Let the Dead Sleep

“It’s Quinn. Just Quinn.” He paused. “I guess Angus didn’t talk to you. Either that, or you’re an ice-cold functioning psychopath who couldn’t care less about the lives of others.”

“My father had tremendous patience for people with mental problems. However, I don’t. So leave me alone, or I’ll shout for that friend of yours who’s still in the house.”

He shook his head, disgusted. With her. That seemed doubly galling.

And yet she still felt guilty. Gladys Simon was dead.

But what could she have done? She’d never seen the woman before that day!

To her horror, she blurted out, “It wasn’t my fault!”

She thought he’d lash out at her and insist that it certainly had been her fault.

“No, it was mine,” he said, and she realized he was inwardly kicking himself. For some reason, he seemed to believe that if she’d understood the situation, she might have magically saved the day. “It was my fault. I realize now that Angus never really said anything to you and neither did Billie. There are things you need to understand...but right now, we have to get that bust back.”

“We?” she said horrified. “Look, you don’t even know that Gladys didn’t stash it in the house somewhere. Maybe it wasn’t stolen. Like Larue said, you make everything more complicated.”

As if Quinn had somehow hired him to play a part, Detective Larue appeared on the front porch.

“Quinn!” he called.

“Yeah?”

“We need some help. You were right. The housekeeper didn’t hear a thing—but a window was taken out on the ground level, garage side. The glass was cut out, eased to the ground by some kind of suction device.”

Quinn nodded slowly.

“Still doesn’t mean the bust is gone. Where did she keep it?” Larue asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been here until today. But I’m pretty sure it was kept in the house. When Hank Simon bought it, he was convinced he’d made the buy of the century.”

“The den—or the salon,” Danni heard herself volunteer. Quinn turned to face her. “She said something in the store about trying to throw it away, trying to bury it, but it kept showing up back in... I’m not sure of the exact word she used, but someplace like an office, den, salon.”

“We’ve checked out Hank Simon’s office,” Larue said.

“There’s a library, but it’s not in there,” Quinn said. “I looked when we got here and were trying to find Gladys.”

Larue motioned to one of the uniformed officers standing by. “As soon as the M.E. retrieves the body and the forensic unit’s finished, I want a more extensive search of the house. Go through closets, bathrooms—everywhere.”

The officer cleared his throat. “What does the bust look like?” he asked. “The house is filled with antiques and bric-a-brac.”

“It’s carved marble. Head, neck and shoulders. Curly hair, classic features. It’s been described as portraying the face of an angel—or a demon. Some say the eyes are demonic, that they seem to be watching you. It was sculpted with a mantle over the shoulders and at a certain angle the mantle can appear to be angel wings,” Quinn told him. “It looks like it belongs in a dé Medici tomb.”

“A dé Medici tomb? Would that be a tomb in one of the St. Louis cemeteries, Lafayette up in the Garden District or out in Metairie?” the officer asked.

“There are no dé Medici tombs around here. No, what I’m saying is that it looks Roman—like something you’d see in a Renaissance church or tomb,” Quinn said.

The officer made a slightly derisive sound. He quieted as Quinn scowled at him. “Sorry, Detective Quinn.”

“I’m not on the force anymore. I’m just Quinn. I’m simply telling you how it’s been described,” Quinn added.

“Head, neck and shoulders—it didn’t get up and walk out, then,” Larue said sardonically.

“No, I don’t think it’s supposed to be able to walk,” Quinn said with equal sarcasm.

Danni wanted to go home. She wanted the day to rewind; she wished she’d never met—and failed—Gladys Simon, and that Michael Quinn had never darkened her door.

“You going to help in the search?” Quinn asked her.

No!

But the way he looked at her...

What was she going to do? Go home and wallow in guilt?

Not fair! She really had no idea what was going on.

She didn’t want to agree. She opened her mouth to say no.

What came out was, “Sure. You don’t think you’re going to find it, though, do you?”

“Nope,” he said. “But what the hell—we can’t be certain it’s missing until we do a thorough search.”

“What about...Gladys? I don’t know how to investigate. I’ll leave fingerprints all over. The crime scene people won’t want us messing things up.”

He grinned and reached into his pocket, producing a wad of balled-up plastic. It proved to be several pairs of gloves. “Not to mention the fact that our fingerprints are already all over the place because we were trying to find her.”

She snatched gloves from him and put them on. As they returned to the house, Larue said to Quinn, “I’m assuming you have some idea of where to look for this bust or statue or whatever if it’s not here?”

“No, not really,” Quinn replied. “But I’ll try to get a lead on it.”

“And if not?”

“If not...” He paused for a minute. His eyes slipped over Danni but she wasn’t sure he was really seeing her.

“If not?” Larue asked.

“If not, I’m afraid we’ll be following a trail of bodies....”

Chapter Three

THERE WAS REALLY no hurry to search for the statue; Quinn knew it was gone.

Just as he knew Gladys Simon had hanged herself.

So there was no reason to interrupt the work of the crime scene unit and the M.E., Ron Hubert, who came to examine the body of the deceased.

Dr. Hubert arrived as they walked back toward the house, the crime scene unit directly behind him.