Chapter Five #3
She waited a long, slow beat. “Do I look like this is my first round in the ring, Abernathy? We’re taking steps to monitor for underground auctions on this level. Feel free to add Interpol’s experts in that area. They can coordinate with our EDD.”
“Be sure we will.”
“Look, I’m not just bringing you into this because it saves me the time and frustration of talking to a few dozen museum people, insurance people, collectors and juggling their particular priorities. I’m bringing you in because I know you’ll stick till it’s done, and done right.”
Now he looked, at least slightly, mollified. “I believe that’s a compliment.”
“It’s a fact, take it any way you want. I’ll send you the data on the contents of the vault.”
“And we will contact the rightful owners, insurance agents, and so forth.”
“Good. On the monitoring and fishing, you’ll want to coordinate with Captain Feeney of EDD.”
“Yes, I remember Captain Feeney. Is Roarke … consulting on this matter?”
“He is.” At Abernathy’s twisted smile, Eve’s face went to stone. “Careful where you walk, Inspector. You could get something very nasty on your shoe.”
“I’d comment that perhaps he has some contacts who may be able to ferret out some helpful information.”
“If he does, and they can, it’ll go in the pile. I’ll send you the data, along with my more current report. Now, I’ve got a murder investigation to run.”
“I have no doubt you’ll find the responsible party. You’ll stick until it’s done, and done right. Another fact. I’ll be in touch.”
Satisfied, Eve walked out to the bullpen. “Forget the list for now.”
“Best news of the day. I’m getting a lot of runarounds in a lot of languages. Why?”
“I pulled Inspector Abernathy into it. He’ll deal with the contacts.”
“That’s brilliant. That’s why you’re the LT.”
“Run the daughters, will you?” She glanced around at the empty desks. “Baxter and Trueheart?”
“They’re talking to people—friends of the vic in the cold case. They’re looped in if a call comes through.”
“All right. I’m tagging Feeney, and Detective Willowby. Run the daughters.” She checked her wrist unit. “You’ve got time to run Henry Barrister, and the estate lawyer. Then go. Unless something breaks, I’ll work from home tomorrow. I’ll keep you plugged in.”
“I can run the sister, too, or the staff.”
Eve weighed the time. “Take the cook for now. If I get bogged down otherwise, I’ll toss the others at you.”
As she turned, she pulled out her ’link to contact Feeney.
His hangdog face and mini-explosion of wiry ginger hair threaded with silver came on. Like Abernathy he wore a casual shirt—his choice of industrial beige.
She recognized the background as his office, stopped, turned on her heel. “You’re in Central.”
“Yeah. You, too.”
“I’m heading up.”
“You got better coffee. I’m coming to you.”
She pocketed her ’link. “Feeney’s in EDD. He’s coming down.”
“Protect and serve, twenty-four/seven, three-sixty-five. We need T-shirts.”
“Yeah, that’s really what we need.”
Eve went back to her office, programmed coffee for two.
Her ’link signaled. When she pulled it out, she saw Commander Whitney on the readout. She’d been expecting this.
“Commander.”
“Lieutenant. Nothing like a quiet weekend.”
“No, sir, nothing like it.”
It started to shock her system to see men she knew best in suits and ties in the casual. In Whitney’s case, it included a Giants cap over his close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair.
It just didn’t seem right.
“We had some of the grandchildren over last night. I’ve just read your report after some morning touch football. They’re ruthless,” he said with some pride. “Forty-two stolen objets d’art, which included the now-missing-again Royal Suite.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve just spoken with Inspector Abernathy of Interpol about contacting the various authorities regarding same.”
“Correct move. This property will have to be removed, today, from the crime scene to a high-security location, then authenticated.”
“Yes, sir. On my schedule to arrange that. I intend to return to the scene this afternoon and conduct follow-up interviews, and also interview the victim’s daughters, who have traveled back from college.”
He puffed out his cheeks. “I’ll handle the transfer arrangements, and the initial media release. The second can wait another day or until Monday. We want the valuables secured first.”
She’d hoped he’d say just that.
“Yes, sir. I have the room sealed, with police locks on all entrances, and uniforms on the property. The alarms have been reset, with Roarke and McNab adding another layer. I have those codes.”
“Give them to me now.”
As she relayed them, she nodded, gestured to the coffee when Feeney came in.
“The murder weapon. A club-like rock of amethyst.”
“That’s correct.”
“On the job you start thinking you’ve heard it all. Then you hear something else. We need to set up monitoring for chatter about the emeralds, any potential sales or auctions, coordinate that with Interpol.”
“Captain Feeney’s with me now, Commander. I planned to request Detective Willowby of Special Victims to assist.”
“Yes, this is in her wheelhouse. I’ll talk to her captain, make it so. I’ll be in touch. It’s a hell of a list, Dallas. Ask Feeney if he remembers the Corot.”
When Whitney clicked off, she waited while Feeney sipped at his coffee and studied her board. With his shirt he wore shit-brown baggies and kicks that looked older than she was.
“So this asshole had a bunch of stolen art and jewelry all locked up in this vault—and that’s an old beauty. Making billions from Zip wasn’t enough for him.”
“Apparently not. And his son paid for it. Both the wife and sister state they didn’t know about the vault, or its contents, until after the old man died and the son and his wife started doing some painting and redoing shit. It actually plays.
“Whitney wants to know if you remember the Corot.”
“This painting here?” He tapped her board.
“Bunch of trees and rocks. I don’t get it.
Me? If you’re putting something on the wall, it oughta have color.
Anyway, yeah, it got boosted right out of the Metropolitan, back in the thirties.
Slick job. Not our case, but I remember.
Said it was worth about ten million. Bunch of trees and rocks. ”
He turned to her. “I remember hearing about those emerald pieces getting boosted. That was big fucking news. Out of London, and worth a lot more than the trees and rocks.”
“Roarke says maybe over half a bil today.”
Feeney whistled through his teeth. “That’s all they took?”
“Either that’s what they came for—most likely—or all they had time for. First, why are you here at Central on Saturday?”
“We’re having a family thing tonight, and Sheila wanted me out of the way while she’s fussing around. Figured I’d deal with some paperwork.”
He gulped more coffee. “Looks like you’re saving me from that.”
“Take the desk chair,” she told him. “I’ll bring you up to speed.”