Sac and Brady were suitably impressed and excited.
Conklin kept going. He was on a roll.
“How’d he get the card? This, I don’t know. But we have his cell phone. Maybe his call history will give up the other players in this thing. Oh, and to really seal the deal here,” Conklin said, “Joan Murphy’s diamonds were also in O’Brien’s backpack. All of them, and they were nicely wrapped in a bandana. CSI found O’Brien’s prints on all of it.”
Brady said, “Good w
ork, Inspector Conklin. Take a bow and the night off.”
It was a quarter to six, so Conklin called Cindy and said, “I’ll pick up a pizza.” Then he sent her a phone kiss.
After that, he called Joan Murphy’s phone and left a voice mail. “Joan, this is Rich Conklin. We’ve recovered your jewelry. There are about three pounds of diamonds here, including that pendant that I think belonged to your mother. Call me, please. We’ll need you to identify it.”
He clicked off and then spoke to the disconnected phone, “And by the way, Joan, I also need to talk to you about Sam Alton and Arthur O’Brien, both of whom are now deceased. You’re starting to look like the center of a category 5 storm to me.”
His phone buzzed.
It was Joan.
It was almost as if she’d heard him.
She said, “Hi, Richard. I’m doing all right. Keeping it together. I want to remind you that someone tried to murder me. I don’t want to give this person another shot at it. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”
“Where are you? Everyone’s been worried about you. Robert called you in as a missing person.”
“Never mind that. Look, Richard, the important thing is that I think I know who was behind all of this.”
But then the phone went dead in his hand.
Conklin hit the Return Call button. He listened to the ringtone and got Joan’s outgoing voice mail message.
“This is Joan. You know what to do.”
Conklin said, “Call me back, Joan. Call me.”
He got out of his car and walked over to Claire. She was shutting the back doors to the van.
“Joan just called me. She won’t tell me where she is, but she said that she’s staying out of harm’s way. Then she hung up on me.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Claire.
“Do you get the feeling,” Rich asked Claire, “that she’s making things harder for us on purpose? Why would she do that?”
Chapter 22
That night Cindy and Rich got into bed before ten. It was an early night for them and that was a kind of blessing.
It was good to be home. Their apartment on Kirkham Street was small and cozy. They’d decorated it together so that it fit them like a hug.
Richie’s arm was around Cindy, and she was wrapped around him with her cheek pressed to his chest. Streetlights sliced through the blinds, striping the walls and ceiling. Their alarm clocks were set. They each had glasses of water on their nightstands, and she had the extra blanket. Rich had the king-sized pillow behind his back.
And they had the luxury of these quiet hours to talk about their days. She loved listening to the sound of his voice.
Rich was telling her about Arthur O’Brien, the shooter who’d killed Samuel J. Alton and wounded Joan Murphy. He explained how Arthur had been the one to steal her jewelry, expose her affair, and then step off stage into the shadow of death.
“And after all this craziness about whodunnit and why,” said Rich, “he keeps all the evidence in his backpack and leaves it for us to find.”
“Careless,” said Cindy. “It’s basic hit man 101. The first thing you do is get rid of the gun.”