“Are you trying it sober?”
On a laugh, Lacey shoved at her wild hair. “Not anymore, thanks for the reminder. What is it?”
“I’m sending you a police artist sketch. I’d like you to tell me if you recognize this woman.”
Lacey reached for a bottle of wine, and her jaw snapped shut, her eyes narrowed when Eve sent the sketch. “That’s the bitch. The smirking, slithering bitch.”
“Could you be more specific on how you recognize her?”
“That’s the smirking, slithering bitch who went after Henry when wewere married—younger then, but that’s her. And the smirking, slithering bitch I saw in New York last December.”
Pouring herself a generous glass, she let out a half laugh. “I’m a seriously happily married woman and mother, and that still pisses me off.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“Enough I actually talked to another friend of mine who was at that party way back. She remembered her, too. She thought her name was Sabrina. Anyway, what’s the interest?”
“She’s a person of interest in an investigation.”
“Yeah?” Now she smiled. “Are you going to arrest her?”
Eve started to brush that off with a standard cop answer, then changed her mind. She understood the still-pissed-off very well.
“Yes, I am, as soon as I find her.”
“That absolutely makes up for cooking day. Do me a favor and let me know when that happens. I swear to God, I’m popping champagne. Henry was a hound, but I know a snake when I see one.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks for your help.”
“In this case, my pleasure.”
Satisfied, Eve wrote her report. She held off sending a copy to Abernathy. She wanted a little more time, just a little more time before she put him on the scent.
Instead, she started on Henry Barrister and/or Zip company private shuttles from London to New York the previous December. Expecting a slog, she programmed coffee, prepared to dig in.
Within twenty minutes, she shocked herself.
“Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch, there you are. Sabrina Fancy, single passenger, London to New York, December 12.”
She called for an ID shot, got nothing.
“Fake passport, fake ID, only activate and use it for Henry maybe. When did you leave, where did you go?”
She hunted, and found Henry had provided her transportation again. This time New York to Sorrento, Italy.
“And what was there for you?”
She sat back, studied the board.
“Another man. Another rich man, that’s my guess. Close to Christmas now, big, fancy holiday parties, cons to run, people to filch. And plans to make.”
She rose, paced.
There had to be a reason to go to that place, at that time. After Henry showed her the vault, because he damn well did. Or she stumbled on it. Either way, she knew. Plans to make, she thought again.
Need help with that. What came first? The broker or the thief?
Broker.
