If Paris Havemeyer belonged to anyone, it was Chris Shipka, but Jason understood from Jonnie’s conciliatory tone that this was another gesture from Sam. Reassurance that he was not forgetting the work Jason had already put in. Not that Jason had thought he would. Sam had his own reasons for wanting Havemeyer’s body found on that island.
“I’m a team player,” Russell was saying. “What’s good for the team is good for all the players. But what’s good for all the players is not necessarily good for the team…”
Yeah, whatever. Blah, blah, blah. Russell was still so green, he had moss between his ears.
There were several returned calls relating to various other cases, a couple of texts from his sisters regarding birthday party details he did not want to know about, and a message from Hickok.
“Just giving you a heads-up.” Hickok’s normally jovial tone was flat. “No word yet on where Doody might have disappeared to, but I just learned Shepherd Durrand left for Paris last night. One way ticket.”
* * * * *
Though it was three forty-five in the afternoon by the time they landed on his doorstep, Rodney Berguan was not dressed for receiving visitors. He answered the door in a silky green paisley dressing gown, sagging white briefs, and tennis socks.
Berguan looked Jason and Russell up and down, propped a freckled hand on his hip, and drawled, “Whatever church you’re selling, sign me up, boys. Hallelujah!”
He was older than Jason expected. Closer to sixty than forty, and he looked like he’d had a tough life, though it didn’t seem to have dampened his spirits any.
Jason and Russell showed their creds and Berguan seemed astonished and flattered that it was no mistake. They were, in fact, there to see him.
He led the way through a hoarder’s paradise to a small, surprisingly cozy kitchen. A giant white Persian cat crouched on the table lapping liquid from a pink teacup. Berguan did not seem to notice, gesturing Jason and Russell to sit down.
After declining offers of coffee, tea, and, finally, gin and tonic, Jason was finally able to turn Berguan’s attention to the night Paris Havemeyer had disappeared.
Berguan propped his chin in his palm and gazed dreamily into space. “Sure, I remember. Klaus and I were ready to call it a night, but the kid still wanted to party.”
“Klaus?” Jason asked quickly. Was this a new player?
“Don.” Berguan winked at him. “I used to call him Klaus. He liked it.”
Jason didn’t dare look at Russell, but he could hear what he was thinking. “Why did Havemeyer leave the party at the gallery, if he wasn’t ready to go home?”
“Who knows.” Berguan thought it over. “I think Klaus dragged him out. The kid was, well, a little the worse for wear. If you know what I mean. We all were, but he was a goer. And…sometimes those after-party parties could get a little rough.”
“A little rough how?”
Berguan made an AC/DC gesture.
“I’m not sure what that means,” Jason said.
Berguan’s brows shot up. “You really are a choir boy!”
“No, I mean in this particular context.”
“Have you ever met Shepherd Durrand?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should understand. Shep could be very charming. And he could be the cruelest motherfucker you ever wanted to avoid meeting. He liked his boys bruised and bloody, and that’s not an exaggeration. There were the things we saw and rumors of things nobody was meant to see. Klaus was crazy about Shepherd, but I think he felt a little loyalty to a fellow countryman.” Berguan laughed and shook his head. “But you can’t protect someone who doesn’t want to be protected.”
“You think Havemeyer went back to the gallery after you and Kerk let him off at his apartment?”
“No.”
“No?”
Berguan shook his head. He picked his teacup up and sipped. Jason glanced at Russell. He was holding the white Persian. The front of his suitcoat was covered in white fur. His expression was that of one suffering the tortures of the damned. He glared at Jason.
Berguan said finally, “I can’t see that it matters now. Especially if Klaus is dead.” He set his teacup down. “No. It wouldn’t have happened at the gallery. I know the police searched the gallery, but that was a waste of time. He’d have sent the car.”