Free Ill-Gotten Games by B. V. Lawson Page B

and learned of a shipment of such figurines for an exhibit that the shipment was hijacked and a guard killed during the heist. Drayco was sure of Odom Junior’s involvement, but their efforts at linking him to the crime were thwarted at every corner.
    It was Drayco’s turn to make note of the time as he glanced at the bland black-and-white clock on the wall. Time for the trial to resume. “I have no doubt, Benny, you’ll do your best without the usual big guns. And I find it hard to believe you’ve used up your ammunition.”
    “What ammunition? Listen, Drayco, if you can’t dig up something fast, the fat lady might be warbling soon. I don’t suppose Brock could lend a hand?”
    Drayco hesitated. “Dad’s wrapped up in his own international Gordian Knot right now. When he’s in that mode, he doesn’t tolerate interruptions. Even from me.”
    Baskin thumped Drayco on the back, or more like the left kidney, due to the height difference. “S’all right. I have faith in you, boy-o.”
    Drayco headed outside under another of D.C.’s leaden winter skies and folded his long frame onto the seat of his generic silver Camry, deciding which of Truitt’s hangouts to attack first. He was so deep in thought, the ringing of his cell phone almost made him shift into forward instead of reverse.
    “Drayco,” he answered, with a sigh. Too early for Benny. And hopefully not Drayco’s accountant.
    It wasn’t. “Ah, the good detective himself. I hear you’ve been looking for me, but I manage to stay one step ahead, don’t I? Must be discouraging.” The voice had a cat-that-ate-the-canary purr. “Tell you what, Drayco. Why don’t I give you a few hints? Fair is fair after all. I love a good hunt, don’t you? Oh, and you might want to take something to dig with.”
    The man hung up without identifying himself or the promised hint, but Drayco knew the caller was surely Jalen Truitt, the voice matching a taped prison interview of his. Truitt was also fond of hunting, so that reference made sense. And then there was Truitt’s history of using puzzles to bait law enforcement.
    So. Truitt knew Drayco was looking for him and the stolen figurines, which meant someone had tipped him off. Drayco hoped it wasn’t the same informant who’d given him the list of Truitt’s hideouts, or he’d be walking right into a trap. Truitt must be as cocky as Odom to pull a stunt like this. But why dangle the promise of a hint, then renege?
    Or had he? Drayco checked the mailbox on the phone and noticed a brand-new message from a proxy server. The subject line read “Hint, Hint.” To Drayco’s annoyance, the message consisted of a single quatrain.
    Niels is boring,
    Time for exploring.
    Is it an item you seek?
    Think like a College Park geek.
    Hardly Pulitzer-worthy. But it fit Truitt’s background, accepted to MIT as a physics grad student, before being drafted in Nam in 1970 and becoming a POW. Truitt must be referring to the Niels Bohr Library in College Park. Such a public place fit with Truitt’s MO of hiding the goods in plain sight.
    Drayco wasn’t crazy about the idea of playing head games with a murderer, but since it was an invitation of sorts, he didn’t have a choice. He pointed the Camry toward Maryland and hoped I-295 wasn’t backed up.
    Apparently the Supreme Universal Court was on Drayco’s side; he made it in twenty-two minutes. Now if he knew where to look on the huge elliptical campus for nine-inch-tall Egyptian figurines, he’d be in business. At least he assumed that’s what he was looking for—Truitt’s message was cryptic.
    He studied his surroundings for observers. No security guards. He hadn’t expected to see Truitt himself, and even if he did, he might not recognize him—having avoided arrest for two decades, Truitt’s mug shots were old. He was also fond of disguises.
    The leafless trees didn’t provide much of a break against the wind chill, and Drayco pulled up the collar of his jacket. He’d