Pendergast [07] The Book of the Dead(167)
The two sat, sipping wine and speaking in low voices. The clothes the woman wore—battered canvas pants and an old work shirt—stood in contrast to her finely cut features and the glossy mahogany hair that spilled down her back. The man’s dress was as formal as the woman’s was informal: black suit of Italian cut, crisp white shirt, understated tie.
Both were watching a third person—a beautiful young woman in a pale yellow dress—who was strolling aimlessly through an olive grove beside the vineyard. From time to time, the young woman stopped to pick a flower, then continued on, twisting the flower in her hands, plucking it to pieces in an absentminded way.
“I think I understand everything now,” the woman on the terrace was saying, “except there’s one thing you didn’t explain: how in the world did you remove the GPS anklet without setting off the alarm?”
The man made a dismissive gesture. “Child’s play. The plastic cuff had a wire inside it that completed a circuit. The idea was that, in removing the cuff, you’d need to cut the wire—thus breaking the circuit and triggering an alarm.”
“So what did you do?”
“I scratched away the plastic in two places along the circuit to expose the wire. Then I attached a loop of wire to each spot, cut the bracelet in between—and took it off. Elementary, my dear Viola.”
“Ah, je vois! But where did you get the loop of wire?”
“I made it with foil gum wrappers. I was, unfortunately, obligated to masticate the gum, since I needed it to affix the wire.”
“And the gum? Where did you get that?”
“From my acquaintance in the cell next door, a most talented young man who opened a whole new world for me—that of rhythm and percussion. He gave me one of his precious packs of gum in return for a small favor I did him.”
“What was that?”
“I listened.”
The woman smiled. “What goes around comes around.”
“Perhaps.”
“Speaking of prison, I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to get your wire. I was afraid you wouldn’t be permitted to leave the country for ages.”
“Diogenes left behind enough evidence in his valise to clear me of the murders. That left only three crimes of substance: stealing Lucifer’s Heart; kidnapping the gemologist, Kaplan; and breaking out of prison. Neither the museum nor Kaplan cared to press charges. As for the prison, they would like nothing more than to forget their security was fallible. And so here I am.”
He paused to sip his wine. “That leads me to a question of my own. How is it that you didn’t recognize Menzies as my brother? You’d seen him in disguise before.”
“I’ve wondered about that,” Viola replied. “I saw him as two different people, but neither one was Menzies.”
There was a silence. Viola let her gaze drift again toward the younger woman in the olive grove. “She’s a most unusual girl.”
“Yes,” the man replied. “More unusual than you could even imagine.”
They continued to watch the younger woman drift aimlessly through the twisted trees, like a restless ghost.
“How did she come to be your ward?”
“It’s a long and rather complicated story, Viola. Someday I’ll tell you—I promise.”
The woman smiled, sipped her wine. For a moment, silence settled over them.
“How do you like the new vintage?” she asked. “I broke it out especially for the occasion.”
“As delightful as the old one. It’s from your grapes, I assume?”
“It is. I picked them myself, and I even stomped out the juice with my own two feet.”
“I don’t know whether to be honored or horrified.” He picked up a small salami, examined it, quartered it with a paring knife. “Did you shoot the boar for these, as well?”
Viola smiled. “No. I had to draw the line somewhere.” She looked at him, her gaze growing concerned. “You’re making a valiant effort to be amusing, Aloysius.”
“Is that all it appears to be—an effort? I am sorry.”
“You’re preoccupied. And you don’t look especially good. Things aren’t going well for you, are they?”
He hesitated a moment. Then, very slowly, he shook his head.
“I wish there was something I could do.”
“Your company is tonic enough, Viola.”
She smiled again, her gaze returning to the young woman. “Strange to think that murder—and there’s really no other word for it, is there?—could have been such a cathartic experience for her.”
“Yes. Even so, I fear she remains a damaged human being.” He hesitated. “I realize now it was a mistake to keep her shut up in the house in New York. She needed to get out and see the world. Diogenes exploited that need. I made a mistake there, too—allowing her to be vulnerable to him. The guilt, and the shame, are with me always.”