"Yes. It's a mess."
"This house was broken into, too. It must have happened last night. All the security people here are trying to figure out how it could have happened. Look here."
She got up and pushed the pedestal that held the Cambodian head. Considering the weight of the head, the pedestal moved surprisingly easily, revealing a safe sunk in the floor. The safe door stood open. Evans saw neatly stacked manila folders inside.
"What was taken?" he said.
"As far as I can tell, nothing," she said. "Seems like everything is still in its place. But I don't know exactly what George had in these safes. They were his safes. I rarely went into them."
She moved to thetansu, sliding open a center panel, and then a false back panel, to expose a safe in the wall behind. It, too, was open. "There are six safes in the house," she said. "Three down here, one in the second-floor study, one in the basement, and one up in his bedroom closet. They opened every one."
"Cracked?"
"No. Someone knew the combinations."
Evans said, "Did you report this to the police?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I wanted to talk to you first."
Her head was close to his. Evans could smell a faint perfume. He said, "Why?"
"Because," she said. "Someone knew the combinations, Peter."
"You mean it was an inside job."
"It had to be."
"Who stays in the house at night?"
"Two housekeepers sleep in the far wing. But last night was their night off, so they weren't here."
"So nobody was in the house?"
"That's right."
"What about the alarm?"
"I armed it myself, before I went to San Francisco yesterday."
"The alarm didn't go off?"
She shook her head.
"So somebody knew the code," Evans said. "Or knew how to bypass it. What about the security cameras?"
"They're all over the property," she said, "inside the house and out. They record onto a hard drive in the basement."
"You've played it back?"
She nodded. "Nothing but static. It was scrubbed. The security people are trying to recover something, but..." She shrugged. "I don't think they'll get anywhere."
It would take pretty sophisticated burglars to know how to wipe a hard drive. "Who has the alarm codes and safe combinations?"
"As far as I know, just George and me. But obviously somebody else does, too."
"I think you should call the police," he said.
"They're looking for something," she said. "Something that George had. Something they think one of us has now. They think George gave it to one of us."
Evans frowned. "But if that's true," he said, "why are they being so obvious? They smashed my place so I couldn't help notice. And even here, they left the safes wide open, to be sure you'd know you'd been robbed..."
"Exactly," she said. "They want us to know what they're doing." She bit her lip. "They want us to panic, and rush off to retrieve this thing, whatever it is. Then they'll follow us, and take it."
Evans thought it over. "Do you have any idea what it could be?"
"No," she said. "Do you?"
Evans was thinking of the list George had mentioned to him, on the airplane. The list he never got around to explaining, before he died. But certainly the implication was that Morton had paid a lot of money for some sort of list. But something made Evans hesitate to mention it now.
"No," he said.
"Did George give you anything?"
"No," he said.
"Me neither." She bit her lip again. "I think we should leave."
"Leave?"
"Get out of town for a while."
"It's natural to feel that way after a robbery," he said. "But I think the proper thing to do right now is to call the police."
"George wouldn't like it."
"George is no longer with us, Sarah."
"George hated the Beverly Hills police."
"Sarah..."
"He never called them. He always used private security."
"That may be, but..."
"They won't do anything but file a report."
"Perhaps, but..."
"Did you call the police, about your place?"
"Not yet. But I will."
"Okay, well you call them. See how it goes. It's a waste of time."
His phone beeped. There was a text message. He looked at the screen. It said: n. drake come to office immed. urgent.
"Listen," he said. "I have to go see Nick for a bit."
"I'll be fine."
"I'll come back," he said, "as soon as I can."
"I'll be fine," she repeated.
He stood, and she stood, too. On a sudden impulse he gave her a hug. She was so tall they were almost shoulder to shoulder. "It's going to be okay," he said. "Don't worry. It'll be okay."
She returned the hug, but when he released her, she said, "Don't ever do that again, Peter. I'm not hysterical. I'll see you when you get back."
He left hastily, feeling foolish. At the door, she said, "By the way, Peter: Do you have a gun?"
"No," he said. "Do you?"
"Just a 9-millimeter Beretta, but it's better than nothing."
"Oh, okay." As he went out the front door, he thought, so much for manly reassurances for the modern woman.