“And what have you decided? Is the Fox really a zebra?”
“Not so far. She’s anything but, given all the twists and turns she’s tossed in our path. I’m hoping her apartment will tell us a lot about her.” She stopped at a red light, watched a bundled-up bag lady push her grocery cart piled high with stuff across the street. “I hope she’s got a warm place. The temperature’s plummeting.”
Unlike Nicholas, who felt like he was in a canyon, black monoliths on either side of them, the old woman looked like she knew exactly where she was going. He said, “It’s eerie, seeing the city sleep like this, all hunkered down, looming. London rarely gets quiet, but then again, London isn’t this overwhelming, so in-your-face.”
She said, “It’s after midnight and it’s snowing. If you’re sane, you’re inside. I’ve always thought that in the deep of night, the city knows something we don’t know, and always, bad things happen.”
Her cell rang. “It’s Ben.” She put him on speaker so Nicholas could hear.
Ben said, as if in mid-thought, “We’re FBI, the most suspicious people in the world, and the most cynical, so tell me, why did we take her at face value? Browning raised the alarm, claimed the stone was fake, and we all believed her. We didn’t even check to make sure she was telling the truth. Makes us look like idiots.”
Mike knew exactly how he felt. “Well, Bo did check. Victoria used a fake diamond tester, so even he was tricked. So why wouldn’t we believe her? She reported a major robbery. She had the credentials, the trust of the museum staff. She engineered the whole thing to get Paulie and Louise into the room to fingerprint the ‘fake’ diamond. It was a pretty ballsy plan, and it worked. Yeah, we’re idiots.”
“Sorry, I had to vent. What are you up to at this late hour?”
“Nicholas and I are on our way to tear apart Browning’s apartment.”
“Be careful, Mike. This woman is no dummy, she’s got more end-arounds than Harbaugh’s playbook. She’s not predictable, so watch your back.”
She hung up and looked over at Nicholas.
He said, “I wonder which Harbaugh he meant.”
“You know American football?”
“I am half your species,” he said. “Ah, this is the right address.”
Victoria lived steps from Times Square, in a building Mike had to admit was gorgeous, inside and out. They’d called the leasing agent, a round and Rubensesque woman in her late forties who smelled strongly of red wine, and she met them in the lobby.
“I’m Special Agent Mike Caine, and this is Detective Chief Inspector Nicholas Drummond. Thanks for meeting us so late.” She showed the woman her creds.
“I’m Gillian Docherty. What is all this about?”
Nicholas said, “We need access to an apartment, number 2324, and all the files you have attached to it. The occupant is Victoria Browning.”
Docherty narrowed her eyes. “Um, I don’t think I’m allowed to give out that information unless you have a warrant.”
“We’re very concerned about Ms. Browning’s well-being. We wouldn’t ask if it weren’t a matter of life and death.”
“You mean Dr. Browning. She insisted I remember to call her Doctor. I was the one who leased her the apartment. What’s wrong? Is she ill? Is she in trouble?”
Nicholas leaned close to the leasing agent, pitched his voice low. “That’s what we’re trying to find out. This is a very sticky situation. Be a love and let us in her flat, would you?”
Docherty dimpled, and Mike would swear she batted her eyelashes. “Oh, I see, yes, of course,” and Docherty went for the master keys.
Bond strikes again. She whispered, “I may need a tape recording of your voice to use when I run into stubborn witnesses. Well, female witnesses.”
He ignored that.
“You lied to her.”
“Yeah, but don’t worry I’ll run off the rails. I have all sorts of highly ethical boundaries. If she’d said no, I would have clubbed her on the head and stolen the keys.”