Chapter VI
Without talking about it, Joe and Callie moved toward the elevator. Callie held the license by the edges, as Joe had done, and slipped it back into the envelope.
"Can we dust for prints?"
"Yeah. For what it's worth. These guys are pretty careless, but I doubt they're as careless as all that."
They went to the room Joe and Frank shared and sat opposite each other on the beds. At last Callie said, "At least we know you were right about the police." She sat up straight with a gasp. "Oh! Joe! We just came from the police! What if they're watching us! You don't think - "
Joe shook his head stubbornly, though he was suddenly queasy. "They had to know we didn't get the note yet, if they're watching us. And if they threw away that wallet they must know it would be found. They must be pretty sure of themselves, not to keep it or destroy it or anything."
Callie frowned deeply. "You know, Joe, I'm starting to get pretty mad."
Joe nodded, his jaw tight. "Me too."
She thought a while longer. "Maybe we should call your dad."
Joe shook his head. "Can't. He's in British Columbia somewhere fly fishing with Mom. That leaves only Aunt Gertrude, and I guess you know what kind of help she'd be."
"No. We mustn't upset your Aunt Gertrude." She sighed. "Any suggestions?"
Joe sighed too. He could do fingerprints, but without Dad they'd never get a match anyway. And this analytical stuff was more Frank's thing. It wasn't that Joe couldn't do it, it was just that he usually didn't have to and he was a little nonplussed to find himself stuck with the job. He worked best as part of a team. He eyed Callie measuringly.
"I think," he said slowly, "That we should take Frank's advice and find some way to work together for a change."
Callie nodded solemnly. "You don't think - you don't suppose Frank would do this just to force us to get along? He was pretty mad."
"No," said Joe flatly "He wouldn't."
Callie sighed tremulously. "I know. I just - almost hoped -"
Joe was studying the message. Something was scratching at the back of his mind, and he couldn't quite get a hold of it. "Let's retrace all of Frank's steps since he got here. Figure out why somebody would want him for three days." Three days...where else had he heard that?
Callie shrugged. "Well, he was with us the whole time. We caught a cab from the airport, checked in, had dinner, went to bed, got up, had breakfast, went to Alcatraz and Ghirardelli Square, Frank was robbed - "
"Callie!" Joe grabbed her arm, almost shouting. "Callie! That's not so! We got up and had breakfast! Frank went for a jog!"
Callie looked puzzled. "So? Oh!" She stared at him. "That - that funny conversation!"
"Right!" Joe screwed his eyes shut, trying to recall every word. He had a good memory and a lot of experience, so when he opened his eyes he said breathlessly, "I'm sure they said something about three days! And Frank said that the fog parted and gave them a good look at each other, so if they were planning something and thought he'd overheard and could identify them - "
"Oh, Joe!" Callie threw her arms around him impulsively. "Oh, Joe! That makes some sense at last!"
Joe grinned, a little embarrassed. "Not too bad," he admitted. "But the only other thing we have is a dark blue, late model Lincoln, and there must be a hundred of those in San Francisco. And this license won't help if we can't trace it."
"Let me see." Callie held out her hand for the paper.
"It's one of those vanity plates. We could probably call and pretend that we wanted the same plate, but I doubt they'd give out the name of the current owner. I think it's to - something. To SCA."
Callie read over the letters and smiled slowly. "Well, I can tell you one thing about the owner. They're an Opera buff."
Joe stared. "How can you tell that?"
"Tosca. It's the name of a famous opera by Puccini."
"No kidding?" Joe took the scrap of paper from her, studying it with new respect. "Guess we're learning to work as a team already."
Callie grinned in agreement, then gasped and sat up straight. She jumped to her feet, speechless with excitement.
Joe stared at her, afraid that the strain had pushed her over the edge. "Take it easy, Callie. You want to breathe in a bag or something?"
Callie shook her head, snatching up her purse and emptying it on the bed. "I saw - I think I read - here!" She routed among the lipstick and comb and note pad and event flyers and ended by waving one triumphantly. "Read this!"
Joe smoothed out the crumpled flyer and read it curiously. It was announcing the season opener for the San Francisco Opera. There would be a special Gala performance of Faust, with the role of Marguerite being sung by Bolshoi Opera star Galina Kareechniva. As a special fundraiser, the Romanov Rose, a necklace designed by Faberge for the Romanov Court, would be used during the famous jewel scene. The necklace had not been seen by western eyes since the Soviets came to power in Russia. Joe didn't know what Faust or the jewel scene were, but he did know that jewels like that were worth a fortune and that the people that attended such an event would be worth a fortune as well.
"Okay," he said slowly. "Okay. I see an opera connection, but it's kind of weak. What makes you think - "
"The date." Callie gasped. "Look at the date."
Joe's eyes skipped down to the date. September third. Just three days from today.
*
Frank furrowed his brow, just aware of the sound of voices on the rim of consciousness. At first he thought it was Joe and Callie fighting again and he wished they'd stop and let him sleep. But gradually, the voices became more distinct and he realized that it was not Joe and Callie. Yet they were still familiar and he groped to recognize them.
"...kidnapping is a felony?" said one voice.
"And grand theft isn't? What did you think we were involved in, babe?"
"I don't know." There was a silence and Frank started to drift back to sleep when one of the voices started up again. "No killing. Promise me that this is as far as it goes."
The next voice was an indistinct mumble.
"That's what you say. What does he say?" More mumbling, and that was worse than talking, because his ear automatically strained to make sense of it.
"Three days. You'd better hope it's over in three days. Have you seen him? Do you have any idea what can happen when you give drugs to somebody with a head injury? What if he has a concussion? Did you think of that?"
Three days...three days...that nagged at Frank, trying to get his attention. He tried to lift his right hand to rub at his head, which didn't seem to be working at all. It made it halfway and sprang back in some odd fashion.
He frowned more deeply. He tried to open his eyes to look, but his lids seemed to have lead weights on them. Three days...three days...who had been arguing about three days? And where were Joe and Callie?
He tried lifting up his head, but even with his eyes closed everything dipped and spun furiously. He held tightly to what felt like - what had to be - a bed. The voices rose momentarily in volume, but it didn't matter anymore. The bed seemed to give one more spin, then tilt him over the edge - into a deep, dark pit. Into blackness.
The next time Frank eased into consciousness he felt more alert. The arguing voices had stopped and he became aware of a hundred sensations, most of them unpleasant. His head felt as though a heavy-metal band had taken up residence in his brain and there was a maddening itching inside his left arm. He reached to scratch it. His right arm made it halfway and then sprang back and he ruffled his brows, trying to remember where that had happened before.
"Just lie still, now. Take it easy." Something cool and wet landed on his forehead and he managed to pry his eyes open a slit. He must have the flu or something.
"Mom?" he mumbled. There was a short silence, then someone lifted his head, carefully avoiding the sore spot at the back, and put a glass to his lips. He drank deeply and felt somewhat better. He managed to open his eyes a little further and focus on the face floating nearby. Someone he didn't know. She looked familiar, but when he tried to concentrate on it, it made his headache worse, so he decided to forget it. After a moment another thought occurred to him.
"Are you a nurse?"
She looked at him a moment, then said, "Well, I'm your nurse. How are you feeling? You look a little better." She put her hand against his cheek and nodded. "Cooler."
"Am I sick? Where's Joe and Callie?" He tried to reach for her, but his arm was stopped again. "And what's wrong with my arm?"
She pulled a blanket up around his neck and placed her hands firmly on his chest. "Just lie still and don't talk. Sleep, if you can."
He stared at her thoughtfully trying to place her, a hundred questions pressing against his brain, but somehow, he seemed to be taking her advice in spite of himself and his eyes were sinking closed.
"I wish you'd tell me what's going on," he said drowsily.
He felt the cloth on his forehead again and he heard her say, very faintly, as though she thought he was already asleep, "The less you know, the better."
*
Joe and Callie stood staring at the San Francisco Opera House, a little awed.
"The first municipal Opera Company in the U.S. Wow." Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. "Any ideas how we're going to do this, partner?"
Callie flashed him a pleased smile. "Not really. Let's go in and play it by ear."
They mounted the steps and were dwarfed by the enormous lobby. They were just glancing around when Joe caught sight of something that sent an electrical current through him. He took a step forward, then glanced back at Callie uncertainly. "Callie - " he hesitated, torn. "You see what you can find out. Look around. I'll be right back. There's something I gotta check out."
"But - Joe - what?" Joe was moving away too quickly to hear the rest. He was following the quick glimpse before it could slip out of sight, down a side corridor and through a door that led to a flight of steps. Every second counted if he had seen what he thought he had. And any second somebody could catch him wandering around past the "Staff Only" sign and throw him out.
The stairs led into a labyrinth of dressing rooms and storage areas. Joe hesitated, looking around anxiously. Nothing. He swallowed, heartsick that he had lost the trail. Then the smallest flicker of movement up ahead sent him doggedly forward, past rows of doors, until he came to one recessed slightly behind a pillar. He peered through the crushed glass window. Deep inside he thought he saw a glimmer of light. With infinite care, he turned the knob and slipped noiselessly inside.
The walls were lined with shelves, stacked with bottles and dishes and plants and shields and things he didn't even know the names of. There were tables in one corner stacked with antique armaments; too many varied items to take in at once. He started forward silently. The light was clearer now, just a faint glow in a far corner, and as he moved toward it he thought he could distinguish the back of someone's coat from the shadows. Rounding one of the shelves, he took cover behind a life-sized stuffed horse and watched for a minute. The figure was perfectly still. Joe blinked in perplexity. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe it was just another prop? Cautiously, he stepped out from behind the horse and moved toward it.
He didn't make a single sound. He even held his breath as he approached. But just as he moved out of the shadow and into the faint glow of light, the figure swung round, suddenly animated.
Joe gasped at the unexpected movement, but that wasn't all that made him gasp. There was also the small, neat revolver in the figure's hand. Pointed directly at Joe's ribs.