Con heir, p.4
Con Heir, page 4
Now, freshly showered, his suitcase stashed in a third-floor room of a mid-priced hotel, the only luxury a fridge wedged under a scratched desk, and he was on his way to the office. Or would be if he could work out which way around the map on his phone should be.
He’d already walked up two small streets before having to double back on himself but now the blinking icon on his screen appeared to be finally content he was heading in the right direction. Adam was fully aware this was the most touristy he’d ever looked and that included the time he spent a full night inside a Las Vegas casino, entirely bamboozled by the cloud-painted ceiling, lack of clocks, and ever ready stream of cocktails, only to stumble outside and realize it was the next morning already. Curiously, he was up a hundred bucks, a feat that never failed to amaze him.
Just like it was amazing that he was here, in Paris, and not on his own dime. Of course, he was here to work, but that wasn’t going to stop him from enjoying the architecture, the steady chatter of French as he passed sidewalk cafés, or the two incredibly chic women he’d just passed who’d smiled at him. He couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder, admiring the view of their retreating derrières.
He might be flying solo, but damn, he wasn’t entirely dead inside.
With one more glance at the map, confirming he was heading in the right direction, Adam pushed on at a brisk pace.
Interpol was largely as he expected it: another government building full of cream walls, business suits, and people walking with purpose. The only thing setting it apart from the field office back home was the myriad accents.
“Special Agent Maddox, it is a pleasure to meet you,” said his French counterpart, a slim, blond woman with sharp eyes who almost reached his height. “Celine Allard,” she added, shaking his hand.
“Good to meet you,” said Adam.
“I have read all your material,” Celine told him as they left the lobby, a new lanyard swinging around his neck. They headed to the elevators and then to her office down a long, broad corridor. “The case is intriguing. It is not often we find ourselves in pursuit of a female thief of this calibre. Perhaps feminism has reached the criminal underworld, yes?” She offered a smile, and raised her eyebrows, amused.
Adam wasn’t quite sure if she were making a joke or actually serious, so he went with a deadpan, “She’s certainly impressive. I’ve been connecting the dots for months and I’m convinced she’s responsible for every theft on that list.”
“It’s really quite astounding,” Celine said, serious now as she nodded. “I am very happy to be your liaison on this case. It occupies my thoughts entirely. I hope to be present when you make the arrest.”
Adam blinked. On the flight over, he’d thought of countless ways this case could slip out of his grasp and be taken over by his European colleagues. Who wouldn’t want an arrest like this? Yet here was Celine, eager to assist, and politely deferential to his lead. So far, it was a good start. If Lexi had been involved, she’d have shaken his hand, jumped out a window and been kidnapped before they walked around the corner. Celine, on the other hand, was going to be good for his heart rhythm. “Your faith in my case is appreciated,” he said, “and you came highly recommended. I hope we make good partners.”
“But of course,” she agreed with a Gallic shrug that he found utterly endearing. At the very least, it was much chicer than falling over dead bodies and getting usurped at every turn by his danger-loving girlfriend.
Ex-girlfriend.
Adam exhaled a deep sigh. Man, it sucked to be reminded of the brunette disaster magnet when he least expected her to pop into his head. The thoughts often came unbidden. When he was pulling out of his parking space, or getting a coffee, and bam! There it was. A memory of her. Warmth, then sadness. It was nothing compared to the moment he’d received that angry text message telling him they were done.
She wouldn’t have ended it, he was certain, if she hadn’t entirely misinterpreted what she’d seen, but he could understand it. It hadn’t looked good for him and she’d been horribly hurt. He should have communicated prior but he’d fucked up and paid the price.
Paris would do him good, he decided. It was good to be out of Massachusetts, good to be out of the United States. He could clear his head some more, catch a criminal, and return victorious.
At least that was the plan.
What could possibly go wrong?
“This is our office,” Celine was saying, apparently still talking even though he hadn’t been listening for the past couple of minutes. She opened the door, walking through, holding it open for him. “It is not big or glamorous but exclusively for us and this case,” she said. “That is your desk and this is mine.” She pointed to the pair of desks facing each other under the window. Both had computers and desk phones, one had a stack of notepads and pens and a small potted plant.
Adam wondered if Celine had scrounged the leftover furnishings from bigger squads and decided he didn’t care. It was enough.
Across from the desks was a large bulletin board, a big printed question mark in the middle, red lines spanning from it to the cases all tacked at intervals. Celine must have done that in preparation for his arrival, something he was both pleased and grateful for. She was taking it seriously, although he had a small hope they’d have a bigger taskforce.
Still, it was two against one.
He shouldn’t be surprised really, he decided as Celine waved him to the nearest desk, his home away from home. She pulled out the chair behind her own desk, dropping into it. He had to concede that his collated evidence wasn’t absolute, and that his hunch was even being paid credence was a small miracle. He would work with what he had.
“I did not add the research and articles you sent about the painting,” she said, waving to the whiteboard. “I studied the cases. I agree with you that she is, in part, getting away with it because she is underestimated. Did you have a behavioral analyst create a profile?”
“They promised to send the report today but I think I know what it will say,” he said, glad they were getting down to business now the pleasantries were over.
“Let’s compare notes.”
“You have an analysis too?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Okay.” Adam dropped his backpack on the desk and unzipped it, pulling out his notepad as he sat, settling into the chair and rolling his shoulders. He didn’t need to read his notes, his own assessment had been mulling around in his head for weeks, gradually becoming more refined, but he had been on a long flight and there was the possibility he’d forget small details as fatigue caught up to him. “Female,” he started.
“Check!” Celine grinned then waved him to continue, encouraging a small huff of laughter from him. He could already tell they were going to get on well.
“She’s in her thirties, old enough to have a decade or more of experience. Probably started out with small thefts, little things that didn’t set off alarm bells. Small scale burglaries, in and out quick, pickpocketing, distraction thefts, anything that involved sleight of hand.”
“Commercial or domestic property?” asked Celine, consulting her own notepad.
“Both. But she never created a mess. She was never the burglar that pulled things out of drawers and threw them all over the place. She knew what she was looking for and took it. Quick in, quick out. The thefts probably weren’t discovered immediately but days, weeks, maybe months, down the line, reducing the possibility of the theft period being pinpointed, thus concealing her identity.”
“She could have worked the kind of trades that give her access but don’t cause much notice. Cleaning lady, perhaps? Not a handyman.”
“A female handyman would stand out and be memorable,” agreed Adam. “Cleaning services, housekeeping, catering, fashion and beauty services, small deliveries. Something with a generic uniform. Bland. Forgettable.”
“Yes, yes,” murmured Celine, making a note. “That would give her a lot of opportunity.”
“Age wise, thirties also gives her the best chance at blending in. She’s not young enough to stand out, or old enough to break a hip. She’s fit, agile, slim build, neither strikingly beautiful nor ugly.”
“Ah—” Celine held up her pen, silencing him. “I must disagree here. I think she is a nice-looking woman. She can make herself up to be more or less beautiful but a nice-looking woman raises no red flags. She is to be, uh, the word... ah! Yes. I have it. She is to be expected.”
“Okay,” agreed Adam, making a note before chewing on his pen. “Yes, that works. She’s got pretty privilege.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means people are nicer to pretty women.”
Celine nodded. “Yes, this is often true. Our thief can get away with more because she looks good. She’s good at disguise too,” she added, waving towards the bulletin board with its grainy photos. “She can have long hair, or short, darker skin or paler. Caucasian. She can dress plain or dramatic. She can blend with people easily. She’s good with makeup. Perhaps a career in theater?”
Adam made a few notes. “I think she uses prosthetics,” he said.
“She has a fake leg?”
“No, not that kind. I mean she changes her appearance subtly, aging herself if she needs to. See this woman here?” he said, pushing back his chair so he could get up and cross the short amount of floor space to reach the bulletin board. He tapped on the photo with the short hair tucked under a beanie. “See how she looks much older here. It’s not just the big, old-fashioned glasses. The shape of her nose and chin are different, and her cheeks are puffier. She’s hiding a lot of her face with the wig and glasses, and makeup, but she’s added prosthetics.”
“Maybe film work as well as theater,” said Celine, angling her head to study the photo. “Or perhaps a mentor who has studied these things?”
“I think a person could probably learn on YouTube now.”
“But it would take money for the materials. She has access to money.”
“Definitely. If she has a job, it’s not a traditional one. She has the time and resources to travel. I’ve compared manifests and I’ve never found the same name within a week’s arrival of each theft.”
“I have written she is amenable to all transport options. She can drive but public travel is convenient. She has access to identity documents.”
“High quality fakes. We’re looking at a woman who can blend so I think she’s intelligent. She can hold a conversation, she’s got manners. I think she’s American.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not one hundred percent,” admitted Adam, “but several thefts happened on American soil, then we move overseas to several nations. I think she worked up. That said, she could have a knack for languages. Maybe she’s fluent in another language, or can learn quickly, at least well enough to get by. That suggests to me she might have had a good education. Perhaps even studied abroad for a period. Being bilingual would help her fit in and, if she’s a good study, she could even pass as another nationality in case anyone remembered her and needed throwing off her scent.”
“She’s capable too. I think she can run, climb, maybe there’s some martial arts in there for self-defense and discipline. She can also abseil and base jump.”
“She has no fear.”
“Or she knows how to conquer it,” said Celine. She’d spun in her chair to watch him study the board.
Adam crossed his arms, contemplating that. “She needs to be fearless for these kinds of jobs. She needs a calm, steady hand, and balls of steel to escape unnoticed.”
“She most definitely does not need balls,” said Celine, a small smile edging onto the corners of her lips. “I suspect they would get in her way.”
“Ovaries of steel doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
“Only because we’re not used to it as a saying. We must say it more often,” decided Celine.
If she were waiting for him to challenge her, she was going to be disappointed. Adam was simply trying not to laugh and then he was trying not to yawn.
“You had a long flight,” said Celine. “We do not have to work late tonight.”
“I’d appreciate an early night,” he decided, returning to his desk to consult his notepad again as he stifled another yawn. “I think she can move between class statuses well. Like recognizes like but she’s picked up enough to move between them all. She’s smart and articulate, can easily blend into a crowd at a gala or work her way into a party. She’s pretty, she’s engaging, she’s likable. No one sees her coming. She gets away with her heists because she’s perpetually underestimated. No one thinks she’s going to steal from them. She’s just a pleasant face in a crowd, a quiet, efficient worker, an unobtrusive woman easily overlooked. She can move between all these roles.”
Celine looked up, a frown line appearing on her forehead.
“What’s the question?” asked Adam.
“Does she work alone, or does she have assistance?”
“Alone,” he said, “or at least she does now, but I think she’s tapped into a network of assistance. Someone is creating her identities and whoever they are, they’re high end. She wouldn’t risk a passport being flagged.”
“And before? A partner, perhaps? They had a falling out?”
“Could be. Or someone older who spotted her potential, or exploited it. But she discovered how good she was at the game and didn’t want to be some Fagin’s Oliver Twist. She went solo and never looked back.”
“She learned to steal somewhere. Family perhaps? That would fit better for the profile than a Fagin character. Plenty of criminal families give their children a good education.” Celine paused to scan her notes again. “Is this what you expect the analyst’s report to say?”
Adam nodded. “More or less. How does it match with your notes?”
“We have come to the same conclusions,” she said. “I have nothing material to add other than I think she has access to many resources... and also...”
“Yes?” he prompted.
“I think she perhaps has a good heart? So many of these stolen items were under dispute for their ownership. Some more clearly so than others and poof! They disappear and, of course, the appearances of dispute are kept up until they are quietly dropped because you cannot recover a missing item,” said Celine. “I think we are not looking for a terrible thief but a woman with a conscience.”
“That’s why I think she’ll go after The Pandora next.”
“It is possible she’s in Paris already.”
“The exhibition is short and it’ll be moved immediately after. The train transfer is the weakest link in The Pandora’s movements. That’s when she’ll strike.”
“Ah! You did not hear the news.” Celine brightened.
“What news?” He was instantly on alert. Had the transport been canceled while he was in the air? He had alerts set up to notify him of any news items but nine times out of ten it returned the wrong Pandora in his results.
“The Guldner family allowed The Pandora to be studied as part of the exhibition at the Musée de Trésor. It was moved there quietly before the exhibition and put on display early for select guests.”
Adam shot up in his seat. “Whatever made them do that?”
Celine shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“This changes everything,” he said, rubbing his hand over his jaw and upper lip, reassessing everything he thought he knew about how the theft would occur.
“Because now the thief has extra time to plan and doesn’t have to wait to steal it from the Paris to Zurich train?” said Celine succinctly.
“Exactly.”
“I have consulted with the museum’s security. They say extra security personnel have been hired and also provided by the Guldners. They have also given us two passes.” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a laminated pass, sliding it across to him. “Perhaps we should visit tomorrow?”
“Absolutely,” he agreed and yawned again.
Celine laughed. “Go to your hotel and sleep, Special Agent Maddox. We understand the case. Tomorrow we will make the progress. I will walk you out.”
After Celine deposited him at Interpol’s entrance, Adam stepped outside into the fresh air, his backpack over his shoulder, the laminated pass in his pocket, and Paris at his feet.
If she was here, he was going to catch her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cass
Nick was on board. She knew he wouldn’t be able to resist as soon as she’d mentioned The Pandora. It was exactly the sort of heist that fueled him. Priceless art. Questionable provenance. Daring endeavors... and the possibility of a large payoff. The rush fee Quinlan agreed to made a very large bonus on top of the satisfaction of repatriation.
Plus, there would be the kind of headlines Cass knew Nick would enjoy smugly reading in a café far, far from Paris because they both knew they’d have to get out of town for a while as soon as they pulled off the heist since it would attract a lot more attention than a disappearing diamond necklace.
The handover, of course, would be left to Cass, but Nick would want to put distance between himself and the theft. He didn’t care about underworld rumors — she knew he would dine out on the merest possibility he’d been involved, both fueling rumors and allowing them to unfold unfettered into the stuff of legend.
What he didn’t want was law enforcement putting him at the scene of the crime. As such, Cass was certain he would get his passport stamped leaving the country, probably today, and return quickly on another passport in a fake identity. Officially, he would be somewhere else. Unofficially, he would be poring over documents, looking for flaws in her plan. Not that he would find them. Cass had planned enough heists to know her plan, although hasty, was flawless.
Of course, it was entirely possible Nick wasn’t in France officially at all. Cass could never be completely sure.
One thing she was sure of was Nick probably had exactly the same thoughts about her, and he would be largely correct.
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