“And on her way out, she grabbed the sculpture.”
“Well, we can’t say for sure that she took it. But a week later, a staff member noticed it was missing.”
“Mrs. Landry.”
“Correct. And she notified me.”
“Is Mrs. Landry here today?”
“No, she’s primarily here on weekends, when we have many members visiting. But I could call her in if you need to speak to her.”
“I think we can hold off on that for the moment. But for the report, what’s Mrs. Landry’s first name?”
“Judith.”
“And how long has she worked here?”
“I’d have to look that up — much longer than me, I can tell you that.”
“Then how long have you been here?”
“This is my eighteenth year in the employ of the club, but it has been eight years since I was named general manager. I was second-in-command before I was promoted.”
“Let’s go back to Leigh-Anne for a moment. Were there a lot of members here when you fired her and she stormed out? Did they see or hear any of this?”
“Actually, the club was quite empty. We don’t serve breakfast, and lunch starts at eleven. It doesn’t get busy till noon or later. I chose that time to make the change because I knew the club would be quiet.”
“Sounds like you knew she was going to get angry.”
“I suspected she might be angry and try to create a...”
“A scene?”
“A distraction.”
“You called it a gentlemen’s club earlier. Are there no female members?”
“My mistake. We do have female members.”
“How many?”
“Two members are female, but you have to remember that the club’s bylaws cap membership at one hundred, and it’s generational. It gets passed on. We have members who are the great-grandsons of our founders. New members are admitted only if an existing member resigns or there is no heir to come forward upon a member’s death. So the transition has been slow. In my time, there have been only three openings, and two of those went to female applicants.”
“Can I get a list of the members?”
“Uh, this is a private club, Sergeant, and it’s my job to protect the privacy of our members.”
“Is that a no?”
“I think you would need to come back with a search warrant for something like that. It would put me in a difficult position if I were to just hand over the membership list. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do. I’ll come back with a warrant if I need the list. Do you have the paperwork that Leigh-Anne Moss filled out when she applied for work here?”
“Yes, and I showed it to the deputy on Saturday.”
Crane opened a desk drawer and took out a single-page document that was sitting atop a stack. He handed it across the desk to Stilwell, who studied it for a long moment.
“Did you ever call either of these references she lists?” he finally asked.
“No, I didn’t,” Crane said. “I should have. But applicants don’t usually give you the names of people who are not going to speak glowingly about them.”
“True. Can I get a copy of this?”
“Of course.”
Stilwell handed the document back to Crane. Without getting up, Crane rolled his desk chair over to a copy machine to his right. He fed in the document and soon had a copy to hand back to Stilwell.
“What else can I do for you, Sergeant?” he asked.
“By any chance, do you have a photo of the missing sculpture?” Stilwell responded.
“Yes. The deputy asked me that Saturday and I didn’t have one readily available, but in our archives I found a photo of the presentation of the sculpture to the club in 1916. I have it here.”
Crane opened another drawer and took out a file. From it he pulled a yellowed photo of two men standing next to each other, one passing the black marlin sculpture to the other. A typewritten caption was taped to the back of the photo.
Presented this day, April 4, 1916, from Noah Rossmore to BMC president Padgett Smith
“Can you make a copy of this too?” Stilwell asked.
“Gladly,” Crane said.
Stilwell handed the photo back and waited as Crane rolled over to the copier.
“What else?” Crane asked after handing the photocopy to Stilwell.
There was a note of impatience in his voice. Stilwell knew he had outstayed his welcome. He didn’t care.
“The résumé shows that Moss gave an address on the mainland,” he said. “Do you know if she had a place here on the island?”
“I don’t,” Crane said. “She worked weekends here, which is when we are busiest. A lot of our employees do. Many live on the mainland and go back and forth, or they stay with friends over here. I don’t know what Leigh-Anne’s situation was.”
“Did she ever stay in one of the four rooms you’ve got here?”
“No, of course not. Those are for members’ use only.”
“I thought that would be the case but I had to ask. What about security cameras? Are there any in the building?”
“No, there aren’t. Again, we’re an old club and we protect the privacy of our members. There were no cameras when the club was founded. There are no cameras now.”
Stilwell nodded.
“One last thing,” he said. “You said earlier that your bar manager was one of the people who complained about Moss breaking the rules about socializing with members. What’s his name?”
“My bar manager is Buddy Callahan,” Crane said. “He’s been here almost thirty years.”
“I need to talk to him. Is he here now?”
“I believe he is. But I would prefer that you speak to him when he’s not serving our members.”
“Mr. Crane, this is a criminal investigation. You started it when you reported the theft of a priceless object. The investigation goes where it goes when it goes. I need to see your bar manager right now.”
“Very well, Sergeant.”
Crane picked up the phone on the desk and punched in three numbers. He instructed whoever answered to send Buddy Callahan up to the office immediately, then hung up.
“He’s on his way,” Crane said.
“Thank you,” Stilwell said. “And I want to speak to him alone.”
“I feel like I should monitor the conversation. In case something he says needs clarification.”
“It’s procedure. I have to talk to him without anybody, including his boss, listening. Is there a—”
“Not a problem. You can have the office. I need to check on something downstairs anyway. I must warn you, though, that Buddy is opinionated and very protective of the club and its members.”
“Meaning what?”
Crane stood up.
“Meaning he shoots from the hip and speaks his mind,” he said. “I’ll go bring him in.”
He moved around the desk and headed out of the office.
11
Buddy Callahan wore a white shirt with a black bow tie and matching waistcoat, ready for a night of work in the BMC bar. Stilwell had moved around the desk to Crane’s seat, preferring the position of authority. Callahan entered the office and stopped when he saw Stilwell where he was used to seeing Crane.
“Close the door, Buddy, and come take a seat,” Stilwell said.
Callahan did as he was told. He appeared to Stilwell to have lived a hard sixty years and had the gin blossoms and bloated belly to prove it. After he sat down, Stilwell gave him a moment to say, What’s this all about? But he sat there quietly, apparently having been given a heads-up about the subject matter by Crane. Stilwell filled in the rest.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Stilwell with the sheriff’s department,” he began. “I’m investigating the theft of a valuable object from the club here. Are you familiar with what I’m talking about?”