Page 25 of To Catch a Sub

Sounded like she’d done the work, but someone else was going to claim the credit.

“I thought you might like a hard copy,” she finished. “To try and compare against the stuff in storage.”

“You’ve been in the storage areas?”

“Not all of them.” An almost sardonic expression crossed her face, at odds with the hapless person she’d been a moment before. Possibly she was just nervous and that was making her awkward. People acted odd around police.

“Honestly, I don’t think there’s a comprehensive list of storage areas either,” Colette whispered as if in confession. “I found a gold and sapphire necklace—huge smooth sapphires set in the center of gold flowers—in a wood box in a cabinet behind printer toner.”

Landon grimaced. He’d loved this museum since he was a child. Coming into London from the midlands was a once-or-twice a year trip for his family, but every time they came, he’d begged to go the museum. It was one of the reasons he’d studied archaeology in uni, earning a certificate in that, along with his political science degree.

This case was quickly destroying his childhood impression of the museum as a bastion of cultural and academic excellence.

Right now he had crews working the storage areas as if they were active crime scenes, but that was performative. The thefts had probably happened no sooner than six months ago, since that’s when the first taunting online action listing had gone up.

It was possible that the items listed on an online auction site had been missing for years or decades, and only now had the thief, or someone close to them, decided to start selling the pieces off. The real work of solving this case wouldn’t happen here in the museum, but with tedious hours of reading through records.

Given the volume of things missing, the most likely scenario was that they’d been stolen by an employee, piece by piece, over the course of years. That employee retired, didn’t like the pensioner lifestyle, and started selling the pieces for extra money. Once the optics of the operation allowed it, he’d glue himself to his desk and begin a detailed review of employment records for the past ten years.

Employee theft was a tidy, simple explanation, that fit the facts as he knew them.

And more than likely, it was a low-level employee with little to no knowledge about the items themselves. Pieces that were borderline priceless had been listed with starting bids of a tenner. That plus the fact that auction item descriptions mentioned the museum bordered on full-on stupid. Every employee he’d interviewed, even those who had no direct contact with the museum contents such as the cashier in the shop, or the dishwasher at the Great Court Restaurant, showed at least a rudimentary understanding of the value of even the smallest, plainest item in the museum.

That didn’t necessarily rule out the employee-thief scenario. If these items were stolen by someone who retired twenty years ago, and the employee culture back then was different…

Landon rubbed his face with his hands. His brain was going in circles.

“Are you all right?”

He dropped his hands to see Colette peering up at him. She was leaning forward and twisting to the side so she could see his face.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, this must be hard.”

He considered her. “Did you already interview with one of the detectives?” He’d interviewed primarily admin, lead curators, and then a random selection of few lower-level employees. The secondary detectives handled everyone else.

“Yes, Detective Dalson, a few days ago.” Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t yet made the list. I wasn’t withholding information or anything.”

Landon smiled at her alarm. “I didn’t think you were. But do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Um, no. I mean, no.”

There was one question he’d asked everyone, and though the answer had always been “no,” he had a funny feeling that “no” had more to do with protecting their jobs, or the museum itself, than the truth.

He was sure, for an undefinable reason, that Colette would answer him honestly. “Can museum volunteers access the storage areas?”

Say no. For the sake of my fucking sanity, please say no.

“Yes.”

Fuck.

“Fuck.”

Colette let out a low, throaty laugh. Whoa. The sexy sound that made him want to nip at her throat to feel the vibrations of her amusement against his lips and teeth.

“Not the main, big ones,” she added. “Or the loading bays where traveling exhibits are brought in and stored.” She paused, seeming to consider him. “Want me to show you?”