The Icon Thief Read Online Free Page B

way. “Maybe the sand wasn’t here at the time.”
    “Exactly.” Powell went back to the fence. He noticed again that part of it was newer than the rest, with green plastic mesh covering the links. Because this section was less permeable to windblown particles, drifts of sand had piled up there until the area was impassable.
    “When the body was dumped, this part of the fencehadn’t been installed yet,” Powell said. “It was probably just a chain link that would leave the ground clear. If we can figure out when this section of fence was installed, we can narrow down the window of opportunity.”
    Powell turned away from the wall of sand and headed in the other direction. He found that he could walk without difficulty for a hundred yards. After another few steps, the sand reclaimed the space under the boards. Just before it became completely blocked, he came upon a second gate.
    “This is where he came in,” Powell said. “The entrance at the parking lot is exposed, but this is sheltered from the street. From here, he could drag the body to where we found it.” He turned to the patrolman. “Can you open this?”
    “Sure.” Reaching through the fence, the patrolman opened the padlock and undid the chain. Emerging into the open air, which was sweet compared to the stink of the boards, they found themselves at the rear of a building set below the level of the boardwalk. An empty Dumpster sat nearby.
    “So he brought the body here,” Powell said. “Either he had a key for the padlock, or he cut through it with bolt cutters. He dragged the body inside and took it as far down the boardwalk as he could. But why didn’t he just bury it here? Maybe he thought that if the body were found close to the gate—”
    “—it would be connected to him,” Wolfe said flatly. “Because look at where we are.”
    Powell followed her gaze. Ahead of him, a service door was stenciled with the name of a restaurant. “The Club Marat.”
    Wolfe switched off her flashlight. “If this is where the body was taken, our man went under the boards ten feet from Sharkovsky’s back door. I don’t know how they did things at the Met, but that’s good enough for me.” She handed the light back to the patrolman. “So what do we do now?”
    “We talk to homicide,” Powell said. “Find the fellow in the blue gloves and tell him what we’ve found. Try to be tactful.”
    “It’s the only way I know how to be.” Wolfe headed for the steps. “You coming?”
    “In a moment,” Powell said. He watched as Wolfe and the patrolman ascended the ramp to the boardwalk. Then he turned back to the club. Above the service entrance, a single light was burning.
    Powell leaned against the metal railing of the steps, his arms folded. In the darkness, which was broken only by the row of lamps overhead, he was little more than a shadow. He continued to look at the Club Marat for a long time. Faintly, from inside the club, he could hear the low pulse of music.

3
    M addy arrived ten minutes early. As she waited at the bar, nursing a club soda and lime, she studied her face in the mirror. It was long and angular, like her body, the hair gathered back with a tortoiseshell clip. A stork’s face. Growing up, she had always felt four inches too tall, and in the absence of a more attentive mother, it had taken her years to learn to dress in ways that complemented, rather than concealed, her natural length of bone.
    A second later, the mirror disclosed another face. Turning, she saw a familiar figure sailing serenely across the restaurant floor, dressed in a peasant skirt and floral thrift store cardigan. Tanya was a librarian at the Frick, not yet thirty, her blue eyes blinking behind raven bangs. At school, they had not been particularly close, but Maddy had long since learned how useful this young woman could be.
    Maddy rose, drink in hand. As she was approaching Tanya, she saw the final member of their party enter the room. He was handsome in a harmless