The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [50]
His “Norman” didn’t take me by surprise. We had met several times at occasions given by Heinie and Merissa.
“Max,” I said, shaking his bejeweled hand and sitting down in a comfortable chair opposite.
He tented his glittering fingers and let the white gleam of his smile fade to an expression of spurious concern. “I was sorry to hear about the … situation you find yourself in.” His voice went with the eyes, hard, but with the promise of charm. Again, he struck me as too big for this station in life, even if the ample half-moon window, stretching nearly to the floor, gave out on the riverside park where the New Humber wended its way through the city to the harbor.
“Well, that’s why I’m here, Max,” I said, regarding him steadily.
“Really?” His eyes looked away and came back. “How can I help you?” The promise of charm grew more pronounced even as his mouth took on a tentative twist.
“As you know, I’ve been charged as an accessory in the murder of Heinie. Which, in my position, could prove ruinous.”
“I follow you.”
“So I’m trying to find out as best I can what happened the night Heinie was murdered.”
“Okay. But I’m not sure I can help you.”
I looked out the window for a moment at a woman walking a Great Dane along the embankment. I could feel my jaw tightening as my personality morphed into that of the blunt-talking private investigator. In this persona, my diction grows more clipped and my gaze becomes relentless. It is a version of myself that I don’t particularly admire, but which I know is necessary if people are going to take me seriously.
I said, “When did you learn that de Buitliér was investigating the collection Heinie gave to the museum?”
“When I read it in the paper. Same as most everyone. How is it relevant?”
“I’m going to be frank, Max …”
“Of course. All cards on the table.” But he gave me a poker smile.
“I’m interested in motive. Who might want Heinie dead?”
“Okay. And you think I gave Heinie a collection of fakes. He found out about them and threatened to expose me. To keep him quiet, I shot him.”
“Something like that.”
He laughed and shook his head. His voice had just a hint of condescension in it when he said, “Norman … I run an international mail-order coin business serving some of the top collectors in this country, in Asia, the Middle East, and Europe. The world is full of suckers, but the people I deal with are not among them.”
“Except, perhaps, for Heinie?”
“Especially not Heinie. He may have been a fool in other ways, but not when it came to coins. He had what I would call ‘the touch.’ He turned down what I considered high quality at times, and upon further examination he almost always proved right. Indeed, when anything I thought dubious came over the counter and I needed a second opinion, I held my nose and turned to Heinie.”
“How do you explain the wholesale duplication then of the collection he gave us?”
“I suspect he had his cake and got to eat it. He gave you coins, got a huge tax break, and got to keep the originals.”
“Who might have made the forgeries for him?”
Max shrugged in a way that told me he wouldn’t tell even if he knew. “The best forgeries used to come out of Italy. Then Bulgaria. The Lipanov stuff. Now it’s gone high-tech.”
“What about around here?”
“Oh, I’m sure there are people doing it. Some of them as a hobby. There are fake coin collectors, you know. Or, rather, collectors of fake coins.”
I nodded, satisfied. Then I said, “You and Merissa were and are having an affair.”
“So? What, motive again?”
I leaned into him. “Max, I have it on good authority that Heinie came right into this office not long ago, took out a revolver, and threatened to kill you if you ever saw Merissa again.”
Max’s attempt at a derisive laugh shriveled to a huh, huh sound. He shook his head most unconvincingly.