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down to dinner, I d be on them like lint on a rug.
As for Pranav and Unnati, both seemed preoccupied and
sullen. I d convinced Kirsch that it might not be a good idea to
inform them of Hema s death until after the banquet. It wasn t
that I was worried about ruining their evening. I just didn t want
anything coming between me and pinning down her murderers,
which I had every intention of doing that night.
While we waited for our appetizers to arrive, I showed Pranav
and Unnati the cellphone picture of Stretch and Squat. They stud-
ied the picture with blank stares, and shook their heads when I
asked if they recognized the men.
You say they are delegates here? Pranav asked. Do they
have something to do with Neil s death? Is that what you think?
I tilted my head to one side as I put away the phone. Possibly.
And yes, I ve already seen them here tonight.
Then we know who they are, he said hurriedly, giving his
wife an inquiring look. You have a record of every delegate, yes?
We must at least have their names, isn t that so?
She nodded as she regarded her husband with pursed lips.
She said, Yes. But there are over seven hundred registered dele-
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gates. And then the same number of spouses and special guests. I
certainly don t know each by name or face, Pranav.
What about Colin? I asked. Would he be likely to recognize
these men?
I cannot say, she responded. You must ask him.
Your husband tells me you haven t heard of the Zinko car-
pet, I said, briskly changing the subject. I found this to be a good
technique when interviewing someone. It put them off guard, and
tended to result in more truthful answers. For most people, a con-
vincing lie takes some time.
No, that is not true, she said to me.
I looked at Pranav, but he seemed more interested in the phyl-
lo basket filled with cream cheese, sour cherry, and capers, which
had just arrived.
Of course I have heard the stories of the Zinko. Everyone in
the carpet world has. What my husband likely meant to tell you,
Mr. Quant, is that I like most people knowledgeable about car-
pets do not believe in the Zinko. It is nothing more than a silly
myth. A fanciful old wives tale. A fabrication. There is no truth to
it. It is, at best, a story meant for children s bedtime.
This was interesting. I d met two so-called carpet profession-
als who d admitted no knowledge of the Zinko. Now there was
only one left.
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Chapter 19
Ever since I stopped being one myself, I just can t resist trying to
ditch the cops whenever I can, but Darren Kirsch was tougher to
shake than most. Especially when he knew I knew more about a
case than he did. I d been living with Neil Gupta s death in Dubai
for almost two weeks. Darren had become involved via Hema s
murder in Saskatoon only hours ago, but he was a smart guy. No
matter how little he relished joining forces with a meddlesome
private dick who investigated more by blunder and bluster than
proven professional investigative technique (his words not
mine sometimes true, sometimes not), in this case he knew it
was to his benefit to do so. So when I excused myself to get the
table more wine, the big, brawny, mustachioed lug followed me.
He knew there was no way I was coming back. I hated that he
knew me so well.
You ve got that look in your eye, Quant. You re onto some-
thing.
I picked up speed, making my way via circuitous route
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between tables of eight diners, towards the rear of the ballroom.
I led him to the bathroom doors, where he stopped me with a
T-bone-sized paw on my forearm. What is it, Quant? What do
you know?
I m not sure I know anything for sure yet. For once, I wasn t
lying to him.
Okay, what do you not know for sure?
It s the Zinko, I finally broke. I know that damn rug has
something to do with both Neil s and Hema s deaths.
So what was all that back at the table about who believes in
the Zinko and who doesn t? How can a rug that doesn t exist have
anything to do with any of this? He sounded both frustrated and
confused. He had good reason to be.
Whether or not it s real, I said, may not be what s impor-
tant.
Huh? His square jaw moved from side to side, a regular
habit whenever he was confounded.
Do you believe in Santa Claus? I asked.
He rolled his eyes, and made a move as if about to walk away
in disgust. Oh c mon, Quant.
No, just answer me. Do you believe in Santa Claus?
No, of course not. I m an adult, for crying out loud.
Okay, okay, but by that do you mean to say you did believe in
Santa Claus when you were a kid?
Of course I did. All kids do.
But suppose you ran into a kid who told you that not only
did they not believe in Santa Claus, but also they d never even
heard of the guy.
So what?
Suspicious?
Maybe a little odd. But I repeat, Quant, so freaking what?
Colin Cardinale. He s the executive director in charge of
tonight s extravaganza and the entire World Antique Carpets
Symposium. He s about to become the curator of the University of
Saskatchewan s new permanent collection of antique rugs.
Uh huh. So?
He told me he d never heard of the Zinko.
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Kirsch thought about this for a second, but it wasn t enough to
keep his brain cells active for long. Big deal. There are kids who
lived in& I dunno& maybe someplace like India, but who live
here now, and that s why they ve never heard of Santa Claus.
Mystery solved. Maybe the same can be said for Cardinale and
the Zinko.
He had a point. Colin Cardinale got his current job because of
his administrative and curatorial experience, not because of his
expertise with rugs. I suppose all his bluster and bravado about
how much he knew about rugs when I first met him at the muse-
um could have been covering up how much he didn t know.
But, I countered, I think Hema was pointing a finger at
Cardinale.
Huh? Again. Not the biggest vocabulary, this boy.
On her palm. In her dying minutes, Hema used her ring to
tear up her own skin, and write the letter C on her palm. C for
Colin or C for Cardinale, you choose one.
Huh. Well, that could be. But it could be C for about a mil-
lion other names and words too.
This was true.
Besides, if he did know about the Zinko, why would he lie
about it?
I had a theory. Well, maybe he wanted to throw me off the
scent. Make me believe the whole Zinko thing was unimportant
in the grand scheme of things.
Okay, but why?
Maybe he found out that the Zinko was actually real.
What? A rug of jewels that s really a map to finding more
jewels you think that s real? Are you nuts?
Just suppose it were true, Darren. I like to use his first name
whenever I want him on my side. It could be worth untold rich-
es. Maybe Neil, while he was snooping around the Middle East
looking for carpets to bring back for Colin s collection, stumbled
upon the real Zinko. He tells Colin. Colin, maybe jokingly at
first to test the waters suggests they partner up, sell the Zinko,
keep the bounty for themselves. They d live like kings for the rest
of their days. Neil disagrees and threatens to turn Colin in. Colin
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waits until Neil actually identifies where the Zinko is, then hires
some thugs to spread around a few black petals. Then he has Neil
killed so he can go after the rug himself. Unfortunately, Pranav
sends me and Hema to follow up on Neil s deals, complicating
Colin s plan to get the rug.
So then, he makes a deal with Hema to find the rug, Kirsch
took up the tale. Things go wrong, or there s some kind of dou-
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