They waited until the table had been cleared and Drayton had left. Then Hurley opened the envelope. Carefully, one at a time, he laid out a dozen different photographs. “These are all photos we acquired from Interpol, the International Criminal Police Organization,” he explained.
Theodosia gave a cursory glance at the photos. There were ten men and two women, a dozen photos in all. Some were in color, some in black-and-white. She studied the one closest to her. The man was midthirties with dark hair, a hawk nose, and high cheekbones. Dangerous-looking, but a little intriguing, too.
As she made a concentrated effort to study each of the photos, Theodosia noted that all the faces had a somewhat cultured European vibe to them. They may have been thieves—or even dangerous killers—but they all looked like they’d lived a pampered lifestyle.
She worked her way through the photos, shaking her head as she went. When she got to the last row, she figured this whole thing had been an exercise in futility. The FBI wasn’t getting anything out of this and she certainly didn’t recognize . . .
When Theodosia glanced at the last photo, her eyes widened and she let out a small gasp. The FBI agents were quick to notice.
“Do you recognize this person?” Zimmer asked.
Theodosia tapped the photo with a manicured finger. “Who is this man?”
“His name is Klaus Hermann,” Zimmer said. “He’s a German national, a jewel thief who has been working in Paris and Rome for the past couple of years. He also goes by a number of aliases that include Count Henri von Strasser, Lord Conroy, and Rupert Gainsborough.”
“Where is he now?” Theodosia asked.
“We don’t know,” Hurley said. “He disappeared last year right after a particularly daring raid on a jewelry store in Cannes. We figured he might be cooling his heels in South America. Drinking rum and guava juice and relaxing on the beach at the Four Seasons in Buenos Aires.” He paused. “Why? Do you recognize him?”
Theodosia stared at the picture of Klaus Hermann, aka Count von Strasser, Lord Conroy, and Rupert Gainsborough. And thought that, at the right angle, with the right lighting, he bore a slight resemblance to Drayton’s friend Lionel Rinicker.
“I don’t think I know him,” Theodosia said finally. “But he mildly resembles someone I recently met.”
“What?” The agents were ready to pounce on her information. Maybe even draw their weapons and make an arrest.
“I don’t know if I should . . .”
“It’s your duty,” Hurley said.
“This isn’t just federal, this is international,” Zimmer put in. He was using his hard-edged FBI voice now. “We’re working with our legal attaché offices overseas.”
Theodosia twisted the moonstone ring she wore on her left hand. Should she or shouldn’t she? And did she really have a choice? She’d promised Brooke that she’d help as much as she could. And these two guys standing over her were genuine FBI.
“This man looks a little bit like Lionel Rinicker,” she said.
“Who is that?” Zimmer asked. “What do you know about him?”
“He’s a fairly new Charleston resident and he serves on the board of directors at the Heritage Society.”
Zimmer began scribbling notes like crazy.
Then, like a cat sneaking up on its unsuspecting prey, Drayton appeared at their table. He’d been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.
“Theodosia!” Drayton cried. “What are you telling these men?” He looked like he was about to have an explosive coronary.
Theodosia put a finger on the photo and spun it around. “Look at this guy,” she said. “Who do you think he looks like?”
Drayton stared at the photo. Then he put the palm of his hand against his cheek and shook his head vigorously, as if trying to deny it.
“Drayton?” Theodosia said, pressing him for an answer. “Come on. Just say it.”
Drayton finally met her eyes. “All right, it looks like Lionel. Just as you say, the man in this photograph looks a little bit like Lionel Rinicker.”
8
“Oh boy,” Hurley said. His eyes danced with excitement, his fingertips twitched.
“But it’s probably not him,” Drayton said in an icy voice. He was upset and didn’t care who knew it. “It must be a case of mistaken identity.”
But Zimmer and Hurley were insistent, pressing Drayton for all the information he had on Lionel Rinicker. After two minutes of pressure Drayton folded like a cheap card table. He told the agents all about Rinicker moving to Charleston, his claim about living in Luxembourg and teaching art history at the University of Trier, and his being asked to join the Heritage Society’s board of directors.
“Thank you,” Zimmer said. “You’ve been very forthcoming.”
“Not that I wanted to be,” Drayton grumped.
“Now we need to share some information with the two of you,” Zimmer said.
“Tell you a little story,” Hurley said. “A true crime story.”
“Have you ever heard of the Pink Panther gang?” Zimmer asked.
Theodosia and Drayton exchanged glances.