Past Crimes by Glen Erik Hamilton

Author:Glen Erik Hamilton [Glen Erik Hamilton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780571314607
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2015-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

HOLLIS SHIFTED HEAVILY IN the passenger seat as we drove along the shore of Lake Union. His discomfort might have come from the old springs of the pickup’s seat. Or maybe it was from his suit. When I’d pulled up to his marina, he’d come off the dock wearing a reddish sport coat that hung oddly on his top-heavy frame, with gray trousers and a wide orange tie. He looked like a circus ape escaping in the middle of the show.

“Ondine didn’t say anything else?” I asked. “Just that she was willing to meet me?”

“Her man did the talking.”

I nodded. Of course Ondine Long wouldn’t bother with setting appointments. She had people for that.

To our left, the rusted monoliths of Gas Works Park loomed in the evening dark. I had the window down, to feel the rush of air. Hollis and I had to raise our voices to hear each other above the low moan.

“When was the last time you saw her?” I said.

Hollis thought about it. “A couple of years at least. I had these items from a Lithuanian crew off a freighter—”

“Two years. And on Sunday she called you to ask what you might know about Dono’s shooting.”

“The woman herself.” He sounded a little proud.

It didn’t seem odd to me that Ondine knew Dono had been shot. She probably had information sources in Congress, much less the SPD. And Hollis would be a logical choice to call, if she wanted to know what trouble Dono might have been into. Hell, he’d been my first stop.

What I was really curious about was why Ondine cared.

Once I’d come to grips with reality—that my grandfather had, against almost every cautionary lesson he’d ever instilled in me, robbed the armored car—my next thought was where he might sell the diamonds. There weren’t many fences in Seattle who could handle six million dollars’ worth of anything, sticker price. Fewer still whom Dono would trust enough to share the necessary details in advance. Dono hadn’t stolen the diamonds on spec. He’d known exactly where he was going to take them.

Maybe he’d taken his business to one of the bigger markets—Los Angeles or Dallas—but I didn’t think so. Not when I remembered that Ondine Long had called Hollis the very day that Dono had been shot.

“D’you really think he managed it?” Hollis said. “That Dono stole all those pretty rocks?”

“A lot of evidence points that way.”

Hollis sat for a moment. Not fidgeting. “And do you think he picked his own team?”

I wasn’t sure. When Dono worked with others, which was rare enough, he wanted reliable guys that he knew personally. McGann and Orren hadn’t exactly proven rock solid.

“I think if he had a choice, he’d have gone with you,” I said.

Hollis nodded. “Course he would.”

Another quarter mile along the shore and we saw the golden lights of the Emerald Crown Yacht Club over the water.

The Crown was a ferry. Or it had been, back in the 1940s. A fat boat, maybe a hundred twenty feet with a beam about a fourth of that, standing three decks above the waterline.

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