Read Black Monday, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 7 Page 29

  Chapter 29

  THE LUDINBURG COLLECTION

   

  It took a few weeks before I was able to get back to the office and tackle the mounds of work that had stacked up. Other than a few sore ribs and bruises, I was okay. A high-priced defense attorney arrived on the scene immediately after the assassin's attempt on my life, so the police weren't able to determine who was behind the bombing of my car. They did find some interesting evidence in the assassin's apartment though—a pocket calendar with several pages of notes and information about Robert Huntington. Unfortunately, I hadn't been allowed to see the calendar nor had I been briefed by the FBI on their progress, if any, at finding Huntington. Since there was nothing more for me to do in that regard, I turned my attention back to Lottie West's estate.

  Luther Zimmerman refused to see me so I asked Detective Besch to help me out. We arrived at his office in North Dallas about 10:30 a.m. His secretary said he was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed. Detective Besch flashed his badge and suggested he may want to end his meeting early. The receptionist reluctantly left to give him the message. A few moments later we were invited into a conference room and told Mr. Zimmerman would be there shortly.

  A tall, stout, and nearly bald man walked in the room. He stood erect with a grim face and asked, "What do you want?"

  Besch replied, "You're Mr. Zimmerman?"

  "Yes," Zimmerman replied.

  Besch identified himself, showed Zimmerman his badge, and told him he needed to ask him some questions.

  "What's this about?" Zimmerman asked.

  "Does the name William West mean anything to you?"

  Zimmerman shook his head. "No. Can't say that it does."

  "Come on Mr. Zimmerman. We know you two did business together."

  "I do business with a lot of people. I can't remember every one of them."

  "Oh, this one you'd remember," I interjected. "He showed you a picture of the Ludinburg Collection."

  Zimmerman shrugged. "I don't remember that."

  "You know," Besch said. "Playing dumb might buy you some time, but if I find out you've been lying to me, I'm gonna be mighty pissed off."

  Zimmerman looked at him, grinned, and replied, "So, what are you gonna do, charge me with having a bad memory?"

  Besch took a deep breath, "No. I can be more creative than that," he said, "how about obstruction of justice? Or, let's see, I could see to it that an investigation was started into every art deal you've made in the last ten years. I bet that would be very revealing."

  Zimmerman's grin disappeared. "Okay, relax. Maybe I have a vague recollection of Mr. West. It's coming back to me now. Yeah, I think he sold me a couple pieces he had inherited from his father."

  "A couple pieces? How about the entire Ludinburg Collection?" I asked.

  "No," he said emphatically, "just a chalice and a reliquary, that was it."

  "Mr. Zimmerman, we have no interest at this time in prosecuting you for any crimes you may have committed while dealing in this stolen property, but if you don't cooperate, that posture will change, I promise you."

  Zimmerman sighed. "I'm telling you the truth. Those two pieces were the only ones I ever saw."

  "How much did you pay for them?"

  "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars each. He wanted three million for the entire collection, but I needed time to line up buyers. I told him we'd have to take it slow and move a few pieces at a time."

  "So what happened to the rest of the collection?"

  "I don't know. I couldn't get anyone to commit enough money to buy the rest of it. A German organization contacted me and offered to pay a million dollars but wouldn't pay any more."

  "So, what did you do with the two pieces you bought?"

  "I sold them to a dealer in New York."

  "What was the dealer's name?"

  "I don't remember."

  "You don't remember? Don't you have a record?"

  He snickered, "I don't keep records of transactions like that."

  "How much did you get for them?"

  "Is that relevant to anything?" Zimmerman asked.

  "Yes," Besch said. "And I'm getting tired of having to pry every little piece of information out of you. You better start cooperating."

  He shook his head and replied, "Okay, seven hundred and fifty thousand."

  "So, you made a quick $250,000?" Besch said.

  "Well, that's how this business works."

  "Any idea what happened to the rest of the collection?"

  "No. Like I said, after a while I gave up trying to acquire it. West wanted too much money."

  "Where did he keep the collection?"

  "I don't know. He brought me the two pieces I purchased. I seem to recall him mentioning a safety deposit box."

  "Did he mention where it was located?"

  "Nope. Can't help you there."

  Besch told him about Lottie West's murder and the possibility that the thief might have found some of the treasure in her home. He asked him where he was on the day of the murder. Zimmerman couldn't remember. Besch suggested he give it some thought and come up with an alibi or Besch would have to consider him a suspect.

  "I doubt she'd keep it in her home. It would be way too risky," Zimmerman said. "Lottie wasn't stupid. She knew the value of the artifacts."

  "You knew Lottie?"

  "I met her a few times. William talked a lot about her too. She ruled the roost."

  "You mean; she was a willing participant in the sale of the collection?"

  "Yes, she desperately wanted to get rid of the stuff. She put a lot of pressure on William to dispose of it."

  "Why?" Besch asked.

  "I don't know. Maybe she wanted the money. The treasure was worthless to her. She couldn't even show it to anyone for fear they'd turn William and her in."

   We left Zimmerman's feeling like we'd only heard part of the story. He was a very smart man and obviously knew a lot more than he was letting on. Besch said he was putting Zimmerman at the top of his list of suspects. He asked me to check around Lottie's neighborhood and see if anyone had seen Zimmerman hanging around there. I picked up a brochure on the way out of his office. It had his picture on it.

  The next day I went back to Lottie's place. I knocked on all the neighbors' doors and asked if they had seen Zimmerman around the neighborhood in the last few months. Nobody had. I also showed them photos of James, Loretta and Otto Barringer. When I showed Otto Barringer's photo to Martha Green in the house across the street, she remembered him.

  "He's been around here. I've seen him before."

  "Really? Can you remember when and where?" I asked.

  "Let me think," she said. "He mowed my neighbor's lawn once."

  "Really? How long ago?"

  "A month or two ago?"

  "Did you talk to him?"

  "Yes. When he was done, I went over to ask him if he was available to do my yard."

  "What did say?"

  "He said he didn't have his appointment book but that he'd stop by to set something up the following week. But he never came by again."

  "Was your neighbor home while he was working?"

  "No, she was out of town."

  "Did you ever talk to her about this guy?"

  "No."

  "What's your neighbor's name?" I asked.

  "Mabel Riddle."

  After thanking Mrs. Green for her help, I went next door to see Mrs. Riddle. I suspected she wouldn't know Otto Barringer and I was right. She wondered who had mowed her yard. It was clear Otto Barringer had not been candid with us. Was he Lottie's killer? He seemed to have a keen interest in her. I called Besch and told him what I had learned. He said he'd find Otto and haul him in for further questioning.