Текст книги "The Final Cut"

Автор книги: Catherine Coulter

Соавторы: J. T. Ellison
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

13

Before the passenger door of Mike’s black Crown Vic was even closed, Nicholas got right to it. “Has the autopsy on Inspector York been completed?”

“Yes. The ME called while I was waiting for your plane to land. Her initial cause of death is drowning.”

He felt a punch of surprise. Drowning? “I was led to believe she’d been shot.”

“She was, but it wasn’t a fatal wound. The ME said he’d heard from Toxicology. She’d also been injected with a small amount of potassium cyanide. Just like Sherlock said—you’ll meet her and Agent Dillon Savich later, at the gala tonight.”

“My uncle is always talking about Agent Savich this, Agent Sherlock that.”

She shot him a look. A bit of resentment there, maybe? Fascinating, coming from Super-Spy James Bond. Well, maybe not; now he was smiling.

Mike said, “The gunshot and the cyanide incapacitated her to the point that she was probably unconscious when she went in the water. We found a videotape from her neighborhood bodega; it shows her stumbling out of her apartment building and heading toward the river. We think she was following her regular running route out of habit. She was clearly not in her right mind, staggering and weaving toward the water. The fence there is about waist-high, and she went right over the top of it.

“Another camera near the dock shows her eyes are closed as she goes over the edge. I think it’s entirely possible she passed out and fell in.”

All he heard was probably unconscious and prayed it was true.

Mike jockeyed around three cabs that honked and threw her the finger, smoothly slid out into the Van Wyck. She said, “There was a Russian found dead at her apartment, a Vladimir Kochen, a foot soldier for the Anatoly crime family. Agent Sherlock thinks he was shot with a tranquilizer gun when he opened the door, then the killer injected him with a massive dose of potassium cyanide as well. The ME hasn’t verified it yet, but he thinks Sherlock’s right.”

“Excuse me? A Russian? Why was a Russian Mob guy at Elaine’s apartment?”

Mike glanced over at him. “Don’t know yet. Savich and Sherlock looked over the scene last night. She has a gift, could tell immediately what happened. I was impressed.” And she told him everything Sherlock had said.

Her cell rang. The ME, Dr. Janovich, was calling. “Caine here. What have you got for me?”

She listened, then punched off. “Sherlock was right on the money. The ME found traces of a tranquilizer called fentanyl in the Russian’s blood; it’s an anesthetic that acts immediately. Answers that question. Tell me, do you know if Inspector York carried personal protection?”

Nicholas thought for a moment. “Yes. A SIG Sauer P226. But she didn’t bring it with her to New York.”

Mike said, “Did she mention buying a .22? A Taurus PT-22, to be exact?”

“Not to me, no. Why?”

“We found a .22 in her apartment under the Russian’s body. The gun was bought off the street, illegally, a week ago. We think the killer put it under the body to cover his tracks, make it look like Elaine and Kochen killed one another.”

“This was a well-orchestrated crime scene, then.”

“Yes. We know the .22 was Elaine’s because she’d written herself a receipt, stashed it in her wallet. The ballistics match the bullet the ME took out of Elaine’s chest. The prints on the weapon are smudged, so the killer was wearing gloves. Her fingerprints are on the bullets.

“As for her cell phone, the only recent calls were back and forth between the staff at the Met and several calls to her mother in England. We have a warrant in for the full records, cell and home, but her complete cell records will take a few days because she was using an international phone. Lots of red tape.”

“The gun purchase receipt could have been planted, then, and her signature forged.”

“I suppose so,” but he knew she didn’t believe it. He really didn’t, either. But what did that prove?

He asked, “What about her laptop? Have you started the examination yet? Elaine was a compulsive journaler. Surely there’s some indication of what was happening in them.”

“There wasn’t a laptop, and we assumed the killer took it. Either he was covering all the bases, or there was something on it he wanted.”

Nicholas tapped his fingertips on the dash, tap, tap, tap, then said, “In addition to journaling, she kept most of her work in an online cloud because she disliked carrying a laptop everywhere. She’d devised a system where she could access her files on the fly from any computer, tablet, or smartphone. Once upon a time she shared her password to the account with me. With any luck, she hasn’t changed it. If she has, I have a few tricks up my sleeve that won’t leave a trace. I should be able to break into her account remotely.”

“You’re a hacker?”

“One of my many skills,” he said without expression, and Mike shot him a look that almost made him laugh. She wasn’t happy about that, but then again, he didn’t expect her to be. Working with the American FBI was going to be an experience, for both sides.

“Good to know, but I have some of the best computer minds in the Bureau on my staff. I want one of them to try to access Inspector York’s files. We wouldn’t want the case against her murderer to be thrown out on a technicality.” Even though her tone was pleasant, he heard the warning loud and clear.

Touché. He said easily, “Certainly. Of course. I understand completely,” and thought jurisdiction and justice be damned, this was Elaine. No way was he going to sit back and wait for some FBI hack to do the job for him.

14

The New York skyline peeked above the concrete barriers, cold and forbidding. Traffic was backing up, and Mike took out her flasher and put it on the dash. “Sorry for the noise, but we need to get uptown, fast.” The slower cars moved to the side of the road, and she gunned it.

He said, “If my uncle sent you to pick me up, can I assume you’re in the loop on the other small issue?”

And of course he was involved up to his eyebrows, too, and she didn’t like it. On the other hand, maybe his brain was as fine as his butt and she could use him. Maybe. She saw herself as a trainer and him as a stubborn, bullheaded Rottweiler.

“The diamond being stolen, you mean? Yes, I’m well aware of the situation, through SAC Horsley, ugh, I can’t stop calling him that. He keeps insisting I call him Bo, but it’s tough, since he was my SAC for years—anyway, he told me you would fill me in. We’re headed directly for the Met right now to meet with your uncle Bo and the curator of the exhibit. Find out exactly what everyone knows.”

“I’ll tell you everything Uncle Bo told me,” and he did.

She listened, never said a word until he’d finished. She was quiet, and he sensed she wanted to say something, not about the theft but about something else, but she didn’t really want to. Why? Because it would be an acknowledgment that he was already in the thick of things? He had to get past her distrust of him, her gut-negative reaction at a foreigner horning in on her investigation. He needed her on his side, at least for the time being.

“Am I to assume you’ve made a connection between Elaine and the missing diamond that I don’t know about?”

Mike spoke carefully. She didn’t want to alienate the man, at least not yet. “Is she capable of such a thing? To betray everyone like this?”

He turned to face her, his arm stretched out along the back of his seat. “I’m not saying this because she was my friend, my colleague. But for her to steal the diamond—like I told Uncle Bo and Savich and Sherlock, it would be entirely out of character. I can’t envision her breaking the law for personal gain, and what other reason would someone want the diamond, if not to benefit from it financially? She fought on the right side. Crime sickened her, if you can understand the sentiment.”

Mike nodded. “I do. Everyone in the FBI feels the same way, which is why we’re the best in the world at what we do—no offense to New Scotland Yard, of course.”

“Of course not. Why would you ever want to offend Scotland Yard?” That shut her up. Oh, he wouldn’t mind going head-to-head with the FBI. Give them a run for their money. But he had no problem with trying to stay on their good side, so he said, “We’re all on the same side,” and shut up.

There was more coming; he could feel the pressure building in the car. Three, two, one, and yes, there she went, her head turning slightly toward him in that way he’d already started to recognize.

She said, “You’ve got to know that everything is pointing toward one logical conclusion.” She paused for a moment. “I have to tell you, if Inspector York is involved, this situation is bigger than our personal feelings toward our teammates. All right?”

There it was. She was worried his personal feelings would affect his judgment. He’d be suspicious of an outsider coming into his team as well, especially under these circumstances.

“Fair enough.”

“Good.”

Nicholas said, “Now that we’re best friends, tell me how in the world a priceless diamond goes missing from an exhibit pretty much everyone is aware of and is surrounded by the best security the art world has to offer?”

Mike shot him a look and accepted the sarcasm, since it was merited. “I think all of us agree it had to be an inside job. Had to be. The person who did it was the same person who caused the power outage, someone really close, someone who’d gotten ahold of one of Peter Grisley’s fakes and switched them out in that five-minute window of opportunity.”

15

Nicholas said, “Tell me what your forensics are showing. How exactly was the diamond taken and replaced?”

Mike started to answer, and yawned instead.

“Been at it for a while, have you?”

“Sorry. I was up all night. I managed four hours of sleep, but I’ve got to admit, I’m dragging. My bloodstream needs coffee; that will perk me right up.

“Okay, once Mr. Horsley—Bo—briefs us, and everyone’s in agreement with the plan, my best forensic people are standing by to process the room. We’ll fingerprint everything carefully, including the fake Koh-i-Noor, of course, and see exactly how the case was opened.”

Nicholas said, “Uncle Bo told me the biometrics reports show only he and Elaine accessed the room during the past three days—that doesn’t count the five-minute power outage, of course. I don’t think Elaine did this. And assuming that’s the truth, the thief is most likely already on a plane out of the country. I agree with Uncle Bo, I think we’ve got a real pro involved here, and a pro isn’t going to stick around and glory in his kill.

“Uncle Bo is the first to say that none of the staff close to the Koh-i-Noor have the background to suggest a pro of this magnitude. I’m thinking the background checks on all those people who got within twenty feet of the exhibit room need to go much deeper. We’re talking what—maybe a dozen people, on the outside?”

“Sounds about right.”

“There must be a great deal of money involved, and we need to be looking at who may be behind a theft of this nature, as well as who the thief might be. I’ve made a list of world-class thieves who have the resources and cunning to pull off such a theft.”

She grinned. “Remember I mentioned the dead Russian in Inspector York’s apartment was a foot soldier for the Anatoly crime family? Well, guess what? Andrei Anatoly also deals in stolen jewels, not to mention other criminal enterprises, and we have our local office who deals with them looking deep into their past few weeks as we speak. Another thing: Andrei Anatoly is also an art lover and is on the guest list for tonight’s event. I thought we might have a chat with him.”

Nicholas said, “I assume you’ve already heard Savich and Sherlock are here to speak to him as well?”

Mike nodded. “Hearing Dillon’s grandmother is Sarah Elliott—that blew my mind. They believe Anatoly is the one behind the theft and switch of one of his grandmother’s paintings in the Prado Museum. The crimes echo one another, and I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“I don’t, either. I’ll cross-check my list of thieves with Anatoly and his people, see if there’s any indication of a match. Maybe Anatoly wants to score one of the most famous diamonds in the world.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Mike said. “We also need to find out if Bo is one hundred percent certain the stone was real when it arrived. It could have been a fake the whole time and no one knew, right?”

“I already asked him. The Koh-i-Noor and all the other jewels were tested before they left England and again when they arrived on American soil. And yet again at the museum, following the indemnity requirements for the gigantic insurance policy covering the exhibit.”

“The crown jewels are encased in specially made vitrine display cases with two-inch-thick bulletproof glass, which is impossible to break into. Having the power off is the only untraceable way to get into the case.”

“Yep, it was definitely an insider,” she said, and unspoken was Elaine York.

Mike whipped the Crown Vic across four lanes of traffic and merged onto the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge, which would take them to the East Side. “We’re ten minutes out now, if the angels are on our side and traffic doesn’t get worse.”

He rubbed his neck. “It’s been a long day.”

“I imagine so. Unfortunately, it’s going to get longer. The media is having a field day with Elaine York’s murder. I’ve already seen it reported on every major station. The talking heads are going nuts, wondering what it could all mean, some of them even questioning the safety of the crown jewels here in the U.S. As for the BBC, they’re about ready to pick up pitchforks and light torches and come rescue their jewels. And they even know about Kochen’s connection to Anatoly, and you can only imagine what they’re saying.”

He’d seen CNN as they’d walked through the terminal, but hadn’t said anything to her about it. “Well, at least they don’t know anything about the missing Koh-i-Noor yet.”

“Yet being the operative word here. If we don’t get the diamond back before the news breaks—” She shuddered. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

No, he thought, it doesn’t. They were both silent. Finally, Mike said, “Hear me out, okay? Let’s say Elaine York was in on the theft from the beginning. Why? Money, I guess, lots and lots of money. She was matched up with the Russian thug, stole the diamond for his people, and both of them were killed, probably by the people she was going to pass the diamond off to. That could mean Anatoly’s already got the Koh-i-Noor and York and Kochen’s murderer was another one of his soldiers.”

He couldn’t very well shoot her, since she was driving. He said only, his voice mild, “That’s one possibility. Next?”

“Or Inspector York found out about a plan to steal the jewel, tried to put a stop to it, and got herself killed.”

“As my uncle Bo rightly pointed out, she’d have come to him immediately if she suspected something. That won’t wash.”

She swerved around a manic bicycle messenger. “Whoa. Idiot. All right. Putting Inspector York aside, is there a market for the Koh-i-Noor out there?”

“There are private collectors who would literally pay anything to get their hands on something this unique. Not to mention the leaders of the countries who think the Koh-i-Noor belongs to them. India asks for it back annually. Pakistan lays claim to it, as does Iran. All three had the Koh-i-Noor in their possession at one time or another, though India held it the longest. Queen Victoria was simply the last to get her hands on it.”

“Iran and Pakistan? Could we be dealing with a nationalist with a major grudge?”

“I don’t think it’s about a pissed-off nationalist, not with Anatoly involved. I suppose it could be about cutting the diamond into pieces for quick sale, but that doesn’t play for me. The Koh-i-Noor is far more valuable left intact.”

“Then we’re talking about a private collector. Like Anatoly.”

Nicholas said, “If he has unlimited funds, then yes. If not Anatoly, there are at least a dozen more I can think of to fit the bill.”

16

1000 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Thursday, noon

The Metropolitan Museum of Art sat squarely on Fifth Avenue at Eighty-second Street, with Central Park its lovely backdrop. Three huge banners advertising the Jewel of the Lion exhibit hung from the parapets between the huge columns—purple, red, and gold—each with story-high silk-screened portraits of the crown that housed the Koh-i-Noor diamond.

Mike turned off the flasher and siren a few blocks away so they wouldn’t announce themselves and make people wonder. She edged the car into a small space a block east of the Met. In front of the museum, people scurried about, and the American flag snapped in the chilly breeze as they walked past.

Nicholas looked up and couldn’t help himself: he saw the perfect angles for an attack sniper, counted five possible eagle’s nests for shooters, watched the traffic barreling by and the dozens of people walking the streets.

Nothing would happen, but the thought of it made the hair rise on the back of his neck. He pictured Elaine, carefree and alive, walking up the steps, on this same path daily for the past four months. All her energy, all her time, focused on this one place.

Nicholas knew to his gut that Mike and his uncle were right. Someone intimate with the exhibit was the thief, someone who’d covered his tracks perfectly. And it wasn’t Elaine. He knew exactly who and what she was. So he had to solve the theft, and he’d solve Elaine’s murder. And absolve her.

When they reached the Met’s steps, Nicholas said, “I see the museum staff is setting up for the Jewel of the Lion gala. It’s going to be quite a spectacle.”

Mike nodded and pointed. “Those blue crowd barriers are meant to funnel the attendees into the appropriate doors. Nineteenth Precinct will help man the streets tonight. Even with six hundred people on staff, the Met security won’t be enough. Look at that huge red carpet they’re spreading on the steps. This is a show unto itself. There’ll be more paparazzi here, more reps from all the media swarming all over everyone who looks remotely important, than there are political fund-raisers in an election year.”

Nicholas looked to the top of the stairs, where a woman with brown hair in a sleek ponytail was watching for them, tap-tap-tapping her boot. When he met her eye and nodded, her smile was clearly relieved. She gave him a tiny wave and a beckoning finger.

He said, “There’s our curator, Dr. Victoria Browning. I looked her up online after Uncle Bo told me about her. He said she’d be waiting for us.”

Nicholas made seven guards, plainclothes and uniformed, as they followed her into the cavernous entrance gallery. He assumed there were more guards he didn’t see; the space was nearly bursting with people. The grand stairs were already covered in flashy red carpet, a vermillion trail upward to the exhibit, and the beehive of activity simply enfolded them as they walked.

Dr. Browning stopped next to the stairs and waited for them to catch up. Despite being smartly dressed in a gray wool sheath with a wide black belt, black tights, and high-heeled black leather boots, she looked exhausted, dark shadows beneath her eyes.

Nicholas shook her hand. “Nicholas Drummond, Metropolitan Police. This is Special Agent Mike Caine, FBI. You’re Dr. Victoria Browning.”

“Yes, I’m Dr. Browning. Mr. Horsley is waiting for you upstairs. Shall we?”

Browning had a Scottish accent, and Nicholas recalled reading that she was born and raised in Roslin, though he hardly wanted her to know he’d been checking up on her. As they started toward the north elevators he said, “It’s very nice to hear a familiar voice. Edinburgh, is it?”

Browning smiled, showing nice straight white teeth and dimples, which made her look very young. “Well done, Detective Chief Inspector. And I grew up near Roslin.”

He said easily, “A charming village. Overrun with tourists headed to the chapel, I suppose?”

“After The Da Vinci Code made us famous, yes, but you know, I wanted out badly, before the movie, and so I read archaeology at the University of Edinburgh, then did my postdoc research fellowship in art crimes and cultural heritages. Before curating the Jewel of the Lion exhibit, my responsibilities here at the Met included verifying the provenance of everything that comes in from the Middle East and India, my specific areas of expertise. You would be amazed at how many fakes and stolen goods we find.”

Mike said, “How horribly ironic.”

Dr. Browning gave an exhausted laugh. “Agent Caine, you have no idea. Now, before I start screaming at these hordes of people, let’s take this conversation elsewhere.”

She led them to the oversized service elevator. She used a key and swiped a white plastic pass through the black card reader before she hit the button. As the door slid shut, she collapsed back against the wall, letting it hold her weight, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Forgive me. I’m devastated, haven’t slept much worrying about all this. First Elaine, now the Koh-i-Noor. It has not been a good week. And now we’re going to have the fake Koh-i-Noor in place tonight for the gala.”

Nicholas said, “No one will realize it’s a fake, Dr. Browning, you know that.”

She gave him a tired smile. “But that’s not the point, is it?”

Mike asked her, “So you deal with all kinds of stolen art? I heard the Prado in Madrid found a good quarter of their paintings were forgeries, including a recent Sarah Elliott painting.”

“Yes, The Night Tower, I heard. It’s still hard to believe, isn’t it? On the positive side, I also work with both the Museum Security Network and the Association for Research into Crimes Against Art to identify illegal pieces that make their way to our doors, make sure they’re returned to their rightful owners.”

Nicholas said, “It’s been my experience there’s a huge market not only for stolen art, but all sorts of artifacts as well. Correct?”

Dr. Browning nodded. “Yes. That’s why I work directly with the FBI Art Crimes team as well. I’m not accustomed to seeing our pieces leave the premises without permission.”

Mike said, “I’m new to all this. Please tell us more about your security measures.”

Browning waved her hand at the card reader mounted by the floor numbers. “This is part of the standard security protocol we have in place. Doors won’t close without the pass. This elevator goes only to the secure floors; you have to have both a key and a pass, as you saw, to access them. It’s also on camera twenty-four/seven, and so far there is nothing to indicate they were tampered with.” She sighed. “Except, of course, for that five-minute power outage.”