Hegler’s knuckles were white where he clutched the pharmacy bag, and the moment they sat at a table in the back corner, he dropped it and started picking at his cuticles. Charming.
“Ellen, would you mind getting the drinks?” Alaric asked Emmy. She nodded once and headed for the counter, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head.
This place was as delightful as the other one. The table was stained, dust had settled on the faded prints that adorned the walls, and the faint smell of shit drifted from the nearby bathroom. Still, Hegler seemed cooperative. That was the most important thing.
“So, Azira?”
“She’s Irvine’s—Senator Carnes’s—favourite mare. He’s owned her for almost two decades, so of course she’s getting on in years herself, but even last week, he still insisted on going out to groom her every morning. He told me he’d commissioned a painting of her, oil on canvas, and all I needed to do was pick it up from the artist.”
“But you didn’t pick it up from the artist. You collected it from an empty hotel room. Didn’t that strike you as odd?”
The last hint of colour faded from Hegler’s already pale cheeks as he ran a hand through short brown hair, leaving it ruffled.
“Y-y-you know about that?”
“Perhaps you could tell me what happened?”
“I don’t… I can’t…”
“Just start at the beginning.”
“Will we go to jail?”
“Honestly? That’s above my pay grade. But it’ll depend on the exact circumstances, who knew what and when, and whether there are any mitigating factors.”
“Cross my heart, I didn’t have any idea what was in that package, not at first.”
“From the top?”
Hegler took a couple of steadying breaths. He was either the world’s worst criminal or the world’s best liar. The jury was still out, but Alaric was leaning towards the former.
“I really don’t know much. Just that Irvine asked me to fly to England to collect a package. Like I said, I thought I’d be meeting the artist, but when I got to the hotel, the concierge told me he’d had to depart early to deal with a family matter.”
“So how did you get the painting?”
“He’d left the package in his room. The concierge gave me the key. It was all a bit chaotic. A lady guest was upset because there was a rather large spider in her bathroom, and the concierge had to dash off in a hurry.”
Which was probably why Alaric hadn’t seen the man when he arrived soon afterwards. “Did you pass anyone on your way upstairs?”
“Not a soul. At least, I don’t think so. I wasn’t really paying attention. I guess there might have been a maid.”
Bad criminal, terrible eyewitness.
“Was there anything in the room apart from the painting?”
“Not that I saw. I mean, I didn’t even see the painting. It was in a suitcase. The note said to take the case with the compliments of Massimo Slade.”
Alaric didn’t need to ask who Massimo Slade was. Slade’s oil paintings sold for thousands, and a commission would have set Carnes back six figures if he’d genuinely wanted a picture of his horse.
“So you took the case and then you left?”
“Yes, for the airport.”
“Did you open the case first?”
“Why would I? I assumed it was a simple errand.”
Surely anyone with half a brain would have questioned that scenario? Or maybe Alaric had just spent so long swimming with the bottom feeders that anything out of the ordinary made him suspicious.
“Why did you take the back stairs?”
Hegler visibly started. “How do you know that?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to reveal sources.”
Emmy came back with three black coffees plus sachets of sugar and powdered creamer. She never touched either. It had always puzzled Alaric how someone with such a sweet tooth drank her coffee straight.
“Here you go. Where are we?” She’d gone with a local accent today.
“Mr. Hegler was just filling us in on his stay in London. The back stairs?”
“Right, yes. I needed a cigarette, and it was the fastest way out. I’ve been trying to give up for months. The gum stopped working, so I tried the patches, but I missed holding something, you know? And now I think I’m addicted to the patches too.”
“Just go cold turkey,” Emmy said. “It’s the only way.”
“You’ve given up?”
“Seventeen years ago.”
“Wow, congrats.” Hegler seemed to realise who he was talking to. “Sorry.”
“What happened after you got your nicotine fix?” Alaric asked.
“I drove to the airport and handed my rental car back, then the limo service picked me up and took me to Irvine’s friend’s plane. That was when Irvine had me look at the painting. And I freaked! It wasn’t a horse at all; it was a woman. And I thought Irvine would want me to go right back to the hotel, but he just told me to send him a photograph, and once he’d seen it, he instructed me to come straight home.”
“Did you realise at that point the painting was stolen property?”
“No! I mean, I thought it was kind of odd, him paying for a horse and getting a girl, but he wasn’t mad, so…”
“So you simply did as you were told?”
“Exactly.”
“And when did you recognise the painting?”
“I didn’t. Harry did.”
“And who’s Harry?”
“Harriet Carnes. Irvine’s daughter. I helped Irvine to hang the painting on his bedroom wall, and then Harry walked in and hit the roof when she saw it. Started yelling at him, and Harry never yells. And then Irvine…his face went all weird. Sort of droopy on one side, and he couldn’t speak properly.”
Ah, shit. Alaric glanced at Emmy, and her long exhale said she understood what had happened too.
“The senator had a stroke?” he asked.
Hegler bobbed his head. “His nurse called the ambulance right away, but…” Hegler shook his head. “He was sick already, and now…”
“Cancer?”
“How did you know? Oh, right. You can’t tell me.”
“Sorry.”
Hegler took out a navy-blue
