Chapter Seventeen #2
“The other thing. I have to update EDD, Whitney, Peabody, and that’s going to bring in my bullpen, Tibble. I have to update them on Magdelana.”
“And her connection to me.”
“That’s right. I have to do that without saying the two of you pulled jobs together in the before. They’ll know it, but I can’t clarify or confirm it without putting them in a squeeze.”
“I do cause you problems,” he murmured.
“Yeah, like inventing, designing, manufacturing the magic lining that spared me a stab in the back. I think we can call it a wash. I know my people, Roarke. There’s not one of them who’d turn on you.”
“I know that. I’m honored by that. But.”
“But. I need to approach your connection to her as strictly personal, romantic. She’s the old classic. The woman dumped.”
“It’s scorned, but comes to the same.”
“You dumped her, she tried to jam you up, failed. Some years later, she tries to sex you up—”
He couldn’t stop the smile. “Really?”
“She was wrapped around you like ivy before I punched the pair of you.”
“I’ll remind you I was not wrapped around her.”
“Regardless, she tried, failed. Now—if this comes up at all—she’d like to jam you up again. More, she’s tried to have me killed. Get me out of the way on two levels—personal and over the investigation.”
“That would be true. All of that’s largely truth, except she left me, looking for a bigger payday. And the sex me up? Deliberately insulting on your part.”
“You think?” Now she smiled, sipped. “Anyway, I’ll handle it. So will you.”
“I need to be there, be part of it when you take her down. And I know you will.”
“I want you there, I need you to be part of it. That’s personal and professional.”
“All right then. Where do you want me? In the lab working with EDD, or in my office, working on the finances?”
“Maybe check in with EDD, with whoever’s working it overtime. But the finances are key.” She sat back. “Let’s get to work.”
Eve decided the hell with Earth rotation and contacted wife number four yet again.
Hair wild, eyes a little crazed, Lacey answered.
“I’m sorry to disturb you again,” Eve began.
“Whose idea was it we’d each take a day to cook? Mine. What was I thinking? Why did I think I could or should make a pot roast? The kids’d be happy with canned spaghetti, but I’m cooking this huge slab of cow.”
“Are you trying it sober?”
On a laugh, Lacey shoved at her wild hair. “Not anymore, thanks for the reminder. What is it?”
“I’m sending you a police artist sketch. I’d like you to tell me if you recognize this woman.”
Lacey reached for a bottle of wine, and her jaw snapped shut, her eyes narrowed when Eve sent the sketch. “That’s the bitch. The smirking, slithering bitch.”
“Could you be more specific on how you recognize her?”
“That’s the smirking, slithering bitch who went after Henry when we were married—younger then, but that’s her. And the smirking, slithering bitch I saw in New York last December.”
Pouring herself a generous glass, she let out a half laugh. “I’m a seriously happily married woman and mother, and that still pisses me off.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“Enough I actually talked to another friend of mine who was at that party way back. She remembered her, too. She thought her name was Sabrina. Anyway, what’s the interest?”
“She’s a person of interest in an investigation.”
“Yeah?” Now she smiled. “Are you going to arrest her?”
Eve started to brush that off with a standard cop answer, then changed her mind. She understood the still-pissed-off very well.
“Yes, I am, as soon as I find her.”
“That absolutely makes up for cooking day. Do me a favor and let me know when that happens. I swear to God, I’m popping champagne. Henry was a hound, but I know a snake when I see one.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks for your help.”
“In this case, my pleasure.”
Satisfied, Eve wrote her report. She held off sending a copy to Abernathy. She wanted a little more time, just a little more time before she put him on the scent.
Instead, she started on Henry Barrister and/or Zip company private shuttles from London to New York the previous December. Expecting a slog, she programmed coffee, prepared to dig in.
Within twenty minutes, she shocked herself.
“Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch, there you are. Sabrina Fancy, single passenger, London to New York, December 12.”
She called for an ID shot, got nothing.
“Fake passport, fake ID, only activate and use it for Henry maybe. When did you leave, where did you go?”
She hunted, and found Henry had provided her transportation again. This time New York to Sorrento, Italy.
“And what was there for you?”
She sat back, studied the board.
“Another man. Another rich man, that’s my guess. Close to Christmas now, big, fancy holiday parties, cons to run, people to filch. And plans to make.”
She rose, paced.
There had to be a reason to go to that place, at that time. After Henry showed her the vault, because he damn well did. Or she stumbled on it. Either way, she knew. Plans to make, she thought again.
Need help with that. What came first? The broker or the thief?
Broker.
No one small-time, and very likely someone already known. A relationship? Maybe personal and professional.
She glanced at Roarke’s office, then shook her head. No, let him do what he did. She’d handle this.
Sitting again, she pored through the Interpol files for something that clicked. Broker, thief with connections in Sorrento. Empty, she widened it to Italy.
“Okay, try another way.” She searched for more travel for Sabrina Fancy, and found nothing. Restarted, trying privates from Savannah, Georgia, to Sorrento. She went through January, February, March.
Programmed more coffee.
April, May, June. Goddamn it.
And hit in July.
“Delaney Lynn, single passenger, Savannah to Sorrento—Sorrento’s it—July 15, return flight, bam, New York City, July 20. Flight from New York to Savannah, July 25.”
She sat back, closed her eyes. “That’s a big-ass bang. Needed to have a look at the setup, spend a few days watching, casing, making sure about the security system. Who paid the freight? Luxe Travel private. Anybody with enough money can book from them.”
She contacted Luxe Travel, and got what she’d expected. No one authorized to get or give that information. Contact during regular business hours, with a warrant.
“Fine, fine, fine.”
She accepted that, and got another boost when she found Delaney Lynn’s September travel to New York. Two days before the break-in. Return flight canceled.
“Huh.”
That had her up and pacing again.
“Why aren’t you gone? Did you decide to stay for the auction? Because I really think it’s here. Magdelana needs it to be here, in Roarke’s adopted city.
“Maybe, maybe. Or shit, we’re going to find your body floating in the East River. Maybe she had Kruger take care of you. Let’s find out where you stayed. High-end hotels. Nobody’s going to pinch dollars on this job.”
She started with the Roarke Palace. Definitely highest of high-end, plus, they wouldn’t give her the brush-off.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, we have no one registered under the name of Delaney Lynn.”
“Try Jenna Lynn Delaney, and variations of that name.”
“Give me a moment, please.”
On hold, Eve paced.
“Lieutenant.”
“Right here.”
“I did find a Della Lane who checked in on the date you wanted. She checked out on Saturday evening—requested late checkout. She had a one-bedroom suite on the Premium level.”
“I’m going to send you a picture. I need you to show it to anyone who might have had contact with her. Maid service, room service, check-in or -out.”
“Of course.”
“What was your name again?”
“Pilar Vincenti.”
“Ms. Vincenti, I’d like you to contact me if anyone recognizes this woman.”
“Oh. Well, actually, I do. I was on Saturday evening. I checked her out myself.”
“This woman?” Sometimes fate didn’t bite you in the ass, Eve thought, but gave it a nice, sweet kiss. “The one in the photo?”
“Yes. She was in a hurry, seemed upset.”
“Did you arrange for transportation?”
“Ah … no. She said someone was picking her up, but she wanted a printout of her bill. I remember, as she seemed upset. I asked if there was anything I could do to help.”
“She said?”
“No, thank you—polite—but she was taking care of that herself. Is that helpful?”
“It’s very helpful. There would’ve been a doorman on duty.”
“Of course.”
“Is he or she on tonight?”
“I’m not sure, but I can check.”
“If you could, and show the photo. It would also help if I know what car service picked her up.”
“Just give me another minute.”
More coffee, more pacing, more thinking.
“Lieutenant, Allen was on, and did see her leave. He believes she got into a private car, a sedan. Not a car service, but a private car, a late-model Mercedes sedan. He didn’t notice the driver.”
“That’s fine, that’s good. You’ve been a tremendous help, thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
She headed to Roarke’s office.
He sat, fingers flying over keys, his hair tied back, sleeves rolled up. And muttering to himself, mostly curses that spanned both English and Irish.
He said, “What?” And didn’t sound pleased.
“I wouldn’t interrupt, but I have stuff that may be helpful.”
“All right then.” He stopped, shoved at his hair. “Be helpful then.”
“I’ve confirmed Magdelana as the last straw on Henry’s last marriage, and as the smirker in New York last December. She went by Sabrina Fancy. Henry flew her in on one of his personal privates from London. Then, after her stay, flew her out to Sorrento, Italy.”
“Sorrento.” He picked up his coffee and looked more interested.
“Does that pop anything for you?”
“Not right off, but I’ll push there.”
“I don’t have anything, yet, on further travel under that name. But I do have a Delaney Lynn, on a Luxe Travel private, from Savannah to Sorrento in July.”
“Ah, well then, that’s a lovely connection, isn’t it now?”
“Yeah, it is. She stayed a few days, then flew to New York.”
“To look over the job, of course. You may find she made her way onto the grounds. Floral delivery, messenger service, or the like.”
“Okay. She came back, same way, a couple days before the break-in, and under Della Lane, stayed at your hotel. The Palace. That’s confirmed by Pilar Vincenti at the desk, who was really helpful.
You should toss her a bonus. She checked out Saturday evening—seemed upset.
Someone in a Mercedes sedan picked her up.
I can’t find any travel for her out of New York. ”
“It would be foolish of her to stay for the auction, and she doesn’t strike as foolish. Upset, you said? Maybe she copped to a double cross or worse. She’s gone to ground.”
“That’s possible. They could have put Kruger on her.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got his not-well-hidden business accounts.”
“That would’ve been helpful information for me.”
“I haven’t unwound the source of the payment for you. Which appears to be only made this morning. Seventeen-five.”
“Huh, I figured I was worth a little more.”
“That would be the deposit, darling. A standard thirty-five percent. He won’t see the rest, of course, and had only withdrawn five thousand of that, in cash.
But as for Jenna? There’s no transfers for several weeks before yours.
It appears he’s been for hire for about two years.
Yours would’ve been his biggest score by far. ”
He held up a hand before she could speak.
“And yes, EDD will be able to trace the other payments, the other victims well enough. As for Jenna again, her accounts are well hidden, but I’ve unearthed a couple.
There are three deposits I believe apply here.
From different sources. One from July, which would jibe, wouldn’t it?
One from the time of the break-in, and one made a little later in the early hours of Saturday morning—which would be after authentication. All told, she earned fifty million.”
“She’s alive then.”
“You thought otherwise?”
“Considered it, but they wouldn’t have wired the last payment if they intended to kill her. Double cross doesn’t fit, either. Except maybe it does.”
“In what way?”
“Need to think about it. I have to get this all down, written out. Think.”
“An hour more.”
“Two.”
“Two then.”
She wrote it all up, studied her own notes, made calculations, read over previous data and notes.
“Double cross,” she muttered. “Yeah, it could fit.”
And thinking how, she put her feet on the desk, sat back, and studied the board. As she ran other scenarios in her mind, she dropped into sleep.