Chapter 5
In a fine old home several miles away, a phone rang. An antique baroque item made of red Bakelite and gilt-plated metal. The phone sat on an imported, illegal teak table. The table sat in the corner of a large and lavishly furnished den. Oil paintings of nude women centuries dead lined the walls. Thick camel-hair rugs and the hides of near-extinct mammals covered the floor. Light fell on phone and corpse alike, cast by an enormous crystal chandelier made before Napoleon moved to Elba.
A hand plucked up the receiver. A hand covered with pale skin, parchment-like and spotted with age, but steady and strong. The long fingers wrapped around the barrel and brought it up. A voice said one word. “Yes?”
Silence as the hand’s owner listened. Then a short reply. “I see. A pity. Bring th
