Jamie Brodie 02 - Hoarded to Death by Meg Perry Page A

guy…hmm. Belardo needs to know that. But if I was Belardo, I wouldn't go back and accuse the guy of lying just yet. I'd just take the paper to UCLA, like we all said he should at the beginning, and get a second read."
    "Maybe you could suggest that to him."
    "Yeah, right."
    "You think he's not open to suggestion?"
    "I think he's not open to suggestion from me."
    "Ah. So he'd let his homophobia get in the way of his investigation?"
    Pete looked out the passenger window, brooding a little. "I don't know."
    "Maybe you should call Eckhoff instead of Belardo."
    "Nah, that's not the way things are done. Belardo would take that as an insult."
    "Jeez." I shook my head. "Why couldn't Jennifer have lived in West LA territory? Tim could have handled the murder." Tim Garcia was my brother Kevin's partner.
    "Yeah."
    We were both quiet for a while. We got home and I parked in our spot behind the townhouse. I turned to Pete before we got out of the VW. "You're not going to call him tonight, are you?"
    "Nah. It's late and it'll keep until morning."
    We went inside, kicked off our sho es and flopped down on the sofa. I snuggled up a little, remembering my vow to be more romantic. "Why don't I call Belardo? I'm the one that talked to Matt. And maybe I could mention Conrad's name in passing."
    Pete looked at me, a little surprised. "You don't mind doing that?"
    "Nah. He doesn’t intimidate me."
    Pete laughed. "Good. That’d be great. Thanks."
    The next day was Sunday. Around 10:00, I figured it was late enough that Belardo would be answering his phone, and I called him.
    His voice was gruff when he answered. “Belardo.”
    “Detective Belardo, this is Jamie Brodie calling about the Howard Wallace case. I met a guy last night who works for Quentin Brashier, the book dealer you took the torn paper to. The employee, Matt Bendel, said that he got a good look at the paper when you were talking to Brashier, and he thinks Brashier was wrong about it not being old.”
    “Oh yeah? And what does he base this on?”
    “He has a degree in art history. He studied reproductions and counterfeiting, and he doesn’t think that piece of paper is either of those.”
    “Huh.” Belardo must have been at a desk; I heard the sound of shuffling paper in the background. “He thinks Brashier lied?”
    “Either that or Brashier just didn’t know.”
    “I remember that kid. Little pa- little guy. Why didn’t he speak up when we were there?”
    Maybe because he knew you thought he was just a little pansy . “Because he didn’t want to lose his job by arguing with his boss.”
    Belardo grunted. “Okay. Where did you meet this kid?”
    I wasn’t going to say at a party. “At a Santa Monica College get-together. His partner teaches with mine.”
    “Okay. You got a phone number for him?”
    “Um – yeah, hold on.” I went to find Pete, who was outside cleaning the patio furniture. “I need Elliott’s phone number. Belardo wants to talk to Matt.”
    “Um – it was on that invitation. Where’d that go?”
    I said to Belardo, “Hang on, we’re looking for the number.” Then Pete and I spent a couple of minutes looking for the invitation. We finally found it on Pete’s desk. “Okay, here it is. This is his partner’s number, but they live together.” I recited the number.
    “Okay, thanks.” Belardo made a disgruntled sound. “Guess I’m gonna have to talk to art theft, see why they recommended this Brashier guy. Shoulda brought it to UCLA in the first place.”
    “You still can.”
    “Yeah, sure. Thanks again.” He hung up.

    We spent Thanksgiving with my family, driving down early Thanksgiving morning and spending that night. We drove back on Friday. On the way back, I got a call from Jennifer. The second day of the hoard clearing was scheduled, and she wanted to meet with us.
    We arranged with Jennifer to meet Saturday evening at a Vietnamese restaurant in Venice. When Pete and I got there, Jennifer was waiting for us, working on a big