Caveat Emptor

Chapter 3

Maurice Frossard listened to the messages from the detective in Canada. The fact that Roger Aubert had been killed set all kinds of alarm bells ringing. Was his scam discovered? How? By whom? There was no way he would be suspected, he thought. Was it a fluke? Did the police have the forged papers? If he didn't reply he would be a suspect and all because he got greedy.

He could have just sold the document and not tried to go that extra step with provenance papers. The decision had him cursing to the empty room. Now that greed had him slap dab in the middle of a murder. The impersonation would naturally have them reaching out to Tremblay. Thank God he was in another country at least.

The call was placed and Maurice, after assuring the detective he spoke English, listened carefully to the clever questions. He expressed his rehearsed shock at hearing that the victim had posed as his courier, and that the police didn't have papers. At the end of the call, the relief dissipated. Where were the papers then? Who had them?

Was it possible, he wondered? The owner of the document? Maurice Frossard decided he needed to disappear.

***

Arthur listened politely as his client expressed considerable dismay over the current events, and that he had been grilled by the police over his connection.

"I don't know what to say, Mr. Tewksbury, it's been a trial for all of us."

"Well, my interest in this is over. I have other business in Morocco that needs my attention. Send me your invoice for services rendered and I'll see to it when I return."

"You're going right away?"

"Yes, I should only be a few weeks."

"Well, I'm sorry again for how this all turned-"

"As am I. Goodbye, Mr. Galbraith."

The upset seemed so very over the top considering it was a one in a billion chance of authenticity, and he hadn't incurred a huge financial amount in his investigation. It wasn't very likely Galbraith Research would be doing business with Edward Tewksbury again soon.

Arthur brought up the file and gave it a cursory read before entering their fee and sending it to accounting.

***

The telephone apology had led to other, smaller talk and then circled around to another request for a diner date. Barbara resisted thinking about the professionalism, considering his investigation, and instead thought about her own feelings. She wasn't some infatuated teenager, but then she hadn't been socially active for some time either, and the years weren't waiting for her to catch up.

Dinner was in an enclosed flagstone patio, festooned with potted plants of all descriptions and sizes. Muted track lighting gave the setting a moonlit ambience. Barbara was surprised that a police detective would have such a place in his list of dining sites; her notion coming mainly from movies and TV.

"This is lovely, I had no idea it even existed."

"It has become a favourite of mine since I closed an attempted murder here about eight months ago."

Barbara gawped at his casual, incongruous testimonial, then wondered at the favourite place connotation. Did he come here with other women – often? The arrival of a young server with water and menus broke the spell, and she gratefully read the offerings.

"Would you like a drink or some wine?" He asked.

"Uhm - wine I think, but let me decide what I'm having first."

"Are you an aficionado?"

"No, but I do prefer how some accent the different dishes." She peered over her menu and straight into his amused, hazel eyes.