A Brilliant Plan

Chapter 9

THE NEXT MORNING was a typical San Diego autumn day with sunshine and 70 degree temperatures. Mundy snored lightly on his couch as I tiptoed around him to dress. The house was still asleep when Ron picked me up and we rode to Andrew Altward's apartment in Downtown San Diego's Marina district.

During the ride, Ron rattled off some information about Altward, most of which I already knew.

I asked, "By the way, do the guys from the gallery have alibis?"

"Let's see. The second partner, Faulkner, is still away on business in Mexico City. He's supposed to come up tonight. Pretty solid. We'll talk to him tomorrow. Serge, the assistant, was out with his boyfriend, seen by several people. They were out partying most of the night. Altward was dining out with a customer and afterwards he went home. His alibi is the weakest, cuts the time frame pretty tight."

Altward lived in a penthouse with an expensive view and a terrace garden. A Spanish maid opened the door and led us onto the roof top terrace. Potted palms provided shade, a small fountain was making soothing sounds and wind chimes were dangling away somewhere out of sight. Andrew Altward was like a small-scale version of Thomas Cornelius. Scratch all the old money and one or two zeroes on the personal worth and you got an art dealer with a very good local reputation with the museum and collector community and some valuable connections to the East Coast and the L.A. and San Francisco scenes. He looked younger than his middle fifties, dark hair without specks of gray, fashionably long. He sported a thin mustache that started to twirl on the edges giving him a pre World War One look.

He looked worried. On shaking hands, he immediately asked, "When will I be able to reopen my gallery, Detective?"

Ron gave him a professional smile. I was making a sport out of reading his face and deciding which mimic was genuine and which one was purely professional. He replied, "The crime scene investigators have finished. You need to clean up, of course, but from our side you could start business right away."

"And the Calder?"

"Impounded, of course."

Gesturing with considerable bravado, Altward threw an agitated hand in the air, "You know how much that piece is worth?"

"I understand your problem, Sir," Ron explained patiently, "but it is a murder weapon. Therefore, it is evidence and can only be released after we are sure that it will not be needed in an eventual trial."

Altward looked as if he was ready to explode as he mentally calculated the months or years until he would see the Calder mobile again.

To lighten the mood, I said, "But imagine the collector's value of a Calder murder mobile." My concept of playing good cop, bad cop.

Altward gave me a sharp glance as if he had noticed me for the first time and Ron took the chance to introduce me. "Miss Moonstone is acting as a consultant in this case."

Altward and I shook hands and he asked, "Are you from the insurance company, too?"

"No, independent freelance," I answered, deadpan.

"We do that sometimes to help us with certain aspects of a case."

"You are from here? Have we met before?" Altward inquired.

I shook my head. "I have a store in Redondo Beach. I design jewelry."

Whether he recognized my name, or me, he didn't say. Then he gave me another long look as if to decide into which category to put me. Altward offered us sodas, which we declined, and seats, which we took. We situated ourselves around a large wooden dining table. Placed centrally on the large terrace, it was obviously used for all kinds of work and living purposes.