Chapter Twenty #2
“They sent out two dozen invites,” Feeney told her as they walked. “Twenty-two said hell yeah. And they can bring the plus-one thing, and their own security—that’s limited to two.”
“That’s maximum eighty-eight,” Roarke said to save her the math. “You can expect half that many again including the auction holders’ security, the servers—unless they’re using droids there—musicians, and so on.”
“This Cochran Estates. Wouldn’t it have its own people?”
“They’ve been paid twelve million to turn over the estate for three days. The Royal Group—a handy shell company—booked it with a fifty percent deposit in March.”
Eve frowned at Roarke. “I take it that’s more than they’d usually make on an event.”
“Midweek, yes. Their major take comes Friday to Sunday, though they do quite well otherwise. But for this, they had no outlay but the venue itself.”
She paused at the conference room door. “Just curious. About how much are the bad guys shelling out to pull this off?”
“A hundred, a hundred and fifty million, and that already recouped, or nearly, with the entrance fees. Take you and your team out of the mix? They could expect to make a profit of triple their outlay. Likely more.”
“Add bragging rights,” Willowby said. “Pull it off? You’ve got a rep for doing the mega, doing it classy. Hey, Peabody. Whoa, mama! Cinnamon buns!”
“Jacko’s. Roarke had them brought in. And I already had one. I couldn’t help it.”
“Who could, who would?” And Willowby aimed straight for them, with McNab and Callendar on her heels.
“Seriously?”
“Already well-earned,” Roarke said.
“I ain’t complaining.” Feeney walked over and helped himself.
“How did you get lucky, genius?”
“I know someone—Brian—who knows someone who knows someone else who wasn’t averse to a bribe, and who happened to have the means to send us a scan of the invitation. It’s quite elegant.”
“That works. That works really well.”
“So we thought. Have a cinnamon roll.”
She had half a cinnamon roll because Willowby had it right. Who could or would say no? But she wanted to keep herself light and ready.
As she ate, she studied the images of the venue easily found on the website. An elegant two-story brick with thick white columns flanking the entrance. Lots of tall windows.
Inside, the entrance hall, the ballroom—main event space—the anterooms, the bar area, main-level johns.
Up a sweep of stairs to the bedrooms, sitting rooms, bathrooms. She took note of entrances, exits, the grounds—a good-sized pond, plenty of trees, lots of parking, gardens, walkways.
An outdoor swimming pool, and pool house. Large patio area, several terraces. All of it gated—with a gatehouse at the main entrance to the estate.
As the team filtered in and descended like locusts on the rolls, on the coffee, she studied the blueprints.
Kitchen area, office areas, storage, security station, all below the main.
“Big place,” she muttered.
“Yeah, about fifteen thousand square feet.” Feeney took another hefty bite of his roll. “Was some bigwig’s place back last century. They turned it into the fancy, high-dollar event space about fifty years ago.”
He took a swig of coffee. “You know, kid, these people are arrogant sons of bitches, throwing a damn party with your cocktails and your canapés.”
“Arrogance is part of the reason. Arrogance, ego, greed, and payback.”
“You got who hired the one tried to put a hole in you?”
“Yeah, or I will. She’s the easy part.”
Abernathy arrived, shot Eve a hard look. “So much for cooperation.”
“That’s why we’re here. I got the blonde’s face and ID last night, got the call from the lawyer first thing this morning. Specifically for me and the prosecutor’s office or no meet. I called for this briefing as soon as I had the information.”
“And your prosecutor has tied Interpol’s hands regarding the thief.”
“Do you want the thief or the emeralds?”
“Both.”
“She could’ve poofed, Abernathy. We might not have ever laid a finger on her.
She learned about Barrister’s murder, and she stood up.
These people set her up for it, and she’s helped us, in ways I’ll soon relate, pinpoint who ran the show, who killed Barrister, and who hired some asshole to kill me on the street. ”
“I only heard about that attempt on you shortly ago. I’m very glad he didn’t succeed, but—”
“There’s no but. Everyone’s going to get what they need. We’ve got the venue—and that’s as of ten minutes ago.”
“You have it?”
“Just, and we know it’s tonight. Since I don’t want to go over this a half dozen times, grab a pastry and take a seat.”
“I know the blonde, Magdelana Percell, is a former associate of Roarke’s.”
She ignored the headache brewing at the base of her skull, and kept her gaze steady on his.
“That’ll be part of this briefing. We’re going to get the emeralds back, Inspector. You’ll want to take the win.”
“We’ll see.”
“Kind of a dick,” Feeney commented.
“Yeah. A good cop, but kind of a dick.”
Reo came in. “You’ve got your warrant. I’m getting one of those buns. Whitney and Tibble are right behind me.”
Eve stepped toward the door. “Chief, Commander.”
Tibble glanced past her to the conference table and the trays of rapidly depleted rolls. “You know how to hold a briefing, Lieutenant.”
“Roarke’s contribution. Please, help yourself. We’re waiting on Lieutenant Lowenbaum.”
“I eat one of those,” Whitney speculated, “Anna’s going to sniff it out. But I’m risking it.” Then his eyes narrowed. “That’s Cochran Estates.”
“Yes, sir. That’s the auction venue.”
“I’ve been to events there. It’s massive and it’s well secured.” He turned, scanned the room. “If you need more cops, you’ll have them. Ryan, I assume you and your team can and will deal with that security.”
“Happens it’s one of Roarke’s systems. Place like that pays for the best. We’re working on it.”
“Cochran Estates,” Whitney muttered. “Arrogant sons of bitches.”
Feeney just grinned into his coffee as Whitney walked away.
“And who likes taking down arrogant sons of bitches?”
“Oh,” Eve said, “we do. We really fucking do.”
Lowenbaum came at a fast clip. “Sorry, I got held up with … I know those buns. Those are Jacko’s. Hot damn.”
“Grab and sit. We’re about ready.”
She waited another minute, then stepped to the front of the room.
“McNab, wipe the icing off your fingers and work the screen. Everybody sit, settle down. This will be a major operation, and the people we’re taking down will have armed security.
It’s highly probable they’ll be armed with illegal weapons. That means body armor and helmets.
“Before I lay out the op, backstory details. On Friday night, the Barrister House security was compromised, the vault in the home office opened, and the Royal Suite—McNab, bring it up—was removed.”
“Pretty damn sweet,” Baxter commented.
“The thief hired Robert Wenn, attorney, and arranged for immunity in exchange for pertinent information.”
She held up a hand when the grumbles began.
“The thief did not kill Nathan Barrister during the break-in, something I’d already concluded, and the information provided confirmed my conclusion, and added details.
My conclusion, supported by the evidence, the timing, the statements, is that these three people conspired to steal the Royal Suite, Magdelana Percell as coordinator, James Mulligan as broker, and Joy Barrister, the victim’s sister, who provided the ways and means.
And who used the cover of the break-in and theft to murder her brother, Nathan Barrister. ”
She noted Abernathy shifted in his seat, sat up even straighter now.
“Motive. I’ll start with the blonde. Obviously primary motive is gaining a jewelry collection worth half a billion or more.
But she has a side motive. Several years ago, she had a …
romantic relationship with Roarke that didn’t end well.
About a year and a half ago, she came to New York and attempted to restart that relationship and was rebuffed. That didn’t end well for her.
“For a number of years, she had a relationship with Henry Barrister, and returned to New York last December, stayed at Barrister House, during which time Henry Barrister is reported by numerous sources to have gone into cognitive decline.
Mira has confirmed, through access to his medical records, that he had dementia.
“We believe, during that period, he showed Percell the vault and its contents. She had the combination, which she provided to the thief she and her partner hired. She targeted the Royal Suite specifically, and only that. And with her conspirators, set up the thief to take the rap for the murder.”
She went through it all, point by point so even Abernathy looked mollified and intrigued.
“As for the attempt on me, the payment for that unsuccessful hit has been traced back to Joy Barrister.”
“Bitch’ll fucking pay.”
“Yes, Detective Sergeant, she will. We have a search-and-seizure warrant for her condo, and will move on that at the appropriate time. We will then make an arrest, at the appropriate time. EDD, with Detective Willowby and Roarke’s assistance, has worked around the clock to ascertain the time, date, and location of the auction to turn the emeralds.
Without their efforts and skill, we wouldn’t have that information, certainly not in time to move on it.
“Bring up the venue, Detective.”
As he did, Eve turned to the screen.
“Cochran Estates, Long Island. There’s a purpose here, too, as the coordinator wants it in New York, where it pulls me in, and Roarke. Regardless, the festivities, and they’re elaborate, start tonight at seven-thirty with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.”
“Cocky, aren’t they?” Detective Carmichael commented.
“Yeah, they are. Blueprints, McNab. And here’s how we’re going to castrate them.”
Abernathy raised his hand. “I can have half a dozen agents experienced in this sort of situation brought in by four, latest.”
“We’ll take them, we’ll use them.”