Chapter Fifteen
This time she chose the glides, and only half listened to Abernathy’s small talk chatter as they wound their way back to Homicide. In the bullpen, she turned to Peabody.
“Contact the estate lawyer and let him know we’ll be there within the hour.”
Then she gestured and led Abernathy into her office.
“The victim’s estate lawyer, I presume.”
“That’s right.”
“So you do suspect one of the family.”
“At this time, I’m just gathering or confirming information. Coffee?”
“Tea, actually, thank you.”
He moved to her board as she programmed the drinks.
“‘Fancy Blonde’?”
“A line of inquiry. An as-yet-unidentified woman who may have been a guest in Barrister House during Henry Barrister’s final months.”
“And you think due to his mental and physical decline, he may have shown or told her about the vault?”
“It’s a possibility.” She handed him the tea. Took her own coffee. “He liked women, much younger women. It’s possible he met her some years before in Europe, and they had an affair. I wanted Interpol to be aware we’re pursuing this line.”
She shrugged. “Could be nothing.” But she didn’t think so. “But Nathan Barrister’s killer knew about the vault. Targeted a specific set of items in the vault. We have no evidence to contradict the statements the family didn’t know it existed until last July, and no motive for arranging a break-in.”
“If they’d wanted the emeralds, they could simply have removed them at any time.”
“Exactly. Unless they wanted the big, juicy scandal. Another possibility,” she said when Abernathy’s eyebrows quirked. “Then you toss murder in the mix, which seems extreme. Unless someone in the household wanted Nathan Barrister dead.”
“So you do suspect someone in-house?”
“Abernathy, all evidence points to the break-in, and the murder as a result of the theft. But when I have a dead body, I suspect everyone. The estate lawyer may give me a reason to pin that down, or cross it off. Meanwhile, as you know, whoever has the emeralds is starting to hype an auction. Our take is the invite list will be relatively small and very exclusive, entry will require a significant deposit. As anyone willing to shell out that kind of money will want their own authentication, we’re looking at an in-person event. Swank. High-class venue.”
“We would agree with that probability.”
“Good. It won’t be a one-person operation. Thief, broker, coordinator, their own authenticator, an e-man, possibly a researcher, security. So, a team. Fancy Blonde may be part of that team.”
He nodded along with her summation.
“If you’ll give me whatever you have on her, I can help coordinate the identity search.”
“I hope to have some information to pass along within another twenty-four. Now, why don’t you tell me how long you’ve been coordinating with the task force looking into the original thefts, and why you haven’t chosen to share that information with the NYPSD?”
His mouth tightened, barely a fraction; his eyes flicked, barely an instant. But she saw both.
“The original thefts don’t apply to your case.”
“And you know that how, exactly?”
“Clearly, it’s extremely unlikely.”
“Unlikely, however extreme, doesn’t shut it off. Some of the original thefts go back decades.”
“Which is my point.”
“And if you’re willing to split your time, cut the NYPSD out of the loop to pursue that line, you’ve got a reason.
I don’t give a flying fuck if there’s a half a percent probability it ties into my investigation, the NYPSD should be informed, and you know it.
Murder trumps all, Abernathy. You’re looking for teams—and a team is behind this current case. ”
“You appear to be well-informed.”
“Not by you.”
He sipped his tea, then set it down. “There’s more than a half a percent probability the NYPSD may have a conflict with the goals of the task force.”
“Is that so? How do you figure?”
“Seriously, Lieutenant, do you want me to spell it out?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You’re perfectly aware Roarke has been suspected in any number of high-level thefts in the past, which makes him a suspect in the original thefts that constituted items recovered from the vault, and the items stolen from it.”
Watching him, she sipped her coffee, eased a hip down on her desk. “You’re thinking he maybe broke into the Tate and took the emeralds? Wasn’t that back in like ’42 or thereabouts? He’d have been like eighteen, nineteen?”
She shook her head on a laugh, drank more coffee. “If a teenager managed that, I hope they beefed up their security after.”
“A team,” Abernathy said stiffly. “The original theft, as well as many others, would have been the work of a team. It’s been proposed Roarke may have been a kind of apprentice.”
“You’re reaching, and you know it. And you’re not stupid enough to think Roarke broke into Barrister House, killed Nathan Barrister, in order to snatch back what he snatched before he could buy a legal drink.”
“No, I do not, but—”
“Add the owners of the recovered property don’t give a good damn who stole them way back whenever.
They want their property returned. That includes the Royal Suite, and pushing on who stole a painting of rocks and trees or a naked woman statue twenty or thirty years ago isn’t going to get them back. ”
“Crimes were committed.”
“Yeah, they were, and good luck digging back in the freezer to thaw those out. But my priority is Nathan Barrister. I brought you and Interpol in, and quickly, because my victim’s father had a vault full of items of considerable worth stolen, at various times, from around the fricking world.
The NYPSD has cooperated and coordinated with you, down the line. ”
She pushed off the desk. “You held back. I get the emeralds are your priority, and I’ve got no problem with that. But you held back because you want the shine of bagging the original thieves, maybe a nice promotion.”
“And you don’t want the shine or the promotion? Captain Dallas?”
“I turned down the bars because I belong right where I am. But that’s me.
I don’t blame you for wanting otherwise.
When we get the emeralds, and we goddamn will because they’re linked to my victim, you take all the shine you want.
You won’t trace them or anything else in that vault back to Roarke.
Because even if, in your alternate universe, he helped himself to any of it, he’s too fucking smart to have left a trace.
“Push there, you’ll get nowhere. Push there to the detriment of my investigation? You’ll stand on the wrong side, Abernathy. And you don’t want me as an enemy.”
“We have different approaches, but I assume we both work diligently to apprehend criminals and pursue justice.”
“There you go. Let’s do those things. The NYPSD will continue to cooperate fully with Interpol on these matters. They expect the same cooperation from you and your side of it.”
He inclined his head. “Understood.”
“Then we’re clear. Now I’ve got to go talk to a lawyer.”
He started to step out, then stopped. He nodded to her board. “The task force is looking at a handful of females. You might do a run of a Jenna Lynn Delaney from, ah … Savannah, Georgia, whereabouts unknown.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.”
When he left, she took her coffee to stand at her window for a few minutes, just to settle herself.
He’d look, she decided. He couldn’t help himself. But he’d look in the wrong direction assuming Roarke had been part of a team.
Still, the sooner she found the goddamn emeralds, the sooner Abernathy and the rest would move on.
She finished her coffee, went out for Peabody.
“With me. Run a Jenna Lynn Delaney out of Savannah, Georgia. The task force is looking at her.”
“You got something out of him?”
“Yeah. We had a meeting of the minds.” She headed for the glides.
“Okay, got her. Jenna Lynn Delaney, Savannah, Caucasian female, age thirty. Blond and blue, Dallas. A looker.”
Peabody angled the screen so Eve could see the face,
Short blond hair, heavy fringe over big ocean-blue eyes, heart-shaped face, wide mouth, slight overbite.
Yeah, a looker. And one of the thieves Roarke had spoken of.
“Five-seven,” Peabody continued, “one-twenty. Father unknown, mother, Constance Delaney, deceased, no sibs. Ah, mother died at thirty-nine, and Delaney went into the foster system. Got a juvie record. Shoplifting, truancy, got a B and E, all before she hit eighteen. Nothing since.”
“She got better at it.”
“She’s got an address in Savannah. No marriages, cohabs, offspring. Lists her occupation as security consultant.”
Roarke had hit one. “Well, that fits.”
“She could be Fancy Blonde. Younger than we thought, but maybe.”
“Yeah. Dig for travel to New York, aliases, client list, all of it.”
They jogged down the metal steps of the garage. “Send the ID shot to Barrister House, see if any of the staff recognize her.”
She got behind the wheel, plugged in the lawyer’s address in the Financial District.
“Abernathy gave me enough to start. Probably the task force has more on her. But we can dig, too. She’s a thief,” Eve said as she pulled out of the garage. “Probably works cons. Looks-wise, yeah, she’d have been the type Henry Barrister would go for.”
“I’m getting v-mail all around, Dallas. I’ll send the photo.”
“Send her data, so far, to EDD. They could check her through the underground.”
“Got that. I have to say her data’s really clean after the juvie bounces, and there’s not much of it. Her security deal—by appointment or referral only, no address listed. Travel, travel … Nothing recent to New York. Checking on the time frame she’d have been at Barrister House. Nothing.”
“Does she own a vehicle?”
“Yeah, two. An all-terrain and a Road Star convertible. That’s a nice one. Back to travel. She came to New York three years ago, first-class shuttle, round trip, eight-day stay.”
“Find where.”
“That’s going to take a while.”
“She may have a place she likes to stay. We find it, we trace her. Or she may do the stay-with-rich-old-men thing.”