X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

“How far?”

“Tuesday, the twenty-first.”

He tapped instructions into his keyboard and the tapes on the four cameras I’d designated began a speedy rewind. Time ran backward. The views were populated with a motley collection of worker bees, everybody walking backward, furniture picked up and zipped to the position it was in when it first came into view. The date and hour line sped backward as well.

I watched Thursday rewind into Wednesday. Maurie. Stella. Ari. Movers, maids. Lifting, cleaning, polishing, covering and uncovering furniture. Paintings that had been stacked against the wall flipped back into the hands of those who’d set them in place. The elevator door opened and closed. Pieces were loaded and disappeared. Gradually the hall was emptied of its freight.

Late in the day on Tuesday, I caught sight of myself appearing in the corridor, backing out, then appearing at the front door, which was standing open to foot traffic. Another ten minutes disappeared, and I said, “There. Now let it play forward.”

Ari said, “What is this?”

“Just watch.”

All four tapes now proceeded in something close to real time. There was a slight lapse from shot to shot, so the action had a certain staccato herky-jerky feel to it. I pointed to the camera directed at the drive. At 5:25 P.M., a white panel truck pulled up. A portion of the XLNT logo was visible.

Automatically, Ari said, “That’s not mine.”

“I know.”

A man in dark blue coveralls got out of the truck on the passenger side. Mustache, glasses, medium height. He had a clipboard in hand and he walked through the open front door. Inside, Maurie spotted him and he moved in her direction. The two chatted. He offered her the clipboard and a pen. She read the paperwork and scratched her signature on the bottom line, after which she gestured.

He crossed to the wall, where he flipped through a stack of paintings that had been left leaning there. He set five aside, picked up the painting he was looking for, and carried it to the front door.

Reverse angle. He emerged from the front door, crossed to the panel truck, and loaded the painting in the rear. He returned to the passenger side door, got in, slammed the door, and the vehicle moved out of the frame.

“What you just saw was a heist. You got robbed,” I said. “You’re looking at Christian Satterfield in phony glasses and a fake mustache. He didn’t need the disguise because nobody here had a clue who he was or what he looked like.”

“No shit. He’s stealing that?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “Did you see the clipboard? Maurie signed some kind of dummied-up invoice. Tuesday when I came to see you, there were half a dozen people milling around, walking in and out. As I was coming in the gate, I passed a white panel truck with the XLNT logo on the side.”

“I don’t use white panel trucks.”

“You know that and I know that, but your gate guard didn’t. He knows you own a freight and courier company called XLNT. An XLNT vehicle drives in and the same one drives out. Mission accomplished.”

“Why that painting?”

“Must be something fabulous. Why else would she have gone to so much trouble and expense? She was in Bel Air when the condominium sold, and by the time she got up here at close of escrow, you’d already moved all the furniture and accessories back into the basement. She hired Christian because she knew he’d have no scruples about what she needed to have done.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Here’s the point, Ari. She has what she wants and she’s leaving town this afternoon.”

“Teddy is? Where to?”

I took out the sheet of paper I’d ripped out of Kim’s steno pad. “Well, if the airport code LHR is London Heathrow, I’d say she’s heading for London. Five forty-five from Santa Teresa to LAX. Her Pan Am flight’s at ten o’clock. You have time to catch her if you hustle.”

“I can’t believe she ripped me off.”

“Let’s not call it ripping you off, okay? That makes it sound like she’s taking something she’s not entitled to. You were married for seventeen years. That’s a lot of entitlement.”

Glumly, he said, “I guess I’ll have to give you that one. So now what?”

“Go out to the airport and intercept her.”

“And say what?”

“Tell her you love her.”

“That won’t cut any ice. She’s tough.”

“Then offer her a bribe.”

“Now you’re getting sentimental on me. What am I supposed to hold out as bait?”