Coming Home

Eight

Alex never did get back to the office that day although he left a message. “He expects to be on Jennifer tomorrow,” Jacob said.

“Anything special going on?” I asked.

“Yes. He says he knows why Kolchevsky was on the mountain.”

“Really?”

“He called Inspector Redfield this morning to offer his theory.”

“And what is the theory?”

“I was not included in the conversation.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No. He would have told me if he wished me to know.”

Which meant that he was really keeping me out of the loop. Alex does enjoy playing games. I thought about calling him, but that was probably what he wanted me to do. And if I did, he’d find a reason to put me off. He could be an infuriating boss when he wanted to. “Did he have any visitors this morning?”

“No, Chase. And no calls connected with the matter.”

I knew he’d been going through Kolchevsky’s history, and obviously he’d found something. I’d read the guy’s bio and some comments by his colleagues. I’d even gone back and watched some of his more current media appearances, but I hadn’t seen anything helpful. Anyhow, it became a busy afternoon, so I put it out of my mind and spent the rest of the day talking with clients about artifacts that had become available.

I stayed late on the chance he would return and have no choice but to tell me what he knew. But he didn’t show, and, finally, I closed up and went home.

My morning routine is to watch Jennifer while I eat breakfast. Usually, I get downstairs just as the show is starting. That morning, though, I was a half hour early, so I’d finished before she blinked on in my living room, along with two chairs, a table, and the studio background. She was seated in one of the chairs and began by doing her standard opening lines welcoming her viewers to the show. Then she reminded us of the unfortunate death of Casmir Kolchevsky, who had been her frequent guest over many years. She told us she might have a breaking story that would explain what had caused his death. Then she showed several clips of him laughing, lecturing the audience, and playing the morally upright figure who attacked anyone who did not subscribe to his code of behavior. Which consisted largely of taking umbrage with those who had the temerity to pursue and sell artifacts.

She described the strangeness of his passing. “He was not a mountain climber,” she said. “He did a little bit of that when he was younger, but as far as we can tell, this was the first time he’d gone up a steep slope in more than thirty years.

“Anyway, he’s been a frequent contributor to this show, and we’ve enjoyed having him on board. I’ll miss him. A lot of us will. Among them is Alex Benedict, the antiquarian who was an occasional target for Kolchevsky. That was probably because Alex was so successful at what he did and because he believed that artifacts rightfully belonged to whoever found them, and not necessarily to the museums.” She looked off to her right. “Alex, do I have that right?”

Alex strode into the room. “I think that’s a fair summation, Jennifer. And good morning.”

“Welcome to the show, Alex.”

“Thanks for having me.” He took a seat at the table. “It’s always a pleasure.”

“Before we go any further, when I called yesterday to ask whether you had a comment on the loss of Casmir, you surprised me.”

“In what way?”

“You expressed a degree of sympathy for him that I would not have expected. Despite the fact that—I don’t know any other way to say this—he was on occasion extremely critical of you.”

Alex smiled. “Well, I suppose you could say that. I don’t think Casmir approved of my line of work. But that’s okay. Some people think accountants commit profane acts. In any case, Jen, I’m sorry we’ve lost him. He expressed his views as he saw them. We didn’t agree on some basic issues. But he was essentially a good man. I think we can let it go at that.”

“Alex, when I asked you how you’d reacted to the manner of his death, a man with a bad heart walking on a mountain trail, you told me you thought you knew exactly what happened.”

“Well, that may have been an exaggeration. But I have a theory.” He leaned back in the chair and smiled.

She waited for him to proceed. But he fell silent, and she rolled her eyes. “Alex,” she said, “you should have gone into show business.”

He managed to look puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Let’s let it go. Would you be willing to share that theory with us?”

“Of course. I’ve been delving through everything I could find on Casmir. As I’m sure you know, there’s a substantial amount of material.”

“And what did you find?”

“Some pictures.”

“You brought them, I hope.”

“Oh, yes.” The studio scene blinked off and was replaced by a young couple standing on a porch. It took a moment to recognize the guy, but he was Kolchevsky. Probably in his mid-twenties. The woman I didn’t know. She might have been two or three years younger, with dark eyes, amber hair cut short, and attractive features. “The young lady,” said Alex, “is Anna Kushnir. Roughly a year after this picture was taken, they married.” The picture was replaced by another, of the couple on a beach. Then participating in a graduation exercise. And coming out of a church. And another at their wedding.

“All very nice,” said Jen. “But what has this to do with the way he died?”

“Unfortunately, he lost Anna twenty years ago.”

Jennifer’s smile had already faded. I guessed she’d known about Anna’s premature death. The wedding scene was replaced by the young couple looking out over an ocean vista from a considerable height. They were seated in a rocky embrasure. Which looked eerily familiar. Then I recognized the shoreline. The ocean was actually Lake Accord. And the embrasure was the cradle we’d seen on the Mt. Barrow cliff.

A second image showed the couple at the same location, in different clothes, gazing into each other’s eyes.

And a third one, also at the embrasure, portrayed them laughing while they ate what might have been popcorn. Again with different attire.

“They loved this place,” Alex said. “There are numerous pictures of them here. I suspect, after he lost her, this was as close as he could get to her.”

“Alex,” I said, “I always had you pegged for a romantic. Did Fenn buy it?”

“He says it makes as much sense as anything he can come up with.”

“Incredible. I never would have guessed that from Kolchevsky, though. He seemed like such a cold individual.”

“I don’t agree at all, Chase. He was always overheated. I think you’re mistaking his resentment of us for a lack of feeling.”