Confess, Fletch

Still in his overcoat, Flynn stood over coffee table.

“There’s not an unused cup,” he said, “on this brisk morning.”

“I’ll get one.”

“Never mind. I had my tea.”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Fletch said.

“I suspected as much. I’m only here for the moment. I thought I’d ask you this morning if you’ve had any ideas at all as to where the de Grassi paintings might be?”

“I’ve just been through that, Inspector.”

“Have you?”

“I told Menti everything.”

“You must have been mighty surprised to see him.”

“Mighty.”

“The ladies have gone already, have they?”

“They were gone when I got back. They must have gotten the news during the night, while I was with you.”

“And they didn’t wait for you? Your girlfriend and the Countess.”

“Menti’s discovery was big news, Inspector.”

“I daresay it was. And how was he found?”

“Wandering near the steps of Saint Sebastian.”

“In a daze, was he?”

“No. He’d been let out of a car.”

“Remarkable they’d.feed a captive that long. Italian kidnappers must have hearts of honey. A month or more, wasn’t it?”

“About that.”

“Well, anything is possible under the sun.” Flynn tamed on his heel at the end of the room. “Now, where do you suppose the paintings are this morning?”

“Well, Inspector, you might believe Horan hid them last night.”

“I might believe that, yes. The man doesn’t say so himself.”

“You asked him?”

“I did, yes.”

“But, Inspector, who can believe a murderer?”

“Ach, now there’s a point worthy of my own Jesuit training.”

“What did Horan say, precisely?”

“The man says he never heard of the paintings.”

“Didn’t he say a man named Cooney in Texas has them?”

“He says he never heard of a man named Cooney.”

“It’s a great puzzle, Inspector.”

“It is that. The man must have had the paintings, or he never would have gone to the extent of murder to frame and thus dispose of you.”

“Perhaps he just doesn’t like people named Peter.”

“I’ll ask him that.” Flynn, hands behind back, walked back down the room. “I’d almost think you took them yourself, Fletch. There was a burglary at the man’s house last night. If the man hadn’t gone there immediately afterwards and told the police nothing was missing.”

“I suppose I could make some tea,” Fletch said. “The water’s still hot.”

“No, I must be going.” Flynn headed toward the front door. “Of course, a man may be reluctant to admit something he isn’t supposed to have is stolen from him. I mean, how would a man say something I stole was stolen from me?”

Fletch said, “I understand reluctance, Inspector.”

“Ach,” said Flynn. “A man has no privacy at all.”

Before he opened the front door, Flynn turned to Fletch, and said, “Which reminds me, Mister Fletcher. Finally we discovered what else you did on that Wednesday you went in one door of the Ritz and out the other.”

“Oh?”

“You bought a truck. The marvelous, bureaucracy dropped the registration into my hands just this morning.”

Flynn began to rummage in all his pockets at once.

“Now, why would you buy a truck and rent a car the same day?”

“I was going to use it for skiing, Inspector.”

“Ach! That’s a perfectly good answer. What do you mean, you were going to use it for skiing?”

“It was stolen. I’ve been meaning to report it.”

“Ah, Mister Fletcher. You should report things. And when was it stolen?”

“Almost immediately.”

“What a pity. That very afternoon? Is that why you rented the car?”

“I didn’t want to have to drive a truck around town.”

“Gracious, yes, indeed. I was forgetting about the man’s style.”

“It was stolen a day or two later. I had parked it on the street.”

“Terrible lot of crime around these days, isn’t there? The police should do something.” Flynn pulled a slip of paper from one of his pockets. “Ah, here’s the little darling. A light blue Chevrolet van truck, last year’s model, license number 671-773. Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“Just the right size truck, I’d say, for transportin‘ paintings and a sculptured horse.”

Fletch said, “Skis, too.”

Flynn said, “Do you suppose Horan stole it himself, for the purpose of stealing the do Grassi paintings away from himself?”

“Anything’s possible, Inspector. He may have committed that crime, too, and blocked it out.”

“Highly unlikely, I’d say.”

Flynn opened the door.

“Well, I’ll put out an all-points bulletin on this truck immediately. Light blue Chevrolet caravan truck, last year’s model, license number 671-773. Seeing you’re a friend, been such a help on the terribly difficult case, I’ll put the screws to the boyos statewide. There’s no chance this truck won’t be picked up in a matter of hours.”

“Very good of you, Inspector.”

“Tut. Think nothing of it. Anything for a friend.”