Chapter Seven
When Eve stepped out, Roarke turned his attention to Aileen.
“Ms. Carville, is there anything I can do for you? Is there anyone I can contact for you?”
“I—no. We tried to reach Nate’s mother, but…”
“She’s on one of her retreats,” Joy supplied. “Don’t worry, Aileen. I’ll track her down. We’re going to take a little time before we let anyone else outside the household know.”
“I know who you are.”
Roarke shifted his gaze to Chloe’s. “I’m here to assist the lieutenant and the NYPSD, and your family, in any way I can.”
“Why?”
“Chloe.”
“It’s a reasonable question,” he said to Aileen.
“A few years ago, I would have heard about your father’s death through business associates or the media.
I would have been sorry, but unless we had had a personal relationship, I would have moved on.
But I’ve come to see the intimacies and cruelties of the willful taking of a life, what it does to those left in its wake.
I’ve certainly seen that finding those responsible for the taking of a life isn’t simply a job for Lieutenant Dallas or those she works with. It’s a calling.
“She won’t stop,” he added, and with such quiet surety it rang in the room. “I hope it’s some small comfort to you at this horrible time to know she won’t stop until she finds the person who took your father from you.”
“It won’t bring Nate back,” Aileen murmured.
“No, she can’t do that. But she’ll do everything she can do, and more if more’s needed, to find who took him away. Why am I here?” He looked back at Chloe. “I have a great need to help her.”
Outside, Eve waited for the armored truck and its escort. Just a few billion being transported across Manhattan, she thought. No big deal.
Then her shoulders relaxed. She saw SWAT commander Lieutenant Lowenbaum get out of an escort vehicle.
“Good to see you, Lieutenant. Sorry about the weekend duty.”
He shrugged, a good-looking fair-haired man with an easy attitude and nerves of steel. “Happens. Doesn’t much happen we guard a shitload of art and so on. We’ve got museum security tagging on.”
He gestured to another group wearing Kevlar and sidearms with their dark suits.
“More meeting us at the drop-off. You sure pull some interesting jobs, Dallas.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky that way. Let me take you in.”
“Let me introduce you to Morbelli. Head of Met security. She thinks she’s in charge.”
“Doesn’t hurt to let her think it.”
She walked over with him to a group of six where a Black woman of about fifty with a tough build, hard eyes, and dark hair cropped close to her skull stepped forward.
“Security head Morbelli, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Dallas.”
“Morbelli.”
“Museum security will take charge of the property.” Like her hair, her voice was clipped tight.
“Each item will be recorded, cataloged, security packed, and labeled prior to transport. On the other end, each item will again be recorded, cross-checked, unpacked for authentication. You will receive a copy of the recording and ensuing report, as will the agents and inspectors in charge at Interpol, as will the proper authorities connected to each item secured by us.”
“That’ll work. If you’ll come with me.”
“Packing will be done by a team authorized by the Metropolitan Museum.”
Morbelli didn’t bother to introduce them, but Eve noted they dressed not in black suits but more like sweepers. She led the way.
She went straight to the office. “Record on.”
“Record on,” Lowenbaum echoed.
“All records on,” Morbelli ordered.
“Lieutenant Dallas unsealing the crime scene door, accompanied by SWAT commander Lieutenant Lowenbaum and Metropolitan Museum Security head Morbelli and team.”
She unsealed the door, disengaged the locks, and opened the door to a room that smelled of blood, death, and sweepers’ dust.
“The scene’s been processed, the electronics are with EDD. The windows are also sealed and locked and monitors installed.”
Before entering, she took out her ’link, shut down the monitors.
“Clear there.” Moving in, she skirted the blood, went to the panel, tripped the mechanism, then slid open the panel. “I personally relocked the vault after my consultant changed the combination. Reopening now.”
She turned the dial, ordered herself not to be embarrassed or sentimental that Roarke had used their wedding anniversary.
After depressing the thick brass lever, she used it to pull—with some effort—the vault door.
Beside her, Lowenbaum let out a low whistle. Beneath it, she heard Morbelli’s involuntary gasp.
“That’s a hell of a thing,” Morbelli murmured. “A hell of a thing.” She stepped in, took a long, slow look, then seemed to pull back into her spit and polish. “All right, let’s get started. Lieutenant Dallas.” She inclined her head. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Eve gave her the same head gesture. “Thank you for yours. I’m going to remove the monitors, the seals, and the police guards on the windows.”
“If Lieutenant Lowenbaum has the property secured, you might open them.”
“You’re covered.”
As the team in sanitized white trooped in, Eve went to the windows. As she unsealed, removed guards, she saw through them members of SWAT stationed.
She opened the windows, breathed in the blissfully fresh air.
This part was off her hands, she thought, and the boot of stress on her neck lifted.
Morbelli stood, arms folded, watching the activity in the vault like a hawk. After they exchanged another brief nod, Eve started out.
Chloe stood outside, arms also folded, blocked by security.
“I want to go in. I have a right to see where my father died.”
“He’s not in there, Chloe.”
“I have a right to see where he was murdered.”
Eve held up a hand to security, then took Chloe’s arm. “That’s far enough,” she said at the doorway.
She felt the girl jerk, felt her tremble. But she didn’t cry out. Instead, she made a low, keening sound, then sucked in her breath and stopped it.
“How did they kill him? What did they use to kill him? I didn’t want to ask the medical examiner in front of my mother.”
“There was a display piece in the office. An amethyst.”
“The magic crystal?” Another keening sound escaped again, and she swallowed it. “We called it that, Anya and I. Granddad told us he won it from a wizard in a poker game.”
When she clutched at her belly, Eve grabbed her arm again. “If you’re going to be sick—”
“I’m not. I won’t.” She’d gone pale as glass, still trembled, but fought to stiffen her shoulders.
“Let’s walk outside. You could use the air.”
When Chloe only nodded, Eve guided her out.
“I’m okay. I have to be. My mom … she’s not weak, but she’s shattered.
She’s just … lost right now. They really loved each other.
Not everybody does who stays married. But they really loved each other.
They liked each other. This is all going to come out now, isn’t it? The things my grandfather stole.”
“Yes.”
“I loved him. We always had so much fun when we visited here. My dad used to say how Granddad liked us better than he did his own kids, and Granddad would say, why wouldn’t he? He didn’t have to raise us, clothe us, educate us. He only had to enjoy us.”
Pressing a hand over her mouth, she breathed through her fingers. “But he was a selfish man. Only a selfish man could have all that stolen and locked away. Now my dad’s gone, and he’ll be smeared with that. And he didn’t do anything wrong. He was working on the best way to give it all back.”
“I know that. I believe that.”
“It’s what everyone cares about. His blood’s all over the floor. My mom’s broken, our family’s broken, but all everyone cares about are those things. All these guards and weapons, for the things, and my father’s dead.”
That keening sound. Eve didn’t have to hear it to know it lived inside a dead man’s daughter.
“I have to care about the things. They were my responsibility, and now they’re not, or soon won’t be. I have to care about the things because they’re the reason your father’s dead. And he’s mine now. Not the same way he’s yours, but he’s mine now and deserves the best I’ve got.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know he fell for your mother in college and never quit. I know he maybe got a boost at Zip, but he worked to earn his place. I know his cook made him chicken soup and valerian tea not just because it’s her job but because she cared about him.
“I know he ran track in high school—pretty good sprinter,” she added as Chloe stared at her.
“I know he liked to read science fiction novels, played tennis. His best man at the wedding was a childhood friend, and a few years later, he was best man at that friend’s wedding.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I know all that, and more, because he belongs to me now.”
Chloe looked away. “The guy I’m seeing, he was really into the Furst books, the vid.
And I thought, right. They cashed in because she’s married to a guy who’s got more money than ten gods, and she’s probably playing at the cop thing while thinking about her next trip to Paris.
Then my aunt said when you came last night he was in a tux and you were wearing a designer gown. ”
“That part’s true. We were at this charity thing when I got the call.”
“Why didn’t you pass it off? Why didn’t you just hand it off and go on dancing?”
“Because I’m a cop, and someone was dead. I work Homicide because the dead can’t speak or stand for themselves, so I speak and stand for them. That’s it.”
With a nod, Chloe wiped at her eyes. “I had to be pissed at someone. Had to blame someone or I’d just fall to pieces. But that’s a stupid way to get through this. I’m sorry I used you for it.”
“No need to apologize.”
“Please. There is, for me. I’m sorry.”
“Accepted.”
“He said—Roarke said you wouldn’t stop. He said this was your calling, and you wouldn’t stop until you found who killed my father. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Holding on to that’s a better way not to fall to pieces.”
“Chloe, did you tell anyone about the vault?”
Her tear-filled eyes widened in something like horror.