“Doesn’t hurt to let her think it.”
She walked over with him to a group of six where a Black woman of about fifty with a tough build, hard eyes, and dark hair cropped close to her skull stepped forward.
“Security head Morbelli, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Dallas.”
“Morbelli.”
“Museum security will take charge of the property.” Like her hair, her voice was clipped tight. “Each item will be recorded, cataloged, security packed, and labeled prior to transport. On the other end, each item will again be recorded, cross-checked, unpacked for authentication. You will receive a copy of the recording and ensuing report, as will the agents and inspectors in charge at Interpol, as will the proper authorities connected to each item secured by us.”
“That’ll work. If you’ll come with me.”
“Packing will be done by a team authorized by the Metropolitan Museum.”
Morbelli didn’t bother to introduce them, but Eve noted they dressed not in black suits but more like sweepers. She led the way.
She went straight to the office. “Record on.”
“Record on,” Lowenbaum echoed.
“All records on,” Morbelli ordered.
“Lieutenant Dallas unsealing the crime scene door, accompanied by SWAT commander Lieutenant Lowenbaum and Metropolitan Museum Security head Morbelli and team.”
She unsealed the door, disengaged the locks, and opened the door to a room that smelled of blood, death, and sweepers’ dust.
“The scene’s been processed, the electronics are with EDD. The windows are also sealed and locked and monitors installed.”
Before entering, she took out her ’link, shut down the monitors.
“Clear there.” Moving in, she skirted the blood, went to the panel, tripped the mechanism, then slid open the panel. “I personally relocked the vault after my consultant changed the combination. Reopening now.”
She turned the dial, ordered herself not to be embarrassed or sentimental that Roarke had used their wedding anniversary.
After depressing the thick brass lever, she used it to pull—with some effort—the vault door.
Beside her, Lowenbaum let out a low whistle. Beneath it, she heard Morbelli’s involuntary gasp.
“That’s a hell of a thing,” Morbelli murmured. “A hell of a thing.” She stepped in, took a long, slow look, then seemed to pull back into her spit and polish. “All right, let’s get started. Lieutenant Dallas.” She inclined her head. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Eve gave her the same head gesture. “Thank you for yours. I’m going to remove the monitors, the seals, and the police guards on the windows.”
“If Lieutenant Lowenbaum has the property secured, you might open them.”
“You’re covered.”
As the team in sanitized white trooped in, Eve went to the windows. As she unsealed, removed guards, she saw through them members of SWAT stationed.
She opened the windows, breathed in the blissfully fresh air.
This part was off her hands, she thought, and the boot of stress on her neck lifted.
Morbelli stood, arms folded, watching the activity in the vault like a hawk. After they exchanged another brief nod, Eve started out.
Chloe stood outside, arms also folded, blocked by security.
“I want to go in. I have a right to see where my father died.”
