Among Thieves

“Which brings you back to Baxter.”

Fi

“Have you shared your theory with the police?” Bass asked.

“Not yet,” Fi

“Like what?”

“Like how would he have gotten hooked up with Bulger in the first place? I suppose Whitey could have sought him out and put a gun to his head, but that would have been awfully risky, and Bulger wasn’t known for taking chances like that. There’s also the insurance issue.”

“The insurance issue?”

Fi

“Maybe,” Bass said. “But you never know; they might have taken their chances and gone ahead with it anyway.”

“It’s possible,” Fi

“As far as it goes, though, it still seems that Baxter is the most logical suspect.”

“One of them,” Fi

“Who?”

Fi

“Me?”

The waiter came over. “I’ll have another,” Fi

Bass looked bewildered. “Yes, thank you.”

The waiter sauntered away toward the bar. “Yes, you,” Fi

Bass stared at Fi

“I figured,” Fi

The waiter arrived and set Fi

“No, we’re good, thanks,” Fi

“Which is?”

“Motive. I still can’t figure it out. If you were involved, you clearly didn’t make any money off the robbery, and that knocks out the motive that usually drives people in situations like this-greed. From what I can tell, the museum has treated you pretty well. Maybe not perfectly, but I’ve seen the way you talk about the place; it’s pretty clear that there’s no revenge at issue here. So, I can’t figure out what your angle would have been.” He took another drink.

“I’m not sure how you expect me to respond to all this,” Bass said.

“I expect you to tell me the truth,” Fi

“The truth is I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. When we first talked to you in the museum, you described the robbery as a ‘betrayal.’ It seemed like an odd choice of words to me at the time, and it stuck. You can only betray something you love; something you have some loyalty to. It seemed like you knew what you were talking about. Like it was personal.”

A light shade of crimson shone through the gray of Bass’s face. He stood up. “I don’t appreciate your insinuation, Mr. Fi

“Sit down.”

“Why would I?”

“Because I’m meeting the police at the museum in twenty minutes, and I still haven’t decided whether I’m going to tell them my theory about you.”

Bass stood by the side of the table, tottering slightly, hanging over Fi

“Proof?” Fi

“Why would you do this?”

“Because my client is dead. A girl lost her father. I want to know why.” He pointed to the chair beside him. “Now sit.”

Bass sunk into the seat. He closed his eyes and turned toward the sun again. “What would you do?” he asked. “If I said you were right, would you tell the police?”

“Depends,” Fi

“On what?”

“On whether you give me a good enough reason not to.”

Bass sat very still for a long time. “I’m dying,” he said at last.

“We’re all dying,” Fi

“The doctors say a year at the outside.”

“I’m sorry. But that’s not a reason.”

Bass opened his eyes and picked up his glass. He didn’t even bother to sniff the wine this time; he took a long drink. “I love the museum,” he said. “I love what it stands for. Can you imagine, building something that beautiful? One person. One vision. And then leaving all that beauty to the world forever? It is, perhaps, one of the greatest accomplishments I can think of.” He was looking off at some distant point, and his eyes had lost their focus. Then he looked sharply at Fi

Fi

“To save it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You see, Mr. Fi

“He threatened to kill you?” Fi

“No, no, he knew me too well for that. He knew that I would never hurt the museum to save myself.”

“What then?”

“He threatened to take it all away from me. To take it away from the world.” Fi