“Is Mr. Highberg here?”
“Charles.” Norman had his finger on his nose, pushing up his glasses. “You want to just move in here? You’ve been up here all the time. Don’t tell me you have more of your questions.”
“No, I don’t have questions.”
The little telephone in his pocket made a funny sound. When he looked, it showed his home telephone number. He closed it and it stopped ringing.
“So you’re just browsing?” Norman said. “Maybe now that you have that chess set, you might want to look at some other things.” When Charles didn’t answer, he said, “Are you waiting for something?”
“For someone.” But then they weren’t waiting, as Frank Kelly stood in the door. “Norman, you know Mr. Kelly, of the FBI?”
Norman squinted at the silhouette. “Yeah, sure. Hi. What do you want? Did something get stolen or did something get found? It’s always one of those, right?”
“Mr. Highberg,” Frank Kelly said. “Do you have a room we can talk in? Just us three.”
“I got all kinds of rooms. Come on up.”
He led them away from the light through the sparkling windows and all within that sparkled in the light, upstairs and through a dusty corridor and into a room. It was a stockroom with unpacked empty boxes and unopened full boxes and a bench and packing litter and chairs.
“So, what do you want?” Norman asked. “You don’t look happy, Charles. Usually you look a lot better.”
Charles looked at Mr. Kelly. “How shall we do this?”
“Okay, this isn’t very good,” Mr. Kelly said. “I’m not sure if I have jurisdiction or what, yet, or whether I need to get Harry Watts. Do this. I just won’t be here officially. You say what you know, and I’ll figure it out as we go along.”
“Well.” Charles rubbed his eyes; they were red and weary. “Mr. Kelly, I’ll tell you my story now, and you’ll see how the burglaries are part of it. I’m very tired and I’ll try to make it short.”
“What are you talking about?” Norman Highberg said.
“Just listen,” Frank Kelly answered.
“Derek Bastien was a blackmailer,” Charles said. “He kept papers on people he worked with. He manipulated these people with threats, and fooled them into thinking it was his boss, John Borchard, who was doing it.”
“Borchard?” Frank had his notebook out. “He’s the one-”
“Yes, he was the one this morning.”
“I read the police report after you called.”
Charles went on. “One of the people Derek was blackmailing was a judge, Patrick White.”
“White?” Frank put his notebook down. “He’s the one-”
“Yes, who died Tuesday. Do you know the rest of his story?”
“All the stuff in the newspaper. Yeah, I know.”
“Derek Bastien was the one who told the newspaper about him,” Charles said. “Mr. White was one of his victims.”
“What are you talking about?” Norman was acting very confused. “What is all this?”
“But Patrick White thought John Borchard was his tormentor, and he planned revenge.”
“Is that what the bomb thing was about?” Frank Kelly said.
“It was supposed to look that way,” Charles said. “But there was another blackmail victim. Someone who went to Mr. White and offered to help. But I think he only helped Mr. White die.”
“Keep going,” Frank Kelly said. “I think I’m following it.”
“I’m not!” Norman Highberg said. “What is this, anyway?”
Charles did keep going. “I think he also helped John Borchard die. John was desperate to get Derek’s papers. He bought Derek’s desk.”
“Borchard bought it.” Frank was writing furiously, but still intensely attentive. “The papers were in it?”
“In a hidden drawer, and they were still there. I saw them Tuesday. John showed them to me.”
“I get it,” Frank said. “Because someone else tried to buy the desk, too. That’s this other victim, right?”
“Yes. It has to be.”
“The one that you say, um, what? That he booby-trapped White’s bomb?”
“I guess that would be it,” Charles said.
“Okay, that would be tricky. And then Borchard?”
“They would have been there in the shop together. He made sure John Borchard didn’t get out after the fire was started. Maybe he was already dead.”
“What… what, what fire?” Norman was beside himself. “Somebody tell me what you’re telling me? What fire? And who’s dead? Where?”
Frank was shaking his head. “Do you have any clue that he wasn’t there by himself? The police report says he was.”
“I don’t think he was. He picked locks and turned off my alarm system and sprinklers. I don’t think John Borchard could have, but I think the man who broke into Derek’s house, and the other houses, could have.”
“Okay.” Frank was very pleased. “I got you. That’s real good.” Then his smile deflated. “Except I’ve got bad news for you.”
“What is that?”
“I’ve got about two-thirds of a case against your guy Acevedo on that.”
“Angelo?” Charles was too tired to react.
“DNA for one thing, and that stuff we recovered, too. I’ve got a link between a guy he knew and the attic we found the stuff in.”
“I was afraid you would say that.”
Mr. Kelly was still figuring. “And he’d be in your shop, and he knows the alarm and everything else.”
“Wait,” Norman erupted again. “Where was the fire? Did you have a fire, Charles? What, at your place?”
“But Acevedo isn’t anybody Bastien would be blackmailing,” Mr. Kelly said. “So Acevedo’s working with someone else? I’m getting mixed up.”
“I’m getting mixed up,” Norman said.
“It comes back to the desk,” Charles said. “The man from New York, Edmund Cane. He was the agent for that other victim, the one I want to find. And Mr. Cane called the desk a Honaker.”
“Honaker?” Norman said. “It was a Honaker?”
“Does that make a difference?”
“No. No way that desk was worth a hundred five grand, even if it was a Honaker. But I don’t do furniture, so what do I know.”
“What do you know, Norman?” Charles asked. “John Borchard didn’t know. The only two people who knew that the desk was a Honaker were Edmund Cane and the FBI. I think Mr. Cane must have heard it from his client, and I think Mr. Kelly must have heard it from the same person as well. Norman, I think that was you.”
Norman Highberg tried to make sounds but nothing came, and his face contorted in an indecipherable expression. But finally, he choked out words.
“Are you crazy?”
“I’m not,” Charles said.
“You’re crazy, you both are. What is this? What are you doing here?” Now that the words had broken loose, they came in a torrent. “You’re both wacko! You think I even know what you’re talking about?”
But Frank was already moving on. “Okay, I can handle this. I’ll get Harry Watts in here. I should have called him before. I just figured Highberg’s DNA on the stuff we recovered was old, but it must have been recent.”
“I don’t have DNA!” Norman said.
“But look,” Frank Kelly said, “we need to get hold of Acevedo. Where is he?”
“Back in Alexandria,” Charles said.
“Does he know what you’re doing right now? I mean, does he know we’ll be after him?” He took a slow breath. “Where’s your wife?”
“I’m getting out of here,” Norman said. “This is too crazy.”
Charles rubbed his eyes again, and they were much redder and wearier. “Yes, Norman, go ahead. Leave.”
“What?” Frank Kelly’s head jerked up from his notebook.
“Leave, Norman,” Charles said. “I’m sorry. Just go away.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Frank Kelly set his jaw. “Yeah. Get lost.”
Norman didn’t move, but then he did quickly, and left them.
“Okay,” Frank said. “Start over.”
Starting over took a great deal of energy. Charles had to wait to gather it.
“You killed Derek, and Patrick White, and John Borchard,” he said.
“Just keep talking.”
“I’m very tired,” Charles said.
“I’ve got a gun right here, and you’re only alive as long as you keep talking.”