She ignored the headache brewing at the base of her skull, and kept her gaze steady on his.
“That’ll be part of this briefing. We’re going to get the emeralds back, Inspector. You’ll want to take the win.”
“We’ll see.”
“Kind of a dick,” Feeney commented.
“Yeah. A good cop, but kind of a dick.”
Reo came in. “You’ve got your warrant. I’m getting one of those buns. Whitney and Tibble are right behind me.”
Eve stepped toward the door. “Chief, Commander.”
Tibble glanced past her to the conference table and the trays of rapidly depleted rolls. “You know how to hold a briefing, Lieutenant.”
“Roarke’s contribution. Please, help yourself. We’re waiting on Lieutenant Lowenbaum.”
“I eat one of those,” Whitney speculated, “Anna’s going to sniff it out. But I’m risking it.” Then his eyes narrowed. “That’s Cochran Estates.”
“Yes, sir. That’s the auction venue.”
“I’ve been to events there. It’s massive and it’s well secured.” He turned, scanned the room. “If you need more cops, you’ll have them. Ryan, I assume you and your team can and will deal with that security.”
“Happens it’s one of Roarke’s systems. Place like that pays for the best. We’re working on it.”
“Cochran Estates,” Whitney muttered. “Arrogant sons of bitches.”
Feeney just grinned into his coffee as Whitney walked away.
“And who likes taking down arrogant sons of bitches?”
“Oh,” Eve said, “we do. We really fucking do.”
Lowenbaum came at a fast clip. “Sorry, I got held up with… I know those buns. Those are Jacko’s. Hot damn.”
“Grab and sit. We’re about ready.”
She waited another minute, then stepped to the front of the room. “McNab, wipe the icing off your fingers and work the screen. Everybody sit, settle down. This will be a major operation, and the people we’re taking down will have armed security. It’s highly probable they’ll be armed with illegal weapons. That means body armor and helmets.
“Before I lay out the op, backstory details. On Friday night, the Barrister House security was compromised, the vault in the home office opened, and the Royal Suite—McNab, bring it up—was removed.”
“Pretty damn sweet,” Baxter commented.
“The thief hired Robert Wenn, attorney, and arranged for immunity in exchange for pertinent information.”
She held up a hand when the grumbles began.
“The thief did not kill Nathan Barrister during the break-in, something I’d already concluded, and the information provided confirmed my conclusion, and added details. My conclusion, supported by the evidence, the timing, the statements, is that these three people conspired to steal the Royal Suite, Magdelana Percell as coordinator, James Mulligan as broker, and Joy Barrister, the victim’s sister, who provided the ways and means. And who used the cover of the break-in and theft to murder her brother, Nathan Barrister.”
She noted Abernathy shifted in his seat, sat up even straighter now.
“Motive. I’ll start with the blonde. Obviously primary motive is gaining a jewelry collection worth half a billion or more. But she has a side motive. Several years ago, she had a… romantic relationship with Roarke that didn’t end well. About a year and a half ago, she came to New York and attempted to restart that relationship and was rebuffed. That didn’t end well for her.
“For a number of years, she had a relationship with Henry Barrister, and returned to New York last December, stayed at Barrister House, during which time Henry Barrister is reported by numerous sources to have gone into cognitive decline. Mira has confirmed, through access to his medical records, that he had dementia.
“We believe, during that period, he showed Percell the vault and its contents. She had the combination, which she provided to the thief she and her partner hired. She targeted the Royal Suite specifically, and only that. And with her conspirators, set up the thief to take the rap for the murder.”
She went through it all, point by point so even Abernathy looked mollified and intrigued.
