“Part numbers?”
“Yes, for the standard and deluxe models and then the replacement molds. We show we self-shipped four hundred and fourteen total. We also shipped six hundred even to retailers.”
“And what you’re telling us is that we can only trace, through you at least, the four hundred fourteen.”
“Correct.”
“You have the names of buyers and the addresses the owls were shipped to there?”
“Yes, we do.”
“And are you willing to share this information with us without need of a court order?”
Riddell frowned as if the question was absurd.
“You said you’re working on a murder, right?”
“Right.”
“We don’t require a court order. If we can help, we want to help.”
“That’s very refreshing, Mr. Riddell.”
They sat in Winston’s car and reviewed the computer printouts Riddell had given them. The evidence box containing the owl was between them on the seat. There were three printouts, divided by orders for the deluxe, standard or replacement owls. McCaleb asked to see the replacement list because his instincts told him the owl in Edward Gunn’s apartment had been bought for the express purpose of playing a part in the murder scene and therefore no attachment mechanisms were needed. Additionally, the replacement owl was the least expensive.
“We better find something here,” Winston said as her eyes scanned the list of purchasers of the standard owl model. “Because chasing down buyers through the Home Depots and other retailers is going to mean court orders and lawyers and – hey, the Getty’s on here. They ordered four.”
McCaleb looked over at her and thought about that. Finally, he shook his shoulders and went back to his list. Winston moved on as well, continuing her listing of the difficulties they would face if they had to go to the retail outlets where the horned owl was sold. McCaleb tuned her out when he got to the third-to-the-last name on his list. He traced his finger from a name he recognized along a line on the printout detailing the address the owl was shipped to, method of payment, origin of purchase order and the name of the person receiving it if different from purchaser. His breath must have caught, because Winston picked up on his vibe.
“What?”
“I got something here.”
He held the printout across the seat to her and pointed to the line.
“This buyer. Jerome Van Aiken. He had one shipped the day before Christmas to Gunn’s address and apartment number. The order was paid for by a money order.”
She took the printout from him and started reading the information.
“Shipped to the Sweetzer address but to a Lubbert Das care of Edward Gunn. Lubbert Das. Nobody named Lubbert Das came up in the investigation. I don’t remember that name on the residents list of that building, either. I’ll call Rohrshak to see if Gunn ever had a roommate with that name.”
“Don’t bother. Lubbert Das never lived there.”
She looked up from the pages and over at him.
“You know who Lubbert Das is?”
“Sort of.”
Her brow creased deeply.
“Sort of? Sort of? What about Jerome Van Aiken?”
He nodded. Winston dropped the pages on the box between them. She looked at him with an expression that imparted both curiosity and annoyance.
“Well, Terry, I think it’s about time you started telling me what you know.”
McCaleb nodded again and put his hand on the door handle.
“Why don’t we go over to my boat? We can talk there.”
“Why don’t we talk right here, right fucking now?”
McCaleb tried a small smile on her.
“Because it’s what you’d call an audiovisual demonstration.”
He opened the door and got out, then looked back in at her.
“I’ll see you over there, okay?”
She shook her head.
“You better have one hell of a profile worked out for me.”
Then he shook his head.
“I don’t have a profile ready for you yet, Jaye.”
“Then what do you have?”
“A suspect.”
He closed the door then and he could hear her muffled curses as he walked to his car. As he crossed the parking lot a shadow fell over him and everything else. He looked up to see the Goodyear blimp cross overhead, totally eclipsing the sun.
Chapter 17
They reconvened fifteen minutes later on The Following Sea. McCaleb got out some Cokes and told Winston to sit on the stuffed chair at the end of the coffee table in the salon. In the parking lot he had told her to bring the plastic owl with her to the boat. He now used two paper towels to remove it from its box and place it on the table in front of her. Winston watched him, her lips tight with annoyance. McCaleb told her he understood her anger at being manipulated on her own case but added that she would be back in control of things as soon as he presented his findings.
“All I can say, Terry, is that this better be fucking good.” He remembered that he had once noted on the inside file flap on the first case he ever worked with her that she was prone to using profanity when under stress. He had also noted that she was smart and intuitive. He hoped now that those characteristics had not changed.
He stepped over to the counter where he had his presentation file waiting. He opened it and took the top sheet over to the coffee table. He pushed the Bird Barrier printout aside and put the sheet down at the base of the plastic owl.
“What do you think, this our bird?”
Winston leaned forward to study the color image he had put down. It was an enlarged detail from the Bosch painting The Garden of Earthly Delights showing the nude man embracing the dark owl with shining black eyes. He had cut it and other details from the Marijnissen book. He watched as Winston’s eyes moved back and forth between the plastic owl and the detail from the painting.
“I’d say it’s a match,” she finally said. “Where’d you get this, the Getty? You should have told me about this yesterday, Terry. What the fuck is going on?”
McCaleb raised his hands in a calming gesture.
“I’ll explain everything. Just let me show you this stuff the way I want to. Then I’ll answer any question you ask.”
She waved a hand, indicating he could go on. He went over to the counter and got the second sheet and brought it over. He put it down in front of her.
“Same painter, different painting.”
She looked. It was a detail from The Last Judgment depicting the sinner bound in the reverse fetal position, waiting to be delivered to hell.
“Don’t do this to me. Who painted these?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute.”
