Page 48 of The Best Trick

Alfred's lips thinned in annoyance.

Odin liked to say that annoyance was a window to the insides of people. Odin loved seeing that window get opened, so I was glad I could help with that.

“And another humble request, if you would be so kind,” I said, thinking I could open that window a little wider. “If we were to supply you with better line drawings of our faces, could they be switched out for the ones that that sketch artist in Nevada did? Because honestly, unflattering much?”

“The most-wanted poster program is not a beauty pageant,” Alfred said.

“Maybe not toyou,” I said.

Agent Alfred turned to Odin. “You had questions?”

“Yeah, we need a little more information,” Odin said. “We’re interested in talking to anybody who might benefit from Wilson Brockmeier getting out of there, including Wilson and his people.”

“You're looking atWilsonandWilson's people?” Alfred said. “Wilson’s a fine-instrument appraiser, not a criminal mastermind. The man’s a pawn with no juice.”

“We like to inspect all the angles,” Odin said. “That is how we work.”

Alfred looked at us like we’d lost our minds. “There’s a ticking clock on this thing, and Don Pedro is the one who has the dog. Why would you waste your time on Wilson?”

“Don Pedroallegedlyhas the dog,” Odin said. “We four sat down and made a list of all the people who would benefit from that ledger disappearing, and we realized Wilson would benefit.”

Alfred blinked, stunned.

I tried to keep my expression neutral, but it was kind of funny.Made a list. Realized Wilson would benefit. I had no doubt it pained Odin to make us sound so dorky and incompetent.

“What is this, Detective 101?” Alfred said. “Why would you waste your time like that? You want to make lists instead of concentrating your energy on the most obvious suspect?” Of course, he had a point; it was pretty obviously Don Pedro unless you knew what we knew.

“So?” Odin said after a while.

“At our agency, we rule out the obvious suspects before we start pursuing baroque theories.”

“We thought it would be good to speak with the person at the center of it,” Odin said. “Who knows what he can tell us.”

“Wilson's not at the center; Don Pedro is,” Alfred said, exasperated. “This dognapping is a matter of Don Pedro trying to get leverage for his court case. Wilson knows nothing because he's a nobody.”

Odin frowned. “Still. We would like to question Wilson. He is on the list that we made.”

“If Wilson was the kind of guy who could engineer anything like this, he wouldn't be in the situation that he's in. I don't understand the problem with the Don Pedro angle. You have motive, you have means, you have everything but a trail of breadcrumbs leading from Agent Denko’s condo to Don Pedro's organization. Your assignment is to figure out who inside Don Pedro's network has the dog. Agent Denko thought you were good at finding things, but…”

“Denko said we could get whatever assistance we wanted,” Odin reminded him.

“You're not getting to Wilson without something more than a ridiculous list,” Alfred said.

Clearly, he wouldn’t budge. Odin crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, then, what about the people around Wilson? Friends, family, associates.”

Alfred studied Odin's face and then looked over at me, studying my face. “So, your theory is that somebody in Wilson's life wants to crash the case? That's your line of thinking?”

I said, “We made a list—”

Alfred’s mouth muscles tightened—just a little change in his lip shape. “Yeah, so you’ve said,” he bit out, seeming to have reached peak annoyance. “You don't get paid if you don't find the dog in time. We're clear on that, right?”

“This is our process,” Odin explained. “Are you instructed to prevent us from pursuing all other avenues that are not related to Don Pedro?”

“I’m not bringing you to Wilson,” Alfred said. “The man is in deep WITSEC. But I can email you info on his people if that’s how you want to waste your time. He’s got a wife still living in their place in Culver City, and there’s a brother in Mar Vista. Wilson played in some kind of music quartet with three friends; one of them is a particular friend, and we can get you that name and number.”

“We’d like that,” I put in.

“Yeah, because who knows?” Alfred said sarcastically. “Maybe Wilson’s hippie musician buddies are having trouble finding a new fiddler for their group and have decided to run a sophisticated dognapping operation in order to claw Wilson back from the clutches of the feds. You never know, right?”

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