“Yes. Yes. The bulk of the diamonds were back where they belonged. And they were, as my grandmother is fond of saying, only things, after all. The boy and his mother were finally safe. If they’d pursued it, and I have no doubt my grandfather could have tracked them down, they’d have been pulled into the mess. The young boy would have had everything his father had done pushed in his face, would very likely have ended up a national news story himself. His life might have been damaged or severely changed by this one thing. So they told no one.”
She leaned forward. “Lieutenant, they withheld information. It was probably illegal for them to withhold it. But they did it for the best possible reason. They would have gained more. Five percent more of over seven million, if they’d tracked her down. They didn’t, and the world’s managed to sputter along without those particular stones.”
Samantha wasn’t just defending herself and her grandparents, Eve noted. She was defending a woman and child she’d never met. “I’m not interested in dragging your grandparents into this. But I am interested in finding Judith and Westley Crew. The diamonds don’t mean squat to me, Samantha. I’m not Robbery, I’m Homicide. Two women are dead, you may very well be a target. The motive for this comes from the diamonds, and that’s my interest in them. Someone else can do the research and dig up the fact that Crew had a wife and child. This could make them targets.”
“Well, my God.” As it struck home, Samantha squeezed her eyes shut. “I never thought of it. Never considered it.”
“Or the person who killed Andrea Jacobs and Tina Cobb may be connected to Crew. It may be his son, who’s decided he wants to get back what he feels belonged to his father.”
“We always assumed… Everything my grandparents found out about Judith showed, clearly showed, she was doing everything she could to give her son a normal life. We assumed she succeeded. Just because his father was a murderer, a thief, a son of a bitch, doesn’t mean the child took on his image. I don’t believe we work that way, Lieutenant. That we’re genetically fated. Do you?”
“No.” She glanced at Roarke. “No, I don’t. But I do believe, whatever their parentage, some people are just born bad.”
“What a happy thought,” Roarke murmured.
“Not finished. However we’re born, we end up making choices. Right ones, wrong ones. I need to find Westley Crew and determine what choices he made. This needs to be closed out, Samantha. It needs to end.”
“They’ll never forgive themselves. If somehow this has come full circle and struck out at me, my grandparents will never forgive themselves for making the choice they made all those years ago.”
“I hope they’re smarter than that,” Roarke said. “They made a choice, for a child they didn’t even know. If that child made choices as a man, it’s on him. What we do with our lives always is.”
They left together, with Eve bouncing the new information in her head until she formed patterns. “I need you to find them,” she said to Roarke.
“Understood.”
“Coincidence happens, but mostly it’s bullshit. I’m not buying that some guy read Gannon’s book and got a hard-on for missing diamonds and decided to kill a couple of women in order to find them. He’s got an investment in them, a connection to them. The book set it off, but the connection goes further back. How long before the book came out did the hype for it start?”
“I’ll find out. There will also be a list of some sort of people, reviewers, accounts and so forth, that were sent advance copies. You have to add word of mouth to that, I’m afraid. People the editorial staff, publicity and others might have spoken to.”
“We’ve got this great book coming out,” Peabody began. “It’s about this diamond heist right here in New York.”
“Exactly so. The man you’re looking for might have heard of it over drinks somewhere. Might have an acquaintance or attended a party with one of the editors, a reviewer, someone in sales who spoke about it.”
“Won’t that be fun to wade through? Get me the list,” she repeated as they stepped out into the lobby. “And let me know who you put on her, security-wise. I want my people to know your people. Oh, and I need two box seats, Mets game.”
“Personal use or bribe?”
“Bribe. Please, you know I’m a Yankees fan.”
“What was I thinking. How do you want them?”
“Just send the authorization to Dickhead at the lab. Berenski. Thanks. I gotta book.”
“Kiss me goodbye.”
“I already kissed you goodbye this morning. Twice.”
“Third time lucky.” He planted his lips firmly on hers. “I’ll be in touch, Lieutenant.” He strolled out. Even before he hit the sidewalk a sleek black car pulled up to the curb, and a driver hopped out to open the door.
Like magic, Eve thought.
“I’d like to be in touch with him. Anytime. Anywhere. Any way.”
Eve turned her head slowly. “Did you say something, Peabody?”
“Who, sir, me, sir? Nope. Absolutely not.”
“Good.”
She took the meeting with Mira next while Peabody ate lunch at her desk and updated the file. As far as food went, Eve figured Peabody had the better end of the stick.
The Eatery was always crowded, always noisy, no matter what the time of day. It made Eve think of a public school cafeteria, except the food was even worse and most of the people chowing down were armed.
Mira was there ahead of her and had a booth. She’d either gotten very lucky, Eve thought, or had used some clout to order one up earlier. Either way, a booth was a big step up from one of the tiny four-tops crammed together, or the counter service, where cop asses hung over the stingy stools.
Mira wasn’t a cop-technically-and sure as hell didn’t look like one. She didn’t, to Eve’s mind, look like a criminologist, a doctor or a psychiatrist either. Though she was all of those.
What she looked like was a pretty, well-dressed woman who might be seen browsing the high-end shops along Madison.
She might’ve bought the suit in one of them. Surely only the very brave or very stylish would wear that lemon-foam shade in a city like New York, where grime just sprang up off the asphalt and clung to any available surface like a leech to flesh.
But the suit was spotless and looked cool and fresh. It set off the highlights in Mira’s soft brown hair and made her eyes seem bluer. She wore a trio of long, thin, gold ropes with it where stones of a deeper yellow glinted like little pieces of sunlight.
She was drinking something out of a tall glass that looked as frosty as her suit, and smiled over the rim as Eve slid into the booth across from her.
“You look hot and harried. You should have one of these.”
“What is it?”
“Delicious.” Without waiting for Eve’s assent, Mira ordered one from the comp menu bolted to the side of the booth. “How are you otherwise?”
“Okay.” It always took Eve a moment to adjust when small talk was involved. And with Mira it wasn’t exactly small talk. People made that when they didn’t give a damn one way or the other, and mostly, she assumed, to hear their own voices. Mira cared. “Good. Summerset’s vacationing far, far away. Cheers me right up.”
“He made a quick recovery from his injuries.”
“He was still a little wobbly on the one pin, but yeah.”
“And how is our newest detective?”
“She likes to sneak her badge out and grin at it a lot yet. And she manages to work the word ‘detective’ into a sentence several times a day. She’s dressing really weird. Throws me off. Otherwise, she’s jetting along with it.”
Eve glanced at the drink that slid out of the serving slot. It did look pretty good. She took one cautious sip. “It tastes like your suit. Cool and summery and a little tart.” She thought it over. “That probably sounded wrong.”