Page 51 of Third Crime's A Charm
“Without further delay,” Truman said, giving the floor to Marty.
He rose, grinning from ear to ear as he reached inside his coat and pulled the velvet bag from the chest pocket. “You do the honors, Tennyson. You know how bad my old hands are.”
As he had before, Truman untied the knot and dumped the star onto Marty’s cupped palms. They shook even more than they had in his basement, all those months ago, and Truman still felt a pang of sympathy. He reminded himself of all the terrible things Marty had done and what he planned to do to Peter.
His time has come.
“We give you Sisi’s star,” Truman declared as Marty held it up, setting off a burst of whispers.
The room separated into various clusters as the agents and attorneys put their heads together to discuss their next move.
“We were hoping it was Sisi’s star when you said you had a missing European treasure,” a senior FBI agent said as he shook Truman’s and Marty’s hands.
“This would be an extraordinary conclusion to a fascinating mystery,” Dr. Hastings said excitedly. “I had hoped that I’d live to see it returned but to be one of the first people in over twenty-five years to inspect it is an honor.”
“I felt the same way the first time I saw it,” Truman said, smiling through the shame. He’d see what he could do to make it up to her.
“Shall I?” she asked and held up a metal briefcase.
“Please do!” Truman said with a nod at Marissa and Todd. “Let’s make sure the doctor has plenty of light and room to work.”
“I don’t need that much and I have everything I need in here,” she explained as she opened her case. There were various small tools and dropper bottles of agents for testing metals. She selected a jeweler’s loupe and opened it. “We’ll start with a basic examination,” she said, then thanked Marty for the star when it was handed over.
“Walter Bronn set up the deal and checked it out himself. He was the best jeweler in Chicago for fifty years,” Marty boasted but Truman gave him a nudge and shook his head.
“You didn’t have any other dealings with Bronn or any other involvement with him,” he advised, staring at Marty hard enough to give him a nose bleed. Why would that clown bring up Bronn and implicate himself in an unsolved murder?
“That’s right,” Marty said and immediately piped down.
“Hold on…” Dr. Hastings put down the loupe and picked up a dental pick. She scratched one of the star’s gold points and then one of the larger diamonds. “Oh, dear.” She gave the pearl a scrape and picked up the loupe again, squinting into it. “The gems are fake and the setting is plated,” Hastings announced, appearing sincerely disappointed as she handed the star back to Marty.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled and she laughed nervously.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but it’s a fake. A very good one, but definitely a fake. You can’t scratch a diamond and the pearl is enamel.”
“No!” Marty shook his head, turning redder and redder. “That’s not possible!” he shouted, then grabbed his chest. “Call an ambulance!” he said and fell forward onto the table.
“Marty?” Truman dove and caught Marty before he slid onto the floor. Truman’s first thought was that Marty was faking it to get out of the building but knew it was serious when his face turned purple. “Christ, Marty. Hold on!”
Twenty-One
The silent loneliness of Muriel’s vacant apartment was unsettling so Matteo headed out for coffee and a bagel and found his way to Central Park. Being mid-morning on a Monday, it was just the right kind of quiet. Matteo was able to find an empty bench and was close to nodding off in the sunlight.
He’d fallen in love with Manhattan and thought of it as home but it was time for Matteo to move on. Staying in Manhattan would be a nightmare with all the gossip about him and Truman and Matteo couldn’t risk crossing paths with him. Paris was the most obvious choice. Matteo had a lot of friends there and spoke French fluently. And it was nothing like New York so Matteo wouldn’t be reminded of Truman.
As often.
Their affair hadn’t been real and had only lasted three weeks but Matteo suspected he’d have scars. He couldn’t love as easily or as freely as Theo. That was why he was careful about who he had flings with and never mixed his criminal business with pleasure. He’d learned his lesson this time and would stay away from Manhattan for a few years.
“Mind if I join you?” Truman asked and Matteo cracked an eye open, then grimaced. Instead of looking perfectly polished and imposing, Truman’s hair was wild and his tie and collar were a wreck. His shirt was stuck to his body and Truman’s coat was wrinkled.
“You look like shit.” Matteo gestured at the rest of the bench but looked away as Truman sat and dropped a rolled-up paper bag between them. “You’re still having me followed?”
“Yes.” Truman sighed, sounding exhausted as his arm stretched along the back of the bench. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand and chuckled. “What a fucking day.”
Matteo glared up at the clouds, seething. But he put a pin in it because he still had questions and this could be the last time they talked. “I take it the meeting didn’t go well.”
“Depends on who you ask. Marty’s dead so it’s safe to say he’s not pleased.”
