Iron Orchid (Holly Barker 5)

“I see your point, but I’m sure you’ll find ways around that. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Holly’s breakfast arrived, and she played with it a little, dreading what she had to say. “I think I might have met Teddy last night at the opera.”

Lance set down his coffee cup and stared at her. “You met him?”

“I was standing outside the Met, looking for Teddy, and this elderly man with a bad toupee and a cane walked up to me and asked if I’d like to be his guest for the opera.”

“Teddy’s supposed to be quite a makeup artist,” Lance said. “I should think that if he wanted hair, he’d make it look real.”

“That was my thought, too. He leaned on me going into the hall, said he’d had a knee replacement, and the recovery was taking longer than he’d thought. He said his name was Hyman Baum and he was a retired garment center businessman, a dress manufacturer. He said his father had had the firm before him, and his son had it now. He said he’d been going to the opera there since the sixties, and that’s why his seats were so good.”

“Where were the seats?”

“Row H, two and four.”

“That would take some doing at the Met; the best seats are held by long-time subscribers. What about him made you think he might be Teddy, and if you thought so, why didn’t you call for backup?”

“Once we were inside, it never crossed my mind that he might be Teddy, but after we left the building, after I’d declined dinner or a drink with him, I saw him running after a taxi, waving his cane.”

“Running after a taxi with a new knee replacement? I don’t think so.”

“Neither do I. But I didn’t think of that until ten minutes later, when I was on the way home in a cab.”

“Any idea which way his taxi went?”

“No, it could have gone anywhere-the East Side, the Village, the Bronx.”

“Describe him as accurately as you can,” Lance said, taking out a notebook.

“Blue eyes, close to six feet-I’m five-nine, and I was wearing three-inch heels, and we were eye to eye-fairly slender, maybe one-sixty; pale complexion, bags under his eyes, good teeth (too good for his age, maybe dentures, maybe prosthetic, part of the makeup); curved nose; fastidiously dressed but off-the-rack clothes, I think; liver spots on the back of his hands, and his hands looked strong. And, as I said, bad toupee: too low on the forehead, too thick, and the gray on top didn’t quite match the gray over his ears.”

“We could put you with a sketch artist, but I don’t think it would do us any good. If he wasn’t Teddy, it will just be a distraction; if he was, then the nose, the liver spots, the bags under the eyes could be makeup.”

“Maybe Hyman Baum is the identity he’s using; shall we cheek it out?”

“I’ll talk to Kerry and get some of his FBI agents on that; they’re more accustomed to background checks than we are. Did he say where he lived?”

“No, though he asked me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I was a widow, and I was staying with friends, before continuing to London. He also asked me to go to the opera with him the following week; he has seats every Friday night, apparently the same seats.”

“Well,” said Lance, “we’ll certainly be going to the opera next Friday night, and we’ll have seats H two and four surrounded. You were right to tell me about this, Holly. How did you do with the record store… what’s it called?”

“It’s called Aria, on East Forty-third.”

“That’s the one.”

“Ty went in, but I’m afraid the woman in charge reacted poorly to having an FBI agent in her store. I’m planning to go back and see what I can do with her.”

“See if you can soften Tyler up a little, will you? I’m afraid he’s the sort of young agent J. Edgar Hoover would have loved.”

“I’m trying.”

“Anything else you can remember about Mr. Baum?”

Holly thought hard. “That’s it, I think.” She felt humiliated and angry to have come so close to the man and to have let him walk so easily. She was beginning to really want him.