Belvedere winced and looked at him at last. He seemed pained to have been brought back from wherever his mind had taken him.
“That girl... I only saw her once or twice. She started late, but sometimes I was still here. She had another job in the afternoon. Wanted to make enough to stay in school,” he said.
“She knew the code for the alarm system?” Mike asked.
Belvedere nodded. “I’ve used Clean Cut Office Services for twenty-five years. Their people are bonded.” He hesitated. “And there’s nothing out at night. The stones are all moved into the safe. I change the combination frequently.”
“You must tell someone, write it down somewhere,” Craig said.
Belvedere shook his head, a humorless smile curving his thin lips. “No. I have ten grandchildren. I use their birthdates. Different kid each time, no order to it.”
“Who knows you do that?” Mike asked.
Belvedere shook his head. “No one. Not even my kids, and they’re not local anyway. My son is career army, deployed to the Middle East, and my daughter is with the Red Cross. She’s in Haiti right now. The grandkids are scattered across the country.”
“So if something had happened to you, no one would have been able to get into the safe?” Craig asked.
“They would have had to contact the manufacturer,” Belvedere told them.
That was impossible, Craig thought. Someone must have known something.
Belvedere sighed. “That poor girl. I found her, you know,” he said softly. “I want to do whatever’s necessary. I want to help her family. I want to see that she’s buried.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Mike told him. He and Craig glanced at one another. They didn’t tell him that they suspected Maria Antonescu had let her killers in—whether accidentally when leaving or on purpose.
“We need you to help us catch her killer,” Craig said. He handed Belvedere a piece of paper. “I think no matter how discreet you believed yourself to be, you said something somewhere that eventually led to the killers being able to figure out your code. If you could give us a list of friends you’ve talked with, of places you’ve been in the past couple of weeks, that could be very helpful.”
Belvedere nodded and picked up a pen.
Craig watched as the man wrote, then took a look at the list he handed over. Belvedere had attended a gala at the Kennedy Center, seen a Broadway show, dined at a dozen restaurants.
One in particular stood out.
Finnegan’s on Broadway.
* * *
Jake knocked on Kieran’s office door, calling out to her. He didn’t wait for her to respond, just popped his head in.
“FBI’s here for you,” he said cheerfully.
Given everything with her brother and the diamond, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of unease, as if the FBI was there to take her in, not just talk to her.
She rose as Jake opened the door wider, expecting Craig.
But it wasn’t Craig.
It was assistant director Eagan himself.
“Assistant director,” she said. She managed a smile. “Whatever’s going on must be important to get you to leave your office.”
“This is...” He trailed off, took a breath and said, “I’m here to take you to Rikers. I’ll keep an eye on you while you speak with our thieves.”
“Of course,” she said, wondering why she suddenly felt as awkward as a newborn filly. “Let me just grab my jacket and my bag. Oh, and my notes.”
“Cheerful sort,” Eagan said, after Jake sent them off with a big smile and a bright “Good luck!”
“Sometimes too cheerful. But Jake is great. He sets people at ease.”
Eagan had come for her in person, but he wasn’t doing the driving. A car waited for them on the street.
* * *
Since this was Kieran’s second time at Rikers, she knew the procedure.
Soon they were through security and seated in the same stark visitors’ room as last time. In a few minutes, the first of the thieves, Sam Banner, was sitting across the table from her. Eagan—just as Craig had done before—stationed himself a few feet away, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching.
They’d been allowed to question the men without their attorneys present because the questions didn’t involve their own charges and nothing that was said could be brought up in court.
“Hi, Sam,” Kieran said.
“You’re back,” he said, sprawling into the chair, looking over at Eagan, then back to her. “I thought the computer proved we weren’t murderers. Plus I heard there’s been another murder.”
“That’s true,” Kieran said.
“So what do you want from me? We were telling the truth. You know that.” He gave a little shudder. “Although the other inmates were afraid of us when they thought we were killers. Now... I guess we gotta get used to prison life anyway, huh? We may not be killers, but I guess we’re in for a while.”
“I would imagine,” Kieran said. “Armed robbery.”
“With squirt guns.”
“The point is—”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all talked with our lawyers,” Sam said.
“Sam, here’s the thing,” she said flatly. “The killers are following what you guys did to a T. That means they know a lot about you and your MO.”
“Yeah,” he said glumly.
“Think about it. How could they have known? How did they know how many of you were involved? How did they know what you wore and how you operated once you were inside a store?”
He looked at her blankly. She was pretty damned sure that he hadn’t even thought about that before.
“Huh. I don’t know. The news reports? They showed actual footage of our robberies.”
“Okay, let’s start here. Girlfriends, boyfriends. Any of you have one and talk about what you were doing?”
“No. Never. That was the thing—say nothing. Not to your girl, your mother or the priest in the confessional. That was the agreement we had.”
“Okay, let’s try another angle. Where did you meet to plan your jobs? Where did you talk about what you were up to?” she asked. “Did you meet in public? At someone’s apartment?”
“The gym, sometimes. Franchise place downtown on Broadway. They keep the music too loud for anyone to overhear. And other places, too. Bars and restaurants. Never the same one twice. At the end of a haul, we’d pick a place to meet next.”
“You’re sure no one breathed a word to a girlfriend, a sibling, a mom or dad, a best friend?” Kieran asked.
“We’re all each other’s best friends,” Sam said gravely.
“If you think of anything at all, will you ask someone to get hold of me?” she asked him.
“Will it help me get a shorter sentence?”
Kieran couldn’t answer that.
Eagan spoke up. “It might. It might also be the decent thing to do, since people are dying. The victim was practically a kid, nice girl, twenty-two years old.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. I’ll make sure I get ahold of you,” he said huskily.
“Sam, can you do something else for me?” Kieran asked.
“Yes.”
“Make a list of all the places you guys talked. Every place you can remember.”
“Will do. Without asking for anything,” he said quietly.
Sam Banner was taken out and Robert Stella was brought in. The questions were the same, and the answers were just the right amount of slightly different to assure Kieran that Robert Stella was just as perplexed, and that the men hadn’t planned or rehearsed what to say if they were caught. She asked him to write up the same list of places, hoping he might remember at least one Sam had forgotten.
Next up was Lenny Wiener. Everything wen
t the same way with him, too.
Last in was Mark O’Malley. He looked at Kieran and shook his head. “You’re back.”
“I am.”
“I know that you’re the one who clocked my buddy in the van,” he told her.
“It seemed necessary,” she said.
“Pretty good hit.”
“I have three brothers.”
He grinned at that. “Irish women. They’re tough, huh?”
“Irish-American,” she said.
“It’s all the same. Something of the old country comes with us,” he said. “I wasn’t born there, but my mom...what a tyrant, God rest her soul.”
Kieran smiled. “I think mine was an angel. I was just ten when she died.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. Then he frowned, looking at her. “Finnegan? You any relation to the Finnegans that run that place down on Broadway?”
Kieran felt a strange, creeping sensation shiver through her and tried to keep her unease out of her expression. She wasn’t sure why she felt so uneasy. The pub was well-known, so it wasn’t a crazy question, and yet...
“Family owned,” she said.
He nodded and looked away. “Cool place,” he said. “Real Irish bands—or at the least bands playing actual Irish music. Not everyone brings in the real thing anymore.” He looked at her and grinned.
“So you’ve been to Finnegan’s?” she said, filled with tension.
“Just a few times.”
“Is it by any chance one of the places the four of you met to plan a job?”
“No, no. We were there once, but just celebrating. I’d been before, and I brought the guys with me. Just for the music, you know?”
Apparently even jewel thieves loved good music.
“So where did you do your planning?” she asked him. “Tell me what you can remember, but I’m going to ask you to write down anyplace you can remember for me, too.”
“Sure,” he said, and he looked up at Eagan. “It’d be nice if maybe that helped us at trial.”
Eagan glared at him.
“Whatever!” Mark said, taking the hint and shutting up. “Offhand...” He paused to think, then rattled off the names of five restaurants, three dives and two expensive places.
It was time for the guards to take him away. When he was gone, Kieran sat silently at the table for a minute.
“Thank you, Miss Finnegan,” Eagan said, joining her. “I think they talk to you more easily than they would ever talk to an agent.”
She nodded.
“You’re upset,” he said.
She looked at him. “They’ve been to Finnegan’s.”
He smiled and sat down across from her. “You know, most New Yorkers have been to dozens of restaurants at least once.”
“You’re not concerned.”
“He said that they didn’t do any of their planning there,” he reminded her.
“But...what if they did say something? Anything? Any little thing?” She hated the thought of Finnegan’s being involved in any way. Hated to think what an investigation of the pub might turn up about her brothers.
“Then whoever the killers are, they could have followed them out and kept an eye on them from there. But most likely they overheard them somewhere else,” Eagan said.
“You’re just trying to make me feel better. And I know now you’ll have to investigate Finnegan’s up the wazoo,” she said softly.
He shrugged. “We follow up on all leads,” he said.
“Of course. And it will be good, I guess....”
“Good to know someone is watching?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Don’t be ashamed of being afraid, Miss Finnegan. You’re not stupid, and only a stupid person wouldn’t be a little bit afraid. Come on. Let’s head out. I’ll drop you back at work,” Eagan said, then looked at his watch. “Nope. I won’t drop you back at work. Where would you like to go? Home, where you can lock the door and relax for the evening? I’ll make sure the cops keep an eye on your place.”
She nodded. “Thank you. But it’s Friday night. If you wouldn’t mind taking me to the pub, I’d appreciate it.”
“Great idea,” he said, smiling. “Friday night. Time for fish-and-chips.”
* * *
“Do you really think that the guys we’re looking for were all dressed up in their finest for some gala?” Craig asked Mike.
“Who knows?” Mike said. “Belvedere suggested another half a dozen places. And we need to get on Maria Antonescu’s friends and family here in the States. Between us and the NYPD, we’re following up on every possible lead, just in case someone working at one of those places saw something.”
Craig nodded. Mike was right. There was no way in hell the two of them could be everywhere themselves, and in fact, as soon as they finished up with their current interviews, he would be heading to Finnegan’s.
Their first stop was incredibly hard and painful. They had to speak with Maria’s aunt, a woman who looked to be about eighty, spoke English poorly and could barely stop crying long enough to talk to them. In the end, she wasn’t any help, either. Maria was a good girl. Maria had no friends and no lover. Maria worked.
They managed to make her feel just a little bit better, assuring her that Maria would receive a good Christian burial, thanks to Mr. Belvedere.
Craig asked her about computer access. She didn’t have one herself, but Maria had owned what sounded like some kind of tablet, and yes, she’d had a cell phone. She took both to work with her.
Craig and Mike looked at one another. Maria’s murderer had been smart enough to see to it that both her tablet and her cell phone disappeared.
“Probably at the bottom of the Hudson River,” Mike commented.
Craig thought that was about right.
Since she had been unable to give them any additional leads, their next visit was with Sylvia Mannerly, the CEO of Clean Cut Office Services.
Ms. Mannerly, Craig was certain, hadn’t cleaned anything herself in years.
Her nails were perfectly manicured, her hands soft—as soft as the limp handshake she gave each man before asking them to take a seat in her spotless office.
“I can’t tell you how devastating this loss is to all of us,” she said. “Maria was a dream employee. She was so hardworking. Her clients loved her.”
“I believe that,” Craig said.
“How can I help you?” Ms. Mannerly asked them, suddenly no-nonsense. She might have been devastated, but her manner said she was also a busy woman. She folded her hands on her desk and leaned toward them. “What can I do?”
“We need a list of every place she worked in the past month, no matter how briefly,” Mike said.
“And,” Craig added, “we need anything you can give us about her friends. Boyfriend’s name, if she had one. Anyone she might have been close to.”
Ms. Mannerly frowned. “Maria was the victim. Why are you investigating her?”
“We’re not suspicious of her, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Craig said evenly. “We’re just trying to find out if she saw anyone strange hanging around. Anyone who might have asked her to meet him after work.”
“She went home after work and went to bed,” Ms. Mannerly said icily.
“Everyone needs friends,” Mike said.
The woman might have continued to freeze them out—perhaps afraid for what an investigation might mean to her business—but suddenly the sound of a truly anguished wail came from the foyer.
Craig quickly stood and walked out to see what was going on, followed by Mike and Sylvia Mannerly.
A pretty woman of about thirty and of possible Hispanic or Middle Eastern heritage had crumpled to the floor in front of the receptionist’s desk, crying.
“Alicia, Alicia!” Sylvia Mannerly said quickly, stooping to draw the girl to her feet. “My poor dear, control yourself.”
“It’s true? Maria is dead?” Alicia asked, looking around with tear-filled eyes.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Craig said. “She was your friend?”
Alicia nodded. “The best. A good person.”
“I’ve told them that,” Ms. Mannerly said primly.
“What was she like outside of work?” Craig asked gently.
Alicia told them at length about just how good Maria had been—always happy to meet up with others at the end of their shifts, even pitching in if there was still work to be done. She loved café lattes and watching the ducks in the pond in Central Park.
“You see?” Ms. Mannerly said. “The girl was a saint.”
It was obvious to Craig that they weren’t going to get what they needed with Sylvia Mannerly standing there. “Ms. Mannerly,” he asked, “is there a place where we can speak quietly with Alicia—alone?”
Miss Mannerly’s lips pursed and she stiffened. But, apparently realizing that they were FBI and she had no choice, she led them to a conference room.
They got Alicia seated with a box of tissues and a glass of water. Mike sat next to her, and Craig perched on the table.
With a little encouragement she started talking. They learned that she was Alicia Rodriguez, and that she’d come to New York from Puerto Rico when she was twelve. Like Maria, she was working hard to make her way through college.
“I can see how much Maria meant to you,” Craig said, “and we’re very sorry for your loss. That’s why we need to catch the people who took her life and make sure they face judgment for what they’ve done. Maria’s not the only one they’ve killed.”
Alicia blew her nose loudly and nodded.
“Did Maria have a boyfriend?” Craig asked.
She looked up at him, startled, then quickly looked down. Too late. It was obvious that Maria had been seeing someone she shouldn’t have.
Mike glanced at Craig. “Who was he, Alicia?” he asked very softly.
“I don’t know his name,” Alicia said, sniffling. “And I never met him. She only saw him a few times.”
“What can you tell us about him? Where and when did she see him?”