She raised an eyebrow. “I hope we can do more than run into each other.”
“We will,” Stone promised. “Much more.”
“I hate to break up whatever’s going on here,” Billy said, “but I believe there was something you wanted to discuss.”
Stone brought Billy up to speed.
After, Billy said, “Any ideas on why Duchamp would be stockpiling your mother’s paintings?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out but haven’t come up with anything. Until a few days ago, I didn’t even know who he was.”
“What about his gallery in New York? I assume he has one there.”
“He does,” Monica said.
“Have you ever visited it? Maybe purchased something?”
Stone shook his head. “As far as I know, the only purchase I’ve ever made from him was in Santa Fe, the night I met him.”
“No other ties between you? Something to do with Woodman & Weld, perhaps?”
“I can’t think of any, but I’ve left a message for Joan to look into it. I’ll let you know if she digs something up.”
“I don’t suppose that either of you know where Simon is staying.”
“Only that he’s not at the Arrington.” Stone had checked before Billy arrived.
“Okay. I’ll talk to my friend. Assume he’ll look into it unless you hear differently from me.”
They all stood.
“Thanks, Billy,” Stone said.
“If either of you think of anything else, let me know. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 36
Teddy drove from the Arrington to his office at Centurion Pictures, as it was more convenient than his home in the Hollywood Hills.
A year earlier, he had personally installed a floor safe, hiding it under the credenza behind his desk. With the touch of a button, the credenza slid out of the way. He tapped in the code and swung the safe’s door open.
From inside, he retrieved a laptop that was loaded with the CIA’s latest black ops digital tools. He’d obtained them via a back door into the Agency’s system that he’d created himself.
One of the apps contained links into restricted record databases throughout the world. Teddy used it to get into the property records for the state of California, where he conducted searches for Simon Duchamp and the Duchamp Gallery. There were no hits for either.
Another link led him to a very handy, aggregate database that combined hotel booking records from the major chains in the U.S. This proved more fruitful.
Three rooms at the Verdugo Royale Hotel in Beverly Hills were currently booked by Duchamp Gallery. Two standard rooms and a suite. Teddy was sure Simon Duchamp would be in the latter.
He exchanged the laptop for a few items he thought he might need from the safe, then returned his office to its normal state.
At the studio’s costume department, he picked up a pair of gray coveralls and black work shoes, and at props, a length of rope, all of which went into a duffel. He then returned to his Porsche and headed out.
His next stop was a parking garage at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. At this time of night, there were several open spots and almost no one walking around. With the help of the makeup kit he kept in his car and a wig from his safe, he turned himself into a middle-aged everyman, with a face not even a mother would remember. He then donned the coveralls and shoes to complete his transformation. Sporting a new identity, he drove to Beverly Hills and parked a few blocks from the Verdugo Royale Hotel.
Ten minutes later, he was rappelling from a balcony of an unoccupied suite onto the one belonging to Duchamp’s room. He landed without a sound, untied himself, and crept to the windows.
Inside, a man sat at a dining table, working on a laptop. He was angled so that Teddy could only see a portion of his face, but it was enough to determine he fit the description of Duchamp.
Teddy pulled out a listening device designed specifically to pick up voices through glass and stuck it to the lower corner of the windowed wall. He then climbed back to the balcony above.
On his way out of the hotel, he hid a relay in a maintenance supply closet. The device would upload to the cloud everything the bugs picked up, allowing Teddy to access the data whenever and wherever he wanted.
One hundred and twenty miles to the south, near the city of Del Mar, Benji and his crew were crouched behind a hedge, preparing to steal the final Matilda Stone for Simon. Tonight, they were dressed as firefighters.
“Are we going to just wait around or what?” Sticks whispered.
Benji grimaced. “You’re sure you can control it?”
“Have I ever not been able to?”
Benji almost brought up last night’s blaze. It had definitely burned out of control and had even taken the life of the guy they’d dumped at the side of the road — the potential repercussions for which Benji was trying hard not to think about. He knew if he mentioned the fire, though, Sticks would throw the blame right back into his lap. Benji was the one who forgot to call 911, after all.
So instead, he said, “Sorry. The schedule just has me on edge.”
“I can control it, okay?”
“Okay.”
When Simon had pulled Benji into his office to talk about the next job, Benji was already expecting the worst. He’d been there for his brother’s conversation with the client, and his eyes had nearly bugged out of his head when he heard that the client was expecting three paintings on Friday. He’d assumed Simon would have given Benji a day to prep, meaning they’d steal the painting on Thursday night. But no, Simon wanted it at the gallery Thursday morning. Which meant they had to get it tonight.
Two thefts in two nights. They had never done that before. Hell, before last night, they had never done two within a week of each other.
The target was also less than appealing. Instead of being surrounded by wilderness, it was in an upscale gated community. Using the brushfire excuse wasn’t going to work here. Plus, they had to sneak into the area on foot and would have to leave with the painting the same way. Even a week of preparation wouldn’t have been enough to do this one right.
Benji didn’t like it, but it wasn’t like he could say no.
“Check your devices one more time,” Benji said to Sticks.
Sticks rolled his eyes but kept any comments to himself and crept away. He returned ten minutes later and gave Benji a thumbs-up.
Benji tapped Devin on the shoulder and nodded.
Devin headed off on a route that would take him to the street the house was on. Soon, his voice came over Benji’s earpiece. “In position.”
“Do it,” Benji whispered to Sticks.
Sticks smirked and tapped his phone screen.
Within seconds, flames sparked at several points along the back of the house at the north end. Benji waited until he was sure the wall was burning, then turned on his mic. “Devin, you’re up.”
“Copy,” Devin said.
As planned, Devin left his mic on so that Benji heard him pound on the front door until it opened.
“What the hell?” a man’s voice said, muffled by the door.
“Your house is on fire,” Devin said. “You need to get out.”
“What?”
“Is there anyone else in the house?”
“Um, my son’s upstairs.”
“Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get him, it’s safer that way. Please, I insist you move to the street.”
“Wait. Are you alone? Where’s your truck?”
“Not alone and the truck will be here soon. Now, sir, you need to go now!”
The man moved as instructed, and the conversation was replaced with the sound of movement. Then there was a click and Devin said, “Back door unlocked.”
Benji and Sticks ran to the French doors at the back of the house. Pulling it open, Benji rushed inside just in time to see Devin disappear up the stairs to grab the son.