Rachel and I both have no time for dating. Is exhausting, and we are practically married to our job, me more than her. I am always the first one in and the last one out, because the thieves don’t rest, and neither do I. So, Rachel and I occasionally hook up. No one can know about it here because it wouldn’t help the whole respect thing I'm already struggling with. Many of my colleagues believe I am too young to lead the unit, especially the men.
“You know what I wonder,” I say to direct the topic back to what matters, “When has she ever blown up something? Never. Are we sure it’s her? Because the MO looks more like Hedda to me.”
Hedda Lagner.A 63-year-old conwoman who has been caught fifteen times already stealing from museums and private individuals, and has escaped every single time we caught her.
She and Zayne are the bane of my existence.
“You think Hedda tried to frame her? But Hedda would want the win for herself,” says Rachel.
“I’m not so sure. She might not want to have the attention on her; that way, Zayne is hunted, and she can enjoy the painting in peace and quiet.”
“Better for us,” says Rachel. “If they are at war, it’ll make it easier for them to get them. It will distract them.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. I’ll give Interpol a call and see if I can get in on the investigations with OCBC. They might want all hands on deck,” I say, turn and get back to my office.
I dial my contact at Interpol.
“It’s me,” I say when he answers. “Reid.”
“Reid, how are things?” he says.
“Just heard what happened in Paris,” I say. “I have been hunting Avery Zayne for years now. I’d be willing to share my knowledge if they give me theirs. Could you find out if OCBC wants me to join?”
“I can check,” he says. “Zayne is searched in ninety-eight countries at this point. I don’t even know how that woman does it.”
“Fake identities,” I say. “I have uncovered over a hundred already. I don’t even want to know how many more there are.”
“Blimey,” says my contact.
“So, can you?”
“I’ll call you back. Give me thirty,” he says and hangs up.
Minutes pass like hours. I walk up and down in my office, glancing outside the window here and there, and my mind is racing. Something about the entire thing feels off.
I open my laptop and pull up all the known cases we have connected to Hedda Lagner.
Hedda, who has stolen several Rembrandts, blew her way into the Metropolitan and robbed a private collector via a tunnel she dug. That France job doesn’t look like Avery Zayne at all. It looks like Hedda.
I search further for any known connections between Hedda and Avery Zayne.
My phone interrupts my search as it rings. I don’t know the number, but I recognize the country code for France.
“Shaw, FBI Art Crime Unit, New York,” I say.
“Bonjour, Miss Shaw. This is Commisaire Inès Abrègè, with the OCBC,” says a woman with a very melodic tone. “Peter gave me a call, letting me know you have information that could help us regarding the theft of the Mona Lisa.” Her English is hard to understand, but I caught the most necessary things.
“Yes,” I say. “I have been hunting her for years now, and might know her better than anyone on this planet, but I believe we are looking at a setup.”
“What do you mean?”
“As far as I can tell from what was given to the media, I believe the person you are looking for is Hedda Lagner. It’s her MO.”
“Why do you believe that is?”
“Hedda Lagner is known for accessing her targets by force, tunnels, explosions, and even drove a truck into a building once. She comes in forcefully and acts without care. Avery Zayne is different. She is a ghost, leaves no traces except for her signature, the feather. She acts in the shadows of the night; she is careful and efficient, not loud and forceful.”
“I understand,” says Inès Abrègè, lost in thought. I stare at the screen with a photo of Hedda at a soiree, and if I am not entirely mistaken, it is the very same one Zayne later stole a diamond collar from the exhibition before any of the guests were let in.
