“He talked to the auctioneer two days ago.”
“When was the sale?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Laframboise just found out about it?”
Gaetano shrugged. “Evidently. The auction was a small thing. I remember that Edmund was worried someone might snatch up his prize. Professors don’t make a lot, you know.”
Annja nodded. She knew. That was one of the reasons she didn’t teach full-time. But the main reason was because she’d rather be at a dig getting her hands dirty. The chance to see something no one had seen in a very long time was exciting. A lot of archaeologists lived for it.
And a lot of them had died for it.
“How did Laframboise find out about the auction?”
“My friend didn’t know.”
“How did Laframboise track Dutilleaux’s lantern to Edmund?”
A deep frown creased Gaetano’s face. “Two of Laframboise’s bullyboys showed up on my friend’s doorstep and assaulted him.”
“He didn’t think to tell you or Edmund?”
“This only happened a few hours ago. And they threatened him if he told anyone. He has a family to think of. He was very scared the whole time he was talking to me. Had I not gone to him and had we not been longtime friends, I don’t think he would have told me.”
Taking a deep breath, Annja pushed her anger away. “There are a lot of innocents involved in this.”
“Exactly my thoughts.” Gaetano sighed. “I fear I, too, have been remiss in the assistance I could have given Edmund.”
“What do you mean?”
“Edmund was thrilled with his acquisition. I’d promised to help him research the matter and Anton Dutilleaux and I hadn’t. I’m currently endeavoring to correct that oversight by calling in some favors.”
For a moment, Annja was silent, chasing thoughts of her own. “There is one other possibility.”
Gaetano cocked an eyebrow.
“I was at Edmund’s flat. His collection of magic props doesn’t appear to be there.”
“No. He keeps them in a storage unit.”
“Do you know which storage unit?”
Gaetano smiled when he realized what she was actually asking. “Of course I do. That’s where Edmund shows off his collection. There’s no room at his flat.” He pushed himself up from the table. “Let me go change clothes. I have a car around back.”
While waiting for Gaetano to get dressed, Annja wandered the dining area and stared at the caricatures. Most of the names were unfamiliar to her, but she recognized the famous ones.
Then, on the third wall she examined, she found a caricature that she recognized immediately, though the name was new to her. It had been drawn thirty-three years ago.
The man in the picture hadn’t changed in the intervening years. He was gaunt to the point of emaciation, had white hair that hung to his shoulders and a beard that extended to his chest. He held a long staff in one hand and was dressed in a robe and tall, pointed hat. His eyes were deep-set and she knew the color of them even though the caricature had been done in charcoal and sprayed with a fixative.
Roux.
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