“No, just nineteen.”
18
We’d debated whether the guys should be in on my confab with my client.
“I’ve never even seen the guy,” Bill said.
“I have, but I bet he couldn’t tell me from Daniel Dae Kim,” Jack said.
“A common mistake, no doubt.”
“It’s the broad shoulders and smoldering brow. Still, it could be useful. Him not knowing what we look like.”
“You could hide in the closet,” I suggested.
“Both of us?” Jack said. “I think it would have to be the bathroom.”
“What if her client has to pee?” Bill asked.
So we decided to come clean with Dunbar/Jerrold, in the hopes that he’d come clean with us.
Bill stuck his head in at Golden Adventure as we passed and was rewarded with the usual waves and smiles.
“Guess you don’t need panic button today, Lydia!” Andi Gee called.
“No, I’m good,” I agreed, unlocking my door.
“I don’t get it,” Bill complained as he followed me in. “They all like me. Why doesn’t your mother?”
“You flirt with them.”
“I could flirt with your mother,” he offered. The idea did not merit a reply.
“I’m going to hear about you, too,” I told Jack. “You know our dinner last night was all over the Chinatown telegraph? The aunties think you’re cute.”
Jack gave Bill a smug grin.
Bill, in response, went to my desk drawer and retrieved his ashtray. He’d just lit up when the doorbell buzzed. I buzzed back, and we waited.
Dennis Jerrold, aka Jeff Dunbar, pushed my door open but stopped with his hand on the knob when he saw Jack and Bill.
“Come in, Mr. Jerrold.”
“Who’re they?” He showed no sign of recognizing either of them, which I guessed spoke well of Jack’s lurking- and-tailing talents.
“Colleagues,” I said. “Bill Smith, Jack Lee. Guys, this is Dennis Jerrold, who likes to be called Jeff Dunbar.”
“What are they doing here?” Jerrold/Dunbar ignored the introduction.
“Working the same case.”
“What does that mean?”
“I told you there was another investigator with another client. Bill’s my partner; Jack’s the other investigator.” This time the smug smile went from Bill to Jack.
“Who’s the other client?”
“I didn’t tell you before and I’m not going to tell you now. But I do have other things to tell you. And some to ask you.”
“I don’t want them here.”
“I don’t care. The three of us are working on this together. I’m following through on what I’ve found no matter what you think about it and don’t start with the stuff about your dime. I offered you your money back and you said no. Unless you’ve changed your mind, come in and sit down, Mr. Jerrold.”
So much for the whole Jeff Dunbar thing. Another hesitating moment, and Dennis Jerrold shut the door and sat. Jack was in the other chair; Bill, of course, was standing, though there’s not much to be seen through my pebbled alley window.
“We found the paintings,” I said.
Jerrold halfway stood again. “You have them?”
“No. I said we found them. We know where they are but there are complications.”
“What do you mean, ‘complications’?” He settled back down, recognition in his eyes. “A shakedown, is that it? Now that you have them it’s going to cost me?”
I sat back in my springy chair. “Why is it,” I asked the air, “that everyone involved in this case is so hard to help? So
He stared. “The State Department?”
“You know, if you start denying everything this could take all morning. State Department, Assistant Deputy Director, East Asia Section, China specialist. And speaking of China: the PRC government, why do they care? The phony Mr. Wing is from the Chinese Consulate and I’m pretty sure you know that, and you were supposed to call and tell me and you never did. The real Mr. Jin, is, too, do you know him? Now either tell me what’s going on or take your money back and get out of here.”
Jerrold’s expression was that of a man trying to choose a path through uninviting but unavoidable terrain. He
