Eileen rushed forward and took Dana in her arms. “Dana, darling! And there’s Kimbal!”
“Mother…”
Peter Tomkins said, “So this is the famous Dana Evans, eh? I’ve told all my clients about you.” He turned to Kemal. “And this is the boy.” He noticed Kemal’s missing arm. “Hey, you didn’t tell me he was a cripple.”
Dana’s blood froze. She saw the shock on Kemal’s face.
Peter Tomkins shook his head. “If he had had insurance with our company before that happened, he’d be a rich kid.” He turned toward the door. “Come on in. You must be hungry.”
“Not anymore,” Dana said tightly. She turned to Eileen. “I’m sorry, Mother. Kemal and I are going back to Washington.”
“I’m sorry, Dana. I—”
“So am I. I hope you’re not making a big mistake. Have a nice wedding.”
“Dana—”
Dana’s mother watched in dismay as Dana and Kemal got into the car and drove away.
Peter Tomkins looked after them in astonishment. “Hey, what did I say?”
Eileen Evans sighed. “Nothing, Peter. Nothing.”
Kemal was silent on the ride home. Dana glanced at him from time to time.
“I’m so sorry, darling. Some people are just ignorant.”
“He’s right,” Kemal said bitterly. “I am a cripple.”
“You’re not a cripple,” Dana said fiercely. “You don’t judge people by how many arms or legs they have. You judge them by what they are.”
“Yeah? And what am I?”
“You’re a survivor. And I’m proud of you. You know, Mr. Charming was right about one thing—I’m hungry. I guess it wouldn’t interest you, but I see a McDonald’s ahead.”
Kemal smiled. “Awesome.”
After Kemal went to bed, Dana walked into the living room and sat down to think. She turned on the television set and started surfing the news channels. They were all doing follow-up stories on the Gary Winthrop murder.
“…hoping that the stolen van might offer some clues to the identity of the murderers…”
“…two bullets from a Beretta. Police are checking all gun shops to…”
“…and the brutal murder of Gary Winthrop in the exclusive northwest area proved that no one is…”
There was something at the back of Dana’s mind, teasing her. It took her hours to get to sleep. In the morning, when Dana awakened, she suddenly realized what had been bothering her. Money and jewels were lying in the open. Why hadn’t the killers taken them?
Dana got up and made a pot of coffee while she reviewed what Chief Burnett had said.
Do you have a list of the stolen paintings?
We do. They’re all well known. The list is being circulated to museums, art dealers, and collectors. The minute one of those paintings appears, the case will be solved.
The burglars must have known that the paintings couldn’t be sold easily, Dana thought, which could mean that the theft was arranged by a wealthy collector who intends to keep the paintings for himself. But why would a man like that put himself in the hands of two murderous hoodlums?
On Monday morning when Kemal got up, Dana fixed breakfast and dropped him off at school.
“Have a good day, darling.”
“See you, Dana.”
Dana watched Kemal walk into the front door of the school, and then she headed for the police station on Indiana Avenue.
It was snowing again and there was a sadistic wind tearing at everything in its path.
Detective Phoenix Wilson, in charge of the Gary Winthrop murder, was a street-smart misanthrope, with a few scars to show how he had gotten that way. He looked up as Dana walked into his office.
“No interviews,” he growled. “When there’s any new information on the Winthrop murder, you’ll hear it at the press conference with everybody else.”
“I didn’t come to ask you about that,” Dana said.
He eyed her skeptically. “Oh, really?”
“Really. I’m interested in the paintings that were stolen. You have a list of them, I assume?”
“So?”
“Could you give me a copy?”
Detective Wilson asked suspiciously, “Why? What did you have in mind?”
“I’d like to see what the killers took. I might do a segment on the air.”
Detective Wilson studied Dana a moment. “That’s not a bad idea. The more publicity these paintings get, the less chance the killers will have to sell them.” He rose. “They took twelve paintings and left a lot more. I guess they were too lazy to carry them all. Good help is hard to find these days. I’ll get you a copy of that report.”