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Over dinner he told her what Miriam Clive had told him.
“She’s very afraid of what you will find,” Hester said at last. “But I think she may be even more afraid if you don’t find it. It must be terrible to live in fear of someone you once loved, and now don’t know if he’s alive or dead, or how much he’s changed.”
Monk looked at her, saw the pity in her face, and knew that no answer was necessary, or even appropriate.
—
HE SET OUT THE next day to contact all the people he knew in other forces, and could trust to pass on information discreetly. If Piers Astley were in London, somebody somewhere would know.
It was a long and laborious job, because each new person had to have some explanation as to why Monk needed the information, and then as much as he could tell them of Astley’s description, and possible activity.
There were people who owed him favors, or who would dearly like Monk to owe them, and he knew they would be certain to collect. This made him a trifle less eager than he might have been otherwise.
One such person he contacted ea
rly that evening was a receiver of stolen goods at the upper end of the market. The profession was known as that of an opulent receiver, because he dealt in only the best, small and easily movable works, such as jewelry, gold and silver statues, carved ivory or jade. He was known as “Velvet Boy,” perhaps because he had a soft childlike face atop an enormous body.
“English,” he said sarcastically. “That should be easy to spot—an Englishman in London! You’ve come to make fun of us, Mr. Monk. I take exception to that, I do.” His china-blue eyes regarded Monk with affront.
“An English gentleman from Yorkshire originally, but who spent at least twenty years of his life in California, from the gold rush until now,” Monk amended. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Velvet.”
Velvet moved one of his huge legs a couple of inches. “I can’t jump at all, Mr. Monk. It in’t kind o’ you to speak about it like that. You’re making fun o’ my afflictions. I take exception to that, too.”
“Conclusions are things of the mind,” Monk replied. “And yours is one of the most agile I know. You could jump over the moon, if you’d a mind to.”
The look of petulance was ironed out of Velvet Boy’s face for a moment or two, then it returned. “Is that what you want me to do, then, Mr. Monk? Jump over the moon for you? What’s it worth to me?”
“It’s worth my not coming back to bother you for some time,” Monk replied levelly.
“You in’t bothering me anyway. I’m too far from the river for most o’ your business these days.”
“You want me to keep it that way?” Monk asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.
Velvet Boy thought for several moments.
Monk waited. The room was oppressively warm. There was far too much furniture in it. Every surface was crammed with ornaments, which were almost all rubbish. There were a few real gems camouflaged among them, but it would take an art expert to recognize them. Monk did not bother to pretend interest. Velvet Boy would not be fooled. He rarely stirred from his seat, but he knew his art and his thieves as a concert violinist knows music, making his own notes with his fingers, with perfect pitch every time. If there was something planned he would have wind of it. He drew knowledge as a magnet draws iron filings.
“Come to think of it,” Velvet Boy said at last, “I did hear of someone who might come by a few interesting artifacts in a little while. Very nice bits o’ carved turquoise, and bone, even. Said as they were Red Indian things, held by them to be magic.” He watched Monk’s reaction with his large, unblinking eyes.
Monk found he suddenly knew exactly what he was talking about. He could even picture them, like little roughly sketched animals—bears, fish, frogs, coyotes. He remembered touching them: the smoothness, the limpid quality of the best turquoise, almost without blemish. He was taken aback by the clarity of the images. The art was different from European: more a re-creation of the essence of the creature than seeking to show others its beauty. Its spirit was understood. The carving was a totem, nothing to do with the identity of the carver. There was no vanity in it; it was rather an act of worship. Perhaps that was what gave it its real beauty.
“If it’s your totem, the carving carries the spirit of the creature with you, as long as no one else touches it,” Monk explained, speaking almost before he knew it, as if the knowledge had just flown into his mind.
Velvet Boy blushed slowly. “An’ ’ow do you know that, then, Mr. Monk? You a collector, are you? That what you want? Arrest this feller you’re looking for, and take his artworks?”
Monk had an instant of chill. How had he known about this? Why could he see the little animals in his mind, rather than remember someone telling him about them? He saw them exactly, made of turquoise, bone, silver, sometimes even gold.
He swallowed and breathed in and out, taking his time. “I want to stop a very large robbery,” he replied. “An act of revenge. This man has come all the way from San Francisco in order to destroy another man he envies. If you help me find him, then any of his artifacts that he’s sold you, or ‘lent’ you, I will be willing to forget about it.”
“Bent, then, are you, Mr. Monk? Let me help with stolen goods? Not like you, at all. Some reason I should believe you? I think as you’re setting a trap for me.” Velvet Boy looked straight into Monk’s eyes. “I take exception to that, I do!”
“And I take exception to you thinking I’m bent, Velvet,” Monk replied. “I was thinking I’m too busy to look through your place. Got bigger fish to go after. But perhaps I’m not, after all. That’s a very nice piece of ivory you’ve got hanging on the wall behind you.”
Velvet Boy pursed his lips. “There to remind me not to get taken in by fakes, that is. D’yer think I’d hang a real piece up there for every Tom, Dick, and ’Arry ter see? What do you take me for?” He looked hurt.
“A very clever man,” Monk assumed truthfully. “Bluff, double bluff, triple bluff. But if it’s fake, then you won’t mind if I take it from you…?”
There was an instant of alarm in Velvet Boy’s eyes, there, and then gone again. “I take…”
