'Mr. Picker, there are some men here inquiring for you.' Mrs. Murphy appeared slightly nervous.
'Who are they?'
'The police, dear. Shall I show them in?'
'Yes, ma'am. Don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing serious.'
Three men filed into the kitchen. The first was wearing a dark suit. Early thirties, broad shoulders and a block for a head. The other two were uniformed cops.
'Mr. Picker, stand up and put your hands behind your back.'
I looked up from my coffee and cracked an unpleasant smile. 'I don't think so. What can I do for you Detective?'
'Sir, you will stand up now and accompany us to the station.' Suit slid his suit coat back and placed his hand on his gun. Mistake.
'Grrrr', was Kato's response. I'm not exactly sure what made that dog so threatening. He was actually lying on the floor and merely growled under his breath.
Suit took a step back. 'Mr. Picker, I strongly suggest that you tell that dog to back off or…'
'Or what?' I had enough. 'Detective, I doubt that you've noticed, but not only is there this German Sheppard peacefully lying here, but there are two one hundred and twenty-five pound Rotties directly behind those nice officers.'
In unison, all three men turned their heads. Sitting nice and quietly were Zeus and Zena. The Rottweilers belonged to my landlord, Nathan Burke.
'Detective, Detective what, exactly?'
'It's Williams. Look, Picker, I suggest…'
'Detective Williams, I apologize for interrupting you but I feel obligated to tell you that if that gun clears your holster that you'll be dead in less than sixty seconds. You see, I hate guns. The only reason to draw one is to shoot someone. It is precisely for that reason that I trained these fine animals to literally go for the juggler vain whenever someone pulls a gun on me or their owner. And, just for your edification, there is no command to stop.'
I stood up and looked him straight in the eye. 'Now, sir, what's it going to be?'
Williams took his right hand off the gun. Closed his coat. He took a step towards me. Mistake.
'Grrrrr.' I don't have to tell you, do I?
Fortunately, at that exact moment, a fourth man strolled into the kitchen. 'Williams, get the fuck out of here. Now! Officers, you may go too. I'll take care of this.'
Number four was a handsome man in his fifties. Average height, dark hair with an erect posture. He introduced himself as Detective McKee. Ignatius McKee.
'Call me Mac', he said.
'Picker”, and we shook hands.
'Sorry about Williams. He's not a bad sort, just not too bright. Which is even more the reason you should be careful. Stupid and a gun is a dangerous situation.'
'Well, I don't have a gun and I can be pretty dangerous myself.'
'Yeah, I noticed.' He head swiveled on his neck. Glanced at K and then at the Rotties. “Would they really have, you know, killed them?”
“Couldn’t stop them if I wanted to.”
Mac shook his head and grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
I introduced Detective Ignatius 'Mac' McKee to Kelly and Mrs. Murphy and invited him to breakfast. He graciously accepted. He asked me about the incident at my place and I filled him in. The only thing that I left out was the motivation for the intrusion.
'So,' he asks, 'You can think of no reason why those two gentlemen came into your home brandishing guns?'
He really did say 'brandishing'. 'No, the only thing that I can tell you is that they were looking for a painting. I have plenty of those and suggested that they take their pick. One of them searched the house while the other covered us with the gun. But, to be perfectly honest with you, I have no idea what they wanted.'
Mac looked at me skeptically. 'Okay. That's that then. Here's my card and if you remember anything else give me a call.'
He thanked us for breakfast and rose from his chair. I have to say that if this was a version of good cop and bad cop that these guys were doing it very well.
'Mac, one more thing before you go. Walk with me back to the house.'
Walking out the kitchen door I said, 'Kato, come,' and I heard the beast get up and follow me out.
'Some dog you have there.'
We walked across the grounds and in the front door. In the living area I opened the draw to the desk and pulled out a small white envelope. Handed it to the Detective.
He opened it and removed two box seat tickets to the next Phillies game. 'What's this for? Bribing an officer of the law?'
'Just want to express my gratitude for the fine work of the local police department. Enjoy the game.'
'Thanks, I will.'
Detective McKee was halfway out the door. 'Oh, Mac, there is just one small favor…'
'What's that?'
'I'd like to know who those two guys are when you find out, if it's not too much trouble.'
He frowned. 'You know that I can't tell you their names.'
'Not their names,' I replied, 'I want to know who they are.'
'Sure, not a problem. Try to stay out of trouble. I'll be in touch.' And, he was gone.
May 1975 Switzerland
'I'm pleased that we have this opportunity to meet.' Karl was a large man with an aristocratic bearing. Round head, silver hair and cold blue eyes.
Simon looked out the wall-to-ceiling window. He could see the Piz Bernina, the Eastern Alps, south of the town; St. Moritz.
Jean Pierre did some research after 'Mr. Smith' set up this meeting. Karl Terenz Engelond, Sr. was a German industrialist with fingers in a great many pies.
'I've been looking forward to this myself.' Simon's smile had no warmth to it whatsoever.
'Well, I want you to know that all of your terms are quite suitable, almost. I have one small question. I believe that I understand, but if you would be so kind as to clarify.' Engelond spoke perfect English wish a precise, clipped accent. 'Explain what you mean by 'contingency contract'.'
Last week, Simon flew home to spend some time with Elisabeth and Connor. His entire career had been built around living a double life. It had never been a problem before. A new development had complicated matters beyond his comfort zone. Emily was pregnant.
'Quite simple, really. I'm committed to completing this project. However, everything relies on two principle players; the artist and the inside man. If, for any reason whatsoever, one of them becomes unavailable; we stop. Any monies remaining from your initial investment are returned. And hopefully, we part on good terms.'
Simon took in the entire room. Jean Pierre's dossier on Engelond listed information about his family; a wife and young son. Apparently they were still together. But from what he could see, there was no evidence of them at the chalet. Karl was alone here; no family, no associates and most important, no bodyguards. The only precaution taken was a cursory pat down when he arrived.
'Hypothetically, what if I found that unacceptable?'
Simon removed a cigar from his pocket; rolled it in his mouth and looked directly into this man's eyes. 'Mr. Engelond, you hired me for a reason. I offered your Mr. Smith the names of other men fully capable of performing this job. If I'm not mistaken, you chose me for one simple reason — my jobs are undetectable. There is no such thing as a perfect crime; however, if the parties involved do not know one has been committed, well, then there is no crime to investigate. If the original players have to be replaced, the risk of detection rises to unacceptable
