Damaged Goods

Chapter Thirty-Three

I took a moment to absorb what he'd just said. If it were true, it could explain a few things.

"Mind if I get up?" Agent Phipps asked in a mildly aggrieved tone of voice.

Pulled back to reality, I tucked the gun back into my waistband and helped him to his feet.

"Have a seat." I tried to reassure the agent with an amiable tone. Or at least a reasonable facsimile of one. "Would you like a drink?"

"This won't take long," he assured me. The words "assuming you let me talk" remained unspoken.

After we'd re-settled onto the sofa, Phipps continued. "Slava Kandinsky deals in smuggled artifacts for the Russian mafia. Antiquities trafficking turns profits in the billions every year. Terrorists have been tapping this market for a very long time—long before the 9/11 attacks. In fact, looted artifacts are a major funding source for fundamentalist terrorist groups."

By now, my head was spinning with possibilities. "What was Kandinsky's role in this business?"

"We think Kandinsky served as middleman between traffickers and interested resellers. You wouldn't believe his client list. We're talking everything from major auction houses and museums to ISIS and Hezbollah."

I put two and two together. "Kandinsky was skimming from the profits made from resellers?"

Phipps nodded.

"So how can I help you?" I asked.

"You can start by telling me who you work for. Why are you investigating Kandinsky?"

I gave it a moment's thought. What did I owe Blaine? The man had tossed me aside like a used tissue. Even so, I hesitated to simply tell all. Particularly since Blaine suspected Kandinsky of stealing from him.

"My client thought Kandinsky was embezzling from his company," I offered. "He has since let me go."

Phipps peered at me, as if trying to x-ray my mind. Typical cop look.

"Why did your client fire you?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Guess he felt like he wasn't getting his money's worth."

"Could it have been that you were getting too close to something he didn't want you to find out?" Phipps said.

"I doubt it," I replied, in all honesty.

Phipps nodded, but his gaze bore into me. "I suggest you tell me the name of your client, just in case. If you're not completely sure he wasn't involved, it would be in your best interest."

I had to admit the man might have a point. Especially since Blaine had been vehement about keeping the cops out the picture.

"All right. It was his partner, Stuart Blaine."

"Hmm." Phipps retrieved a small spiral pad and pen from his breast pocket and jotted notes. "Anything else you can tell me about Kandinsky that might help?"

"You will keep my name out of this?" This was getting nerve-racking.

"Of course, to the extent that's possible." His qualifier made me less than fully confident.

"Talk to Brian Weis." I spelled the last name for him. "He lives in Baltimore near MICA—the art school in Baltimore. He and a woman named Jen Gardiner were doing business with Kandinsky."

Phipps scribbled some more. "Anything else?"

"That's all that comes to mind."

Phipps rose and tucked the notebook and pen away. Apparently, our interview was over.

"Hang on," I said before Phipps could leave. "There's someone out there gunning for me. Is that person connected with Kandinsky, the Russians, the terrorists, or what?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you there."

"Do you mean that you don't know or you won't tell me?" I asked through gritted teeth.

His look of shock seemed real enough. "Of course I would tell you, if I knew. This is the first I've heard of anyone making an attempt on your life."

I sighed inwardly. The sniper had taken his or her shot only yesterday. It seemed like a month ago. Only time would tell if another version of the Serial Sniper had returned to the DC area.

"I take it from your questions that you haven't recovered the money Kandinsky allegedly embezzled?" I added.

"Not yet." Spoken as if it were practically a done deal.

I nodded. "Okay, thanks."

We walked to the door together. "If you think of anything else, you have my card," Phipps said before leaving.