Read Lassiter 03 - False Dawn for Free Online Page B

Yagamata’s generous gifts, and the head of the symphony did the same.
    Around us, Biscayne Bay shimmered black under a soft easterly breeze. The lights of the Collins Avenue hotels winked, and an occasional jet from M.I.A. soared overhead. It was a beautiful night filled with beautiful people doing beautiful things. As usual, I didn’t quite fit in.
    “Will you look at that,” Charlie Riggs said, interrupting my reverie.
    Yagamata stood alone on the stage. He had opened a red velvet box and withdrew what appeared to be a green and silver egg-shaped sculpture. At its base, two winged creatures stood with swords and shields raised high.
    “Come closer, Jake,” Charlie said, moving toward the stage.
    Yagamata was speaking to his guests: “As many of you know, I have given many gifts of art to museums both in Japan and in the United States.” He allowed himself a modest chuckle. “I thought you might like to see a little something I gave myself.”
    The crowd tittered at the “little something.” Yagamata was showing off and enjoying it.
    “I love art, and I love jewelry. So the jewelry-art of Carl Fabergé is most attractive to me. When Fabergé made imperial eggs for the family of the czar, he often enclosed a surprise.” Carefully, Yagamata lifted the lid of the egg and delicately pulled out what at first looked like a thick gold chain.
    Moving closer, I saw it clearly, a miniature train, an engine, a tender, and five coaches of solid gold.
    “The Trans-Siberian Railway Egg of 1900,” whispered Charlie Riggs, who knows everything worth knowing and a lot that isn’t.
    “I don’t know if you can appreciate the incredible detail from where you are standing,” Yagamata said to the crowd. “One coach even has a miniature imperial chapel. There are tiny signs for ‘smokers’ and ‘ladies only.’ It is really quite special.”
    Charlie made a harrumphing sound that he sometimes uses to clear his throat and his mind.
    I nudged him from behind. “What do you suppose that thing cost?”
    “You couldn’t buy it,” Charlie replied, testily.
    “I know
I
couldn’t, but what do you suppose Yagamata spent?”
    “He couldn’t buy it, either. Not if it’s the real McCoy.”
    “You think it’s fake? Skim milk masquerading as cream?”
    “Trust me, Jake. The original could not be bought. What I don’t understand is how anyone could afford to copy something so intricate. It would simply be too expensive to duplicate.”
    Yagamata was still fondling his little gold train, and Charlie Riggs was still chewing over something I didn’t understand.
    “Didn’t that magazine publisher buy a lot of those eggs?” I asked.
    “Yes, Malcolm Forbes. But he bought them from private collections.”
    “So, maybe Yagamata—”
    “The Trans-Siberian Railway Egg is in the Armoury Museum in the Kremlin, and not in the gift shop, either. You can’t buy it, Jake, any more than you could buy Lenin’s Tomb. It belongs to the Russian Republic.”
    Yagamata folded the train together. The cars fit snugly together by the minute gold hinges that connected them. He put the train back into the egg, and the egg into its red velvet box. The guests began gravitating toward the dessert table, where white-gloved waiters served chocolate eggs filled with white mousse and a raspberry for a surprise. I just love theme parties.
    “Sometimes, Charlie, you make life too complicated,” I said to my old pal.
    “I’m waiting,” Charlie said, “
arrectis auribus
, with ears pricked up.”
    “Sometimes, things are just the way they seem.”
    “Meaning what?”
    I seldom get anywhere quicker than Charlie Riggs, so I wanted to prolong the moment. “If Matsuo Yagamata wanted that shiny little choo-choo train and it wasn’t for sale, what do you suppose he’d do?”
    Doc Riggs eyed me suspiciously but didn’t say a word.
    “He’d just take it, Charlie. He’d steal the damn thing.”

4
THE PROFESSOR AND THE PRIVATE EYE
     
    Y ou smell