She looked puzzled. 'He sees a shrink? What the hell for?'
'Hell if I know. To me he seems pretty together, but what do I know. Everybody has their 'stuff' and I guess he goes to a shrink to deal with his.'
Just then the phone rang.
'Picker, old boy, it's me!' Connor.
'Nice to hear your voice, bro. How the hell are you? What have you got for me?'
'Great, never better. But you, quite the pickle, eh? Fill me in.'
I spent the next half hour telling Connor the entire story. 'Well, well, well. Then perhaps what I have will be useful. Mr. No Name turns out to work for Interpol.'
This is what he told me: Robert Simmons, forty-two years old, originally a Brooklyn kid turned New York City Policeman. Recruited by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, followed by a short stint at the National Security Agency. Two years ago he went to work for International Criminal Police Organization, better known as Interpol.
Connor continued, “At the present, his group is charged with tracking down a really big fish. I couldn't get details on the exact target of the investigation. I did, however, learn the identity of your Frenchman. LaVache. Jean Pierre LaVache. Very cool dude, as you Yanks would say.' Connor likes Americanisms. 'Very cool, but very, very bad. Apparently, he directs a great deal of criminal activity, but from a distance. He, himself, never gets his hands dirty. LaVache has no criminal record. Not even a parking ticket. As you have often said, his fingers are not in the pie.'
'Well, brother, they are this time. Anything else?'
'Not yet, I'm working on the other photos and tracking those phone numbers. Let you know as soon as I know something.'
'Thanks, greatly appreciated.'
'One last thing. You want some help? I'd be glad to hop the pond, lend a hand.'
'No, I'm good. Thanks for the offer. Send my love to your mother. Talk soon.'
Connor hung up and I turned to Kelly. She shrugged her shoulders. 'How does Connor get all of this information?'
'As benign as it is, he has a criminal organization all his own. When I say organization, I mean it’s more like a group of talented people that cooperate with one another from time to time. For this stuff, he does business with a German hacker. World class, one of the best. Back doors into government and large business data bases. I only know him by his first name, Eckhart. I met him once, briefly.'
At that moment, the doorbell rang. Finally, someone with some manners. I get up and open the door. It's Mr. No Name himself.
'Mr. Simmons, what can I do for you today?'
The Interpol agent looks momentarily stunned but recovers quickly. 'Very impressive Mr. Picker, very impressive indeed. May I come in for a few moments?'
'Sure. Robert Simmons, this is Kelly Lane. Can I get you something to drink?'
'Coffee would be great.'
We sat in the living room. Kelly went to put on some coffee. RS started right in, 'Mr. Picker, as I've just said, what you've done is very impressive. But the truth is that you're playing out of your league. To be perfectly frank, I don't understand how you're still alive.'
'It's just Picker, no mister. I'm flattered Bob, but that doesn't tell me what you're doing here. What interest does Interpol have in the murder of a local nobody?'
'Two things really. The first is to inform you that we are investigating a successful, international criminal organization. Well, not so much a criminal organization as a criminal enterprise.'
I gave him a quick smile. 'You mean LaVache?'
For the second time this morning Interpol's Special Agent Robert Simmons looked stunned. This time he did not recover so quickly. 'Yes and no. You continue to surprise me Picker. I don't have any idea how you can be so well informed. But to answer your question, yes, we're on LaVache's trail. However, LaVache is not the big fish. Jean Pierre is someone's lieutenant; most likely he's the second in command.'
'And the second thing?'
'We want to know how you're involved. Why are they coming after you?'
Kelly brought the coffee in and set it down. We all helped ourselves.
'Honestly Special Agent, I have no idea. You are in possession of all the facts that I have. Possibly the only thing that I can add is what the two FBI agents said when they broke in. They said that they wanted the painting. They did not specify what painting they were looking for.'
I glanced over my shoulder at the wall of paintings. 'I have one valuable painting that was left to me by my father.'
SARS: 'Which one?'
'The Van Gogh.'
He stands up and moves closer to the paintings. 'I know that one. I've seen it in a museum.'
'The one in the museum is a copy. The one that you're looking at is the real McCoy. And before you ask, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum expressed absolutely no interest in it.'
Bob chuckled. 'Is that what you named those two guys in your head?'
'Yeah, that's before I had names for them.'
He looks over at the mantle and says, 'Nice Glock.'
My response, 'Not mine. Picked it up this morning from a couple of guys that stopped in. The serial number hasn't been disturbed, so it's probably registered legally. Take it with you; see what you can find out.'
'Thanks, I will. One last thing before I go. Outing those two on the web didn't exactly make you any friends.'
'I didn't do it to make friends.'
I asked him how long he was going to be in town. When he said a few days, I walked over to my desk and retrieved two more tickets to the next Phillies game. I handed them to him and said, 'Maybe you can catch a game while you're here.'
This seemed to take him aback just a little bit. He paused for a moment as though he was considering something. Finally he handed me his card with his private cell written on the back and said, 'If you need any help, call me.'
January 1976 Philadelphia
'It's a boy.'
The doctor had just come from the delivery room. Simon had been pacing the waiting room. In some aspects, he was not a patient man and this was driving him insane. Uncle Moe, on the other hand, sat patiently reading an outdated magazine.
'When can I see her doctor?'
Moses Aronson had arrived in the States after the New Year. Simon had been traveling between the U.S. and Europe and had asked his uncle to keep a helpful eye on Emily and the baby. The simple truth was that he was not sure where he would settle. That decision was being put off for as long as possible.
The doctor appeared weary. It was the end of a long shift. 'In a few minutes, after we get them cleaned up. The nurse will let you know.'
Simon was in a mild state of euphoria. Intuitively understanding that all of life was in constant flux; his natural instinct was to tap down his excitement. The Van Gogh arrived in the mail at the end of September the previous year. He marveled; the near perfect crime. No breaking and entry; no guns or force; no alarm systems to bypass. Best of all, no knowledge that a crime had been committed.
In the end, all of this was no consolation. The tricky bit, phase two, was under way. And he still had to deal with Engelond.
'You may go in now.' Somehow, even after long hours, nurses always managed to look happy after the
