The Final Cut

“Be seated,” Ben said, steel in his voice. They looked a bit surprised but complied, the lawyer tapping his pen on the tabletop and Anatoly examining his nails in apparent boredom.

  Ben placed a picture of Inspector York on the table.

  “Do you know this woman?”

  Anatoly merely glanced at the photo, and he sounded a little more Russian when he said, “I have never seen this woman in my life. I will say a prayer for her soul.”

  Ben laid three more pictures beside it, and Nicholas realized they were from Elaine’s crime scene. He hadn’t seen any of the photos, and the images hit him like a fist to the gut. It was hard, but he tried to focus on Anatoly’s reaction, not his own.

  Nicholas felt Mike’s hand lightly touch his arm. He said, “See how he stiffened a bit as he looked at the photos? He’s a good actor, but he knows her.”

  “I agree. If it were someone else, we could chalk it up to a natural reaction to seeing a dead body, but given who he is, it’s hardly likely crime scene photos would faze him.”

  Campbell said, “We’re very sorry we couldn’t be of more help. And if there’s nothing else, Agent Houston, we really must be going.”

  Anatoly rose, and his lawyer quickly followed suit.

  Nicholas said, “Mike, quickly, tell Ben to ask Anatoly if he arranged for the theft of the Koh-i-Noor diamond.”

  Mike stared at him. “You’re crazy, it’ll give everything away.”

  “Doesn’t matter now. Trust me. Do it.”

  She texted Ben, and Nicholas could see Ben’s surprise when he read the text, but then he smoothed himself out and lounged back in his chair. “Mr. Anatoly, one last question. Did you pay someone to steal the Koh-i-Noor?”

  Mr. Campbell shouted, “Enough! This is utterly ridiculous. We’ve had enough of your accusations. We’re leaving.”

  He began to push Anatoly from the room, but Anatoly appeared frozen to the spot.

  He looked more than frozen, Nicholas thought, he looked stunned—horrified, actually. It wasn’t an act. He gathered himself together, but when he spoke, his voice wasn’t all that steady. “Agent Houston, do you mean to tell me the Koh-i-Noor diamond has been stolen from the exhibit?”

  “No, sir. I’m asking if you arranged for the diamond to be stolen?”

  Anatoly went a deep, unhealthy red, and shouted, “You drag me in here, insult me, and now you accuse me of planning to steal the precious Koh-i-Noor? Understand me clearly, Agent Houston. I have worked tirelessly for the past three years to bring the diamond, indeed, all the crown jewels, to America. I have helped fund this exhibit. This is absurd, you are absurd! Poshel na khui, suka, blyad!”

  He continued to rant in Russian, and a wide grin spread across Nicholas’s face. “I’d say we rocked his boat.”

  Mike said, “Do you know what he is saying?”

  Nicholas said, “The gist of it, yes. Trust me when I say it’s not appropriate for polite company.”

  Ben said, “Mr. Anatoly, I’ll get an agent to escort you and Mr. Campbell out. We’ll talk again soon.”

  He looked directly into the camera, an eyebrow arched.

  The feed went dark.

  Nicholas said, “Anatoly lied through his teeth about knowing Elaine, and not seeing Kochen recently, but his shock and surprise at being accused of trying to steal the Koh-i-Noor seemed quite genuine. He wasn’t aware the diamond’s missing.”

  “But maybe he set the whole thing up. Maybe he was somehow using Inspector York and Kochen, but things fell apart and he had them both murdered. Don’t forget the seven sons.” She added after a brief pause, “But here’s the problem: shooting Kochen full of cyanide? That doesn’t sound at all like Anatoly.”

  24

  The Metropolitan Museum of Art

  Jewel of the Lion gala

  Thursday evening

  The streets around the Met glittered under the lightly falling snow and the abundance of jewels and fabulous dresses lighting up the place. Limousines and taxis crowded Fifth Avenue. Some brave souls had defied the elements and were walking in. The paparazzi’s flashbulbs were going a mile a minute, making it look like a disco ball spinning outside the doors.

  Mike watched the guests drift in, a steady line of Manhattan’s elite, plus celebrities and their acolytes, and several flamboyant arty-looking types—models, most likely—showing highlights from the latest fashion lines.

  Nicholas said behind her left shoulder, “Your dress is quite lovely.”

  She turned, nearly cocked a hip, and almost said, “This old thing?” but stopped, since it was too close to the truth.

  “Satin keeps well in closets, thankfully. You’re quite dapper in your tux as well.” Understatement of the century. His tux fit him perfectly. Fact was, he looked hot and dangerous and very 007. She wanted him to shoot his cuffs and order a dry martini. She said, “At least we don’t look like Feds on the hunt.”

  “Speak for yourself, Agent Caine.”

  “And there’s really nothing for us to hunt, just keep our eyes open. Not that I’m whining—we don’t get to attend hoity-toity events like this very often. Nicholas, there’s my boss, Milo Zachery, over by the stairs. In the red bow tie, with sandy hair? You need to meet him.” She clicked her comms unit in her ear and said, “Sir, I’m sending Nicholas Drummond to you right now.”

  Mike watched him thread his way through the crowds, all smooth grace and focus, and saw women double-take as they saw him, and she couldn’t say she blamed them.

  Nicholas came to a halt beside Zachery and his red bow tie. “I’m Drummond, sir. It’s good to meet you.”

  “Ah, Drummond, excellent,” Zachery said, and shook hands. “I’m so sorry about Inspector York.” He bent his head closer and said quietly, “I heard Andrei Anatoly had an absolute fit when you asked him about having planned to steal the diamond. Ben told me he thought the old buzzard was clear of this crime. You agree?”

  Nicholas nodded. “As Mike said, it doesn’t mean he didn’t want to run the race, he simply didn’t make it out of the starting gate in time.”

  “Your uncle’s in the comm center. Ah, there’s Agent Sherlock by the bar. I bet Agent Savich isn’t far away. Bo tells me you’ve already met them online.”

  Sherlock’s gorgeous red hair was done up on top of her head with curls hanging down over her ears. Along with dangling black earrings and a nicely fitting black dress, she presented a picture that made her stand out in the crowd. Nicholas thought she looked more dramatic in person, more vibrant.

  As for Savich, Nicholas thought he was simply more in person, a big, tough man who looked hard as nails, a man he’d want at his back in a dark alley. He looked like he could brawl with the best of them.

  Sherlock caught them watching and waved. He nodded in return. Zachery said, “Go fill them in.”

  Nicholas nodded. “I wanted to thank you, sir, for letting me help.”

  “If I’d said no, Bo would have grilled me like a steak,” Zachery said, “and I’m scared of your uncle.”

  Nicholas said, “I am, too.” He went back to Mike and held out an arm. “Come on, let’s go talk to the computer king of the universe.”

  “I want to worship at Sherlock’s feet. I still can’t get over how she nailed the crime scene.”

  Savich saw them coming and held up his hand to the bartender for two more Pellegrino with lime.

  Sherlock greeted Mike with a hug. “Mike Caine, lovely to see you, again, after what—sixteen hours. The red gown suits you.” She held her back. “I got a solid eight hours sleep, but you didn’t, I know. How are you feeling?”

  “Jazzed, really. So much is happening and so quickly. What will the next minute bring?” Her eyes went to Savich. “I gotta say, Dillon in a tux is something else.”

  She heard Nicholas say to Savich, “Whenever Uncle Bo talks about your laptop MAX, he low
ers his voice to a reverent whisper. I swear he thinks there’s magic involved.”

  Savich said, “Truth is, your uncle’s right. MAX gets a daily dose of fairy dust.”

  Nicholas laughed. “If you swear by it, send me some.”

  Mike said to Sherlock, “I’ve never heard of two married agents working together. However does that work?”

  Savich settled an arm around Sherlock’s waist. “So long as she calls me sir every once in a while, we get away with it.”

  “He likes to spread this fiction,” Sherlock said, and poked him in the ribs.

  Nicholas said, “Uncle Bo tells me you have a little boy.”

  Mike said, “Not just any little boy, Nicholas. Sean is currently the most famous kid in the world—his marriage proposal to Emma Hunt in San Francisco is all over YouTube. When this is all over and done with, I’ll show you.”

  Sherlock said, “He’s given us a new challenge. Sean is madly in love with three girls, and a fourth is hovering. I fear he wants to marry all of them, not the thing for a mother’s peace of mind.”

  Nicholas raised a black eyebrow. “Don’t tell me all of them are at your breakfast table? Shall I speak to him?”

  Sherlock laughed. “Dillon might call you for reinforcements. I hear your uncle Bo and his dad were longtime friends and partners.”

  Savich nodded. “Bo and my dad used to whoop it up. They’d throw barbecues and invite all the agents over to their houses. I remember all of us kids having a ball. I understand your dad works for the Home Office, which is like our FBI, but you bucked the familial trend and went to work for the spooks in the Foreign Office instead. What made you leave spook world to join New Scotland Yard?”

  Nicholas’s expression didn’t change, but Mike felt it—he’d stepped back, withdrawn. He didn’t want to talk about it. What had happened? But he said easily, “For a while all the traveling was fun—shutting down bad spooks, brokering compromises—but to be honest, the constant upheaval, trying to thwart terrorist attacks, got to be brutal. In the end, I wanted to come home, be closer to my family, get my hands dirty on the streets. And London, well, it’s quite a challenging environment.”

  That wasn’t the whole truth, Mike could tell. Interesting. She looked down at her watch. “Nicholas and I need to get up to the exhibit room before the crowds are allowed up. Two of our top techs are there with Dr. Browning, collecting evidence. I’m hoping our forensic team has turned up something concrete.”

  Savich said, “Why don’t we join you? I want to visit the heart of the museum, see if Bo and his people have spotted any more bad guys.”

  The four of them headed toward the elevator, weaving through the crowd, the buzz of their voices droning like bees in a hive. Hundreds of beautiful people were tipping back flutes of champagne, accepting hors d’oeuvres from the dozens of caterers who glided smoothly through them, silver platters held high. The cocktail party was well under way, everyone seemed happy and excited, looking for British royalty, not Prince William and Kate, who’d canceled because of a family obligation that hadn’t been explained, but perhaps a stray duke or foreign minister accompanying the British ambassador, Sir Peter Westmacott. Wisely, no media or paparazzi with their cameras had been allowed in.

  Mike glanced back over her shoulder to see a tall, elegantly thin woman in a form-fitting black gown making a beeline toward Nicholas. What was this about?

  25

  Nicholas hadn’t seen the woman yet. Mike watched him stand to one side to allow Sherlock and Savich access to the elevator first. As he stepped into the elevator, the woman called his name in a cultured British accent, not unlike Nicholas’s own.

  “Nicky? Nicky Drummond? Is that you?”

  Nicholas had only a moment to think You must be joking before she was on him. She threw her arms around him, then stood back, both hands on his arms.

  “Nicky, it is you. I had no idea you were in New York.” She looked him up and down. “You look edible, darling. I always liked you in that tux.”

  He said, voice expressionless, “Pamela. It’s been a while. These are my friends.” But he realized she wasn’t looking at him now, she was staring dead on at Savich. “I am Lady Pamela Caruthers, the founder of Beauty in Nature, a very upscale online magazine. I’m doing a spread on the Jewel of the Lion exhibit; I’m simply mad for the Koh-i-Noor, aren’t you? And you are?”

  Savich smiled at the beautiful hard-edged woman standing in front of him. He introduced himself and Sherlock and shook her lovely white hand, her index finger sporting a ruby the size of his knuckle.

  Nicholas said, “And Pamela, this is Special Agent Mike Caine.”

  Pamela gave Mike a cursory look, then moved on. “This is fascinating. All of you are FBI. Why are all of you here, in a law enforcement herd? What’s going on?”

  “It’s a perk,” Mike said easily. “Nothing more than a very nice perk. Who are you exactly?”

  Pamela laughed and tossed her head back so the rubies around her white throat glimmered. Mike caught the sparkle of diamonds in her hair. “A perk? Come now, dear, that lie will make your nose grow. You ask who I am? Darling, I’m Nicholas’s wife, more’s the pity.”

  Nicholas’s wife? Mike heard the snark clearly. What was this about?

  Nicholas said, “Ex-wife, actually. As I recall, Pamela, there was never any pity involved.”

  Sherlock saw the glitter of anger in Lady Pamela’s eyes and threw herself into the breach. “I’ve read several of your articles, Pamela. The holistic approach to beauty and fashion is a big hit right now.”

  Pamela stared a moment at Sherlock’s hair. “An FBI agent who is into the holistic approach? Isn’t that a lovely surprise. One simply never knows who one’s audience includes, does one?”

  “No, I suppose one doesn’t,” Savich said.

  “Did you know about my magazine, Nicky? Perhaps you’ve checked it out after pounding the pavement all day? Maybe talking about me to your mates over a Guinness at the pub?”

  Nicholas said, “I really don’t do much pounding, Pamela. And my mates aren’t the holistic type.”

  “Such a humiliation for your family, Nicholas, you now a common copper. Now, the Foreign Office—” She gave a sparkling look to Sherlock and Mike. “That’s when I met him, in Istanbul, right outside the Blue Mosque. Imagine, a spy for a husband, it was all so exciting at first—” She gave an elegant shrug.

  “But you were so busy, Nicky. Then after Afghanistan, well, your moods, darling, they became such a trial.” She shrugged, her smile brilliant now. “Do you know my magazine has tripled its subscribers since we launched two years ago? The Jewel of the Lion special edition goes online tomorrow, and I expect it to be our biggest hit yet.”

  No one had anything to say about that.

  She turned back to Nicholas. “I hope your family does well.”

  “They do very well, thank you.”

  She patted his cheek. “Life moves on, Nicky. One of these days you must learn to move along with it. I read about Inspector York’s murder. It’s all over the news, on the Internet. Everybody wonders what’s going on. You’re here to find out what happened, aren’t you?”

  Nicholas said nothing.

  Pamela said, “Oh, yes, my father told me he saw your father at the club last week and—he’s the Earl of Clarens, you know, and—”

  Zachery’s voice came through loud and clear on Mike’s comms unit. “Bo wants Nicholas, Savich, and Sherlock upstairs. Mike, you stay put, keep an eye on things.”

  Did her boss think one of the guests would pull the Koh-i-Noor out of his pocket and wave it like a red flag?

  Nicholas looked relieved for the excuse to leave. He nodded to his ex-wife and stepped into the elevator with Savich and Sherlock, pressed the button to five. Mike’s last view of him was his stoic face as the doors closed.

  “He could always
run fast, when he wanted to,” Pamela said. She gave Mike an indifferent nod and sashayed off, her five-inch Louboutin stilettos clicking on the marble floors. Even when she moved into a crowd, Mike could still see her, she was so very tall and thin and exquisite.

  Was he Sir Nicholas? No, he couldn’t be, Sir Nicholas was the nearly headless ghost in Harry Potter. Lady Pamela—his ex-wife. Life was like an onion, her mother had always said, you never know what you’d have when another layer peeled away.

  What had happened in Afghanistan?

  The lights flickered, once, twice. The crowd didn’t seem to notice.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mike said aloud. “Now is not the time for the lights to go out.”

  Zachery’s voice came over loud and clear on her comms unit. “Probably the snow, but our people up here are checking into it. What more could it be than a simple power surge?”

  “I hope you’re right. Can you imagine, eight hundred people wandering around and the lights go out? Pandemonium.”

  Her cell rang; she saw Nicholas’s name on the caller ID. “Hang on, sir, it’s Nicholas.” She clicked off her comms unit and answered her cell.

  “Mike, did you see the lights flicker? Zachery thinks everything is okay, but I know it’s not. Something’s not right. Get up here now.”

  26

  When the elevator doors finally opened, Mike looked out on chaos. People were stumbling around like the walking dead, coughing, eyes tearing, crying out. The hall was getting increasingly foggy and her own eyes began to burn.

  Gas.

  Nicholas ran out of the communication center with Sherlock tossed over his shoulder. She wasn’t moving. Mike rushed to her side, felt her pulse. It was, fortunately, strong and steady. Whatever was in the gas wasn’t deadly.

  Nicholas coughed deeply, then turned back to the comm center. Mike shouted after him, “What’s happening?”

  Nicholas called, “I don’t know yet. Tell Zachery everyone in the comm center is down.”