An Insignificant Case

Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After he returned to his office, Charlie waited for Guido to call, but there were no calls from his client by the time he went home. Charlie didn’t sleep well that night. He kept thinking about Guido. Was he safe? Did the person or persons who had ransacked Guido’s house and barn have him? Had they killed him?

Charlie tossed and turned and woke up at six fifteen, groggy and with a head full of cotton. He tried and failed to get back to sleep and finally gave up.

It was rare for Charlie to be one of the first lawyers to arrive at the suite in the morning, and the dark hallways seemed spooky. He settled behind his desk and leafed through the files in his active cases. He didn’t have many, and there wasn’t much to do in them. That was depressing, so he distracted himself by reading the sports news on his phone until the receptionist buzzed him to inform him that two detectives wanted to talk to him. Charlie frowned. Could they be there about Guido? There was only one way to find out.

A slim woman with curly blond hair, dressed in a gray pantsuit and yellow blouse, walked toward Charlie when he entered the waiting room. A thickset African-American man in black slacks, a black turtleneck shirt, and a blazer followed her.

“I’m Sally Blaisedale, and this is Gordon Rawls,” the woman said as she flashed her badge and credentials. “We’re detectives with Portland Homicide.”

“Homicide? Is this about Guido Sabatini? Uh, his real name is Lawrence Weiss.”

The detectives looked at each other for a second, then back at Charlie.

“Why do you think this is about Mr. Weiss?”

“I’m representing him. He stole a painting from a restaurant. He was supposed to give it back to the owner yesterday, but when she met me at his farm, he wasn’t there, and his house and barn had been ransacked.”

“Did you report this to the police?”

Charlie flushed with embarrassment. “Guido—Mr. Weiss—is mentally ill, and I wasn’t certain that he didn’t wreck his own place.”

“Who was the owner of the painting?” Detective Rawls asked.

“Gretchen Hall. She’s the owner of La Bella Roma restaurant. The DA said she’d drop the charges if Guido gave back the painting. Miss Hall didn’t think we should call the police either.”

“Was Miss Hall alone when she came to Mr. Sabatini’s farm?”

“No. She had a driver.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Yuri Makarov.”

“We’d like you to come with us, Mr. Webb,” Rawls said.

“Where?”

“Tryon Creek park. That’s where a runner found Gretchen Hall’s body. It was covered by a painting of Saint Francis of Assisi. The painter signed the painting. Want to guess who he is?”

Tryon Creek State Natural Area was 658 acres of second-growth forest fifteen minutes from downtown Portland. The park had eight miles of hiking trails, a boardwalk over wetlands, and eight bridges. The detectives drove down a road that ran along the side of the park and pulled into a parking area near one of the trailheads. Charlie recognized the car that Yuri Makarov and Gretchen Hall had driven to the farm. There was a lot of activity around it.

Charlie had been very nervous during the drive in the police car, and he felt dizzy as he followed the detectives along a trail that led into the park. Detective Blaisedale told him that Gretchen Hall’s body was lying in the underbrush a few feet from one of the bridges and a quarter of a mile in from the parking area. When he crossed the bridge and got his first glimpse of Gretchen’s body, he turned his head so he would only see the dead body out of the corner of his eye. The police had left the body the way it had been found, and Guido’s painting covered her torso, but Charlie could see the bullet hole in Hall’s forehead and the blood that had spattered across her face.

Charlie had to use all his willpower to keep from throwing up.

“Are you okay?” Blaisedale asked.

“I’ve never seen a dead body before, except my grandmother at her funeral. And she hadn’t been…” Charlie licked his lips. “You know.”

“I do, and you did better than I did when I saw my first murder victim. Do you want some water?”

Charlie nodded. The detective held out a plastic bottle, and Charlie sipped from it.

“When you’re ready, we’d like you to look at Miss Hall and tell us if there is anything different about her from what you saw yesterday. Tell me when you’re ready.”

Charlie took another drink. Then he took a deep breath. Blaisedale led him to the corpse and pulled back the painting. Charlie looked below Hall’s neck so he wouldn’t have to see her head again. When he’d given Hall’s corpse a brief look, he turned away and noticed a handgun that was lying on the ground near Hall’s body. He also noticed a suitcase lying near Hall. It was open, and he saw neatly bundled stacks of American currency in it.

“This is how Miss Hall was dressed at the farm.”

“Did she have this suitcase or a gun with her?”

“If she did, I didn’t see it.”

“Thank you,” Blaisedale said. “I hate to do this to you, but there’s one more body we want you to look at.”

Charlie’s already ashen features grew even paler. “Who is it?”

“Yuri Makarov. Are you up to this?”

Charlie took a deep breath and nodded. Blaisedale led him down the path away from the bridge and into a thick stand of trees. Makarov was lying on his back, and there were bullet wounds in his chest and face. The ground under the back of his head was saturated with blood. Makarov’s arm was outstretched, and there was a Glock lying on the ground near his right hand.

“Is this the man who drove Miss Hall to the farm?”

Charlie tried to answer, but he was too choked up to speak, so he just nodded.

Blaisedale held out the water bottle and took Charlie’s arm. “You did great, Mr. Webb. Let’s get you out of here.”

Blaisedale waited until they’d crossed the bridge to ask Charlie the question that she’d wanted to ask all morning. “Can you tell us where to find Mr. Weiss, Charlie?”

“Honestly, no. After seeing what happened at his farm, I’m really worried. Someone really trashed the place.”

“Do you know why?”

“I can only guess.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Charlie thought about everything he knew about Guido’s case and decided that he wouldn’t be revealing a client’s confidence if he told the detectives about the “other things” Guido had taken from Gretchen Hall’s office.

“Okay, now this is just speculation, but Guido didn’t just take the painting of the Venice canal. He told me to tell Miss Hall that he would return the painting and some other things he’d taken if she would ask the DA to drop the charges.”

“What other things?”

“He would never tell me, but I know that Miss Hall and Mr. Makarov were arrested for sex trafficking, and I’ve wondered if the items had some connection to that because Guido seemed pretty certain that Hall would drop the charges.”

“You negotiated with Hall, right?” Blaisedale asked.

“Yes, but she never told me what the other things were.”

“Okay. Thank you. I know this hasn’t been easy. Do you want to go home or to your office?”

“Home, I guess.”

Blaisedale and Rawls handed Charlie their cards.

“Call us if Mr. Weiss gets in touch.”

“I don’t know if I can do that. I’m still his lawyer. But I’ll try to get him to talk to you.” Charlie shook his head. “I just can’t see him doing this. And covering the body with one of his paintings… That looks like a frame. Guido is passionate about only one thing—his art—and I can’t see him desecrating a painting by using it to cover the body of someone he’d murdered.”