X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

“It was only in the paper briefly. A reporter got wind of it and ran with the story before we could shut her down. We wanted to keep a lid on it, figuring if word got out we’d have a rash of copycats,” he said. He checked his notes again. “Can you give me Ms. Bettancourt’s phone number?”

“I didn’t get a local number. There wasn’t any need. When she called the office, I was here and I picked up the phone. After we met, I didn’t have occasion to call her. She was leaving town the next morning, so she gave me a couple of numbers in Malibu. She and her husband have a second home down there. He has an office in Malibu as well.”

As he was about to ask anyway, I reached into my bag and pulled out my index cards, sorting through until I found the relevant numbers, which I recited while he made notes.

“And she hired you to do what?”

“Nuh-uh. My turn. What happened to the reward? Did the woman collect?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We advised the victim not to pay, but he was adamant. The best we could do was talk him into letting us record the serial numbers on the bills. Long story short, he paid, the painting came back, and that was the end of it until that bill showed up,” he said. “What did she hire you to do?”

Another quick debate, but I couldn’t see how the job I’d been hired to do was in any way connected to the painting-for-ransom scheme. “She wanted contact information for a kid she put up for adoption thirty-two years ago. The story’s more complicated, but essentially that’s it.”

“Whose idea was the cash?”

I thought back to the conversation. “Hers, though I’d have suggested it if she hadn’t brought it up herself. She said she’d be out of town until June. Under the circumstances, I would have been leery about taking a check. Please note I just allowed you an extra question.”

“You’re sure the bill came from her and not someone else?”

“Positive. I stopped at the market on the way home. I don’t usually carry hundreds. The money was in an envelope I put in my shoulder bag, and I spent it within the hour. While we’re on the subject, I’ve already done the job and put my report in the mail, if it’s relevant. You think this same woman stole the painting?”

“Possible,” he said. He squinted at me in delayed disbelief. “You did a job for a hundred bucks?”

“Oh, sorry. She offered five, but that was too much, given what I’d been asked to do. I suggested two, and that’s what she ended up paying me.”

“Still sounds like a bargain.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I hesitated and then said, “Crap. I guess you might as well have the other hundred. You’ll ask for it anyway.”

I reached into my shoulder bag and removed the envelope from the outer pocket, holding it by one corner. “My prints are on this, but so are hers. Run ’em and you might get a hit in case she turns out to be a criminal mastermind.”

He smiled. “I’ll mention that to the techs. Chances are she came by the cash the same way you did, but maybe we can track it back to the source.”

“Meanwhile, what? I’m out the money?”

“I’m afraid so. The supermarket lost out, too, if you want to get right down to it. The bill you passed, they turned over to us without recompense. At least you got groceries out of the deal.”

“I hope they don’t take it out of Suzanne’s pay,” I said.

“Depends on store policy. I’m guessing not.”

I thought about his story. “You said this was two years ago. I wonder why the money’s showing up now?”

“No idea.”

“But clearly someone’s been sitting on it, right?”

“Theoretically, yes. Some of it could have been circulated in other parts of the country. We have no way of knowing that.”

“Bad paper’s a bitch,” I said. “You need anything else?”

“Nope. What about you? Any questions?”

“I’d like a receipt for that bill, which I’m assuming will be booked in as evidence.”

“Oh, right.”

I watched while he fashioned a receipt, writing down the date and serial number before he passed it across the desk to me. “I hope your client makes good on the loss,” he said.

“Hey, me too, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Probably smart. In the meantime, this is a sensitive operation, so steer clear if you would.” He stirred and stood up.

I stood at the same time.