“Oh?”
“You bought a truck. The marvelous, bureaucracy dropped the registration into my hands just this morning.”
Flynn began to rummage in all his pockets at once.
“Now, why would you buy a truck and rent a car the same day?”
“I was going to use it for skiing, Inspector.”
“Ach! That’s a perfectly good answer. What do you mean, you were going to use it for skiing?”
“It was stolen. I’ve been meaning to report it.”
“Ah, Mister Fletcher. You should report things. And when was it stolen?”
“Almost immediately.”
“What a pity. That very afternoon? Is that why you rented the car?”
“I didn’t want to have to drive a truck around town.”
“Gracious, yes, indeed. I was forgetting about the man’s style.”
“It was stolen a day or two later. I had parked it on the street.”
“Terrible lot of crime around these days, isn’t there? The police should do something.” Flynn pulled a slip of paper from one of his pockets. “Ah, here’s the little darling. A light blue Chevrolet van truck, last year’s model, license number 671-773. Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“Just the right size truck, I’d say, for transportin‘ paintings and a sculptured horse.”
Fletch said, “Skis, too.”
Flynn said, “Do you suppose Horan stole it himself, for the purpose of stealing the do Grassi paintings away from himself?”
“Anything’s possible, Inspector. He may have committed that crime, too, and blocked it out.”
“Highly unlikely, I’d say.”
Flynn opened the door.
“Well, I’ll put out an all-points bulletin on this truck immediately. Light blue Chevrolet caravan truck, last year’s model, license number 671-773. Seeing you’re a friend, been such a help on the terribly difficult case, I’ll put the screws to the boyos statewide. There’s no chance this truck won’t be picked up in a matter of hours.”
“Very good of you, Inspector.”
“Tut. Think nothing of it. Anything for a friend.”
Fletch closed the front door, diminishing the sound of the descending elevator.
His watch said fifteen minutes to twelve. Tuesday.
He was almost perfectly a week late.
In the den, he picked up the phone and dialed a number he had looked up and memorized in the airport the previous Tuesday.
While he was waiting for the number to answer, he pushed the drape aside with his hand and looked down into the street.
Menti was just climbing down from the back of the truck.
He had been looking at the paintings!
“Hurry up, Menti,” Fletch said to the windowpane. “For Pete’s sake!”
“Hello? 555-2301
Menti was unlocking the driver’s side door of the truck.
“Hello?” the voice said.
“Hello,” said Fletch.
He craned his neck, He could see the top of Flynn’s head as he walked out of the apartment building.
Menti was in the truck.
“Yes, hello?” the voice said.
“I’m sorry,” said Fletch. “Is this the Tharp Family Foundation?”
Flynn was getting into the front passenger seat of a black Ford.
“Yes, sir.”
Exhaust was coming from the tailpipes of both the police car and the truck.
“May I speak with your director, please?”
“Who shall I say is calling, please?”
The double-parked police car began to move forward.
Without looking, Menti darted out of his parking space with the bounce and jerk people make when unaccustomed to driving a vehicle.
The police car braked hard, making the front end of its chassis bob toward the road surface.
“Sir? Who shall I say is calling?”
Apparently, the driver of the police car waved ahead he black Chevrolet caravan truck, last year’s model, license plate number R99420.
The two Vehicles proceeded up the street, the black police car behind the black, jerking truck.
Fletch released the window drape.
“I’m sorry. This is Peter Fletcher…”