a mountain view as he moves his loot, a few coins at a time, to private collectors not overly scrupulous about their provenance.

Which doesn’t trouble me unduly. Valuable things have a way of taking care of themselves. The coins will gather in other collections. Those collections will be bought and sold and perhaps donated to museums by wealthy numismatists (provided they are honored for doing so and provided