“Have Adam and Joel always been close?” Sam realized he’d covered some of this with her before, but he wanted to get the full picture.
She sighed. “What I understand from Joel is that they used to be closer. They started to drift apart a few years ago.”
“Did you ever hear why?”
“No. They had some sort of falling-out. I know you don’t think much of Joel, but he is loyal. He never told me what their argument was about, even when we were dating.”
“They still seem to be on good terms. I’ve seen them together several times.”
“Oh, yes. Just not as close as they used to be.”
“Are they close enough at this point for Adam to borrow Joel’s vehicle?”
Chelsea’s brows drew together. “You think Adam’s the one who hit you in Joel’s MDX?” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t believe he would’ve done it. But, yes, Joel would lend him his car, if he needed it. For example, if Adam’s car was acting up or if he needed to run an errand for his aunt and uncle and required more room. I have to say again, if Joel had lent his car to Adam the night you got hit, he would’ve told you.”
“Okay. Would Adam have access to the gallery’s warehouse and would he have any reason to be there?”
“I don’t... Oh, are you thinking because there was jewelry there, too, Adam’s involved in whatever is going on?”
Sam smiled indulgently. “Chelsea, please let me ask the questions for now, and you answer them, all right?”
She returned the smile. “Sorry. I would’ve said no, since to the best of my knowledge, any use the Rochesters made of the warehouse was always through Joel, but you got me thinking. If Adam borrowed Joel’s SUV, and Joel gave Adam his whole key chain, he would have access to the warehouse. But he wouldn’t know the code to disarm the security system. No one at the gallery would give him that.”
Joel had only to give him the key once, Sam thought, since Adam could have then made a copy. But Joel had said his key wasn’t working, so who would have rekeyed the lock? Adam? Yet Hadley’s key had worked for Chelsea. And it had certainly been fine both times when Sam had been at the warehouse with him... As for the security system, if Adam had been inside the building with Joel, he could’ve seen Joel enter the code to disarm it. People often didn’t realize how easily security measures could be breached by bad guys because of people’s carelessness. It happened all the time.
Sam watched Chelsea’s expressive face. She was no doubt turning everything they’d discussed over in her head. “I need you to promise not to discuss this with anyone, okay?”
“Yes, I understand and I promise,” she replied without hesitation, but he could see that wherever her thoughts had led her, she was more than likely concerned for her friends, the Rochesters.
He hoped that her loyalty and concern for them wouldn’t trump her promise of confidentiality to him. “Are we good?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. This is all so strange and unbelievable.”
“What we’re dealing with here isn’t commonplace for me, either. It’s not every day that I have a lead on a stolen painting worth millions of dollars.”
“Tens of millions,” Chelsea corrected him. She glanced out the window and Sam also watched the steadily falling snow for a few minutes. When she turned back to him, she smiled, then bit her lower lip. “If we’re finished with that topic, I have another question. I know Christmas is still a couple weeks away, but I was thinking... Paige and Daniel are holding a Christmas Eve get-together.”
Her expression was hopeful, so unguarded, he felt his heart tumble for her all over again.
“I thought...”
She again had her lower lip caught between her teeth, and he found it impossible to look away.
“Would you... Would you go with me?”
Had he caused that nervous hesitancy in her, when she’d always seemed so sure of herself? The idea that he might have was like a punch straight to his gut. His family would understand if he joined them just for Christmas day. Heck, his siblings were all over the place at Christmas with their significant others. Spending Christmas with Chelsea had a special appeal. “Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks for asking.”
Her face glowed like a bright ray of sunshine.
A few simple words could do that for her. What kind of a fool was he to deny himself her company for several weeks?
“If you’re free one evening, you could also help me decorate my apartment,” she suggested hopefully.
He hadn’t done much in the way of Christmas decoration for the last few years. Not since Nicolas had died. His heart hadn’t been in it. But with Chelsea...it would be fun. “I’d like that, too,” he repeated.
As he watched, her smile wavered.
“What’s wrong?” He didn’t want to see her good mood fade.
“I was just thinking that Mr. Weatherly moved from the building after he married Laura.”
“That makes sense,” Sam said cautiously, not clear on what the issue was.
“Yes. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for them. But all my friends in the building seem to be leaving. We had such a close-knit group. Now, Paige is gone. Mr. Weatherly’s gone. And the Bennetts aren’t getting any younger. Their daughter’s been urging them to move in with her family in Providence. Or, if they prefer, relocate to a seniors’ assisted-living residence.” Chelsea’s lower lip trembled. “They’ve been my family for as long as I’ve been in Camden Falls. Now it seems they’re all moving on.”
For the first time since Katherine had left him, Sam thought of a family of his own, and he pictured Chelsea in the leading role. The realization staggered him. He wanted to comfort her. Reassure her. But the thought of family...marriage...and the impossibility of his having children, when he knew how much she loved and wanted them, gave him pause.
He checked his watch. “Chelsea, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.”
The abrupt change in his demeanor obviously wasn’t lost on her, if her long, sad look was any indication. “Oh, I should get back, too,” she finally murmured. “So, we’re on for Christmas Eve?” she asked uncertainly.
He realized she was giving him an out, in case he’d changed his mind. Much as he wanted to take it and make some excuse, he wasn’t that big a coward. Nor was he that inconsiderate. He’d told her he’d go, and he knew it meant a lot to her. “Yes.” Admittedly, it meant a lot to him, too.
Despite his reservations and misgivings—or perhaps because of them—when he helped her out of his car in front of the gallery, he drew her close and kissed her gently. Instead of joyful, it felt sad and left him longing.
She looked up at him with troubled eyes. “I don’t understand.”
He had no words of reassurance, but he brushed a hand across her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SAM PARKED HALF a block down and on the other side of the street behind All That Glitters and Shines. From there, he could see both the front and back entrances of the two businesses. The storefronts were decked out for Christmas, which reminded him that he’d promised Chelsea he’d help her decorate her apartment. He sipped his cooling coffee as he watched the Rochesters enter their store at half past nine. He knew it opened at ten. Chelsea and Hadley were already at the gallery. He’d purposely arrived at eight thirty, half an hour after he expected Chelsea and Hadley to be inside, not wanting to risk Chelsea noticing his police-issue vehicle.
He saw the administrative assistant, Tina, arrive, followed by Joel with the other sales associate. What was her name? Deborah Grant? Right. She and Joel had arrived together, and in Joel’s SUV. He watched them approach the entrance, shoulders touching, sharing a joke and laughing. He wondered if Chelsea knew that Joel had apparently moved on.
If Deborah and Joel were having a relationship, would
she have access to his car? To the warehouse? Something else to consider.
At quarter to eleven, he got what he’d been waiting for. Adam hopped out of the passenger side of a navy blue Nissan and waved as the car drove off. Sam glanced around to see if anyone was watching—not that it would matter, but he preferred to know. Seeing no one, he climbed out of his car.
“Adam,” he called before the other man had made it to the back door of the jewelry store. “I’d like a word with you.”
Shock and apprehension registered on Adam’s face. “What for?” he asked.
Sam hadn’t bothered with gloves, and the wind was decidedly chilly. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Can we do it some other time?” Adam avoided eye contact. “I’m already late for work.”
“This won’t take long.” He kept his voice casual. “Police business.”
Adam shivered. From cold or nerves, Sam didn’t know. “It would be good to get out of the cold. We can do this at the police station or inside the store. Your choice.”
With his head lowered, Adam shot an anxious glance at the store. Being nervous didn’t make him guilty. Adam Rochester had struck him as the skittish sort from the first time they’d met. “Is there an office in the store that we can use?” Sam suggested.
“No. I mean, yes, but I’d prefer not to do it there.” Adam pulled his hands out of his pockets and spread them. Sam noticed that they were trembling. “I don’t want to upset my aunt and uncle.”
Sam watched him carefully. “Why would they be upset?”
“It’s not that I did anything wrong!”
Sam held his gaze without responding. Yes, nervousness might not be an indication of guilt—but immediately assuming that the questions had to do with something he’d done rather than the robbery at the store could be.
“I don’t want them worrying about why I’m talking to you,” he went on.
“We can take this to the station, as I said.”
Adam’s face paled, but then he nodded. “Yeah. All right.”
“Do you want to let them know you’ll be late?”
Adam’s mouth worked furiously without making a sound for a few moments. “No. That’s okay. I was running behind this morning, anyway. They won’t mind if I’m a little later.”
Sam interpreted that to mean the Rochesters were accustomed to their nephew not being on time. He wondered if they had any inkling of what he’d learned from the police report about Adam. Adam had started following in his mother’s footsteps. He had a drug habit, and had minor possession-related misdemeanor charges from other jurisdictions on his record.
Sam motioned toward his cruiser and noted the jerky gait, the nervous shifting of Adam’s eyes, as he opened the back door for him.
“Do I have to sit back there?” he asked, pointing.
“If you want to go to the station, yes.”
“Okay. Okay, yeah.” Sam placed his hand on Adam’s head to guide him as he got in, as was procedure to keep people from bumping their heads on the door frame.
By the time they got to the station—a short fifteen-minute drive later—Adam seemed to have shrunk in on himself.
The report hadn’t been wrong about Adam’s drug use, and Sam might have underestimated the degree of his drug addiction. As Sam watched Adam guzzle the water he’d handed him once they were inside the interview room, he fleetingly felt sorry for the kid. Having lived under the influence of a mother like the one he’d had, it would’ve taken extraordinary strength of character to rise above his formative years, despite the love and care he’d received from the Rochesters.
Sam poured more water into Adam’s glass. Adam obviously hadn’t had a fix that morning.
Heck, the guy had probably developed his dependency in the womb, since the report on his mother implied she’d been using before she became pregnant. Depending on how severe Adam’s addiction had been at birth, Sam hoped he’d been properly diagnosed and treated before being released from the hospital. If not, the kid wouldn’t have had a chance from the start.
Pushing his sympathy aside, Sam sat down opposite Adam.
Twenty minutes later, he had everything he needed. Sam had a uniform take Adam to a holding cell and went to see Colin.
“How did it go?” Colin asked.
“No question that Adam has a drug habit that needs to be fed and that costs money. Unlike his mother, he didn’t choose trafficking to support his habit. He’s got his own moral code of sorts, and he’s retained enough of a conscience that he knew he was in trouble and why. He didn’t want to be responsible for turning other teens onto drugs.”
“That’s something, at least. If he was into trafficking, he probably would’ve messed up by now and we would’ve had him.”
“Probably. Through his friend, Joel, he’s met many influential people in the art world. When one of those people made an offhand comment about forgeries and insurance fraud, it got him thinking. His aunt and uncle’s store gave him access to jewelry that was easy to fence. But another chance conversation opened up a much larger opportunity for him with the gallery. One he couldn’t resist. He had a new partner and almost limitless potential. He’d convinced himself that if he could acquire enough money, he could use it to seek treatment for his addiction and get clean. He said he wanted to do it for his aunt and uncle. The intention was there, but the strength of character wasn’t.”
Colin’s lips formed a straight, hard line and he shook his head. “So, you were right about a connection between the jewelry store robbery and the theft of the Babineux. Is he the person who hit you?”
“Yes. Adam used Joel’s SUV—at times he borrowed it, at others he’d simply taken it without Joel’s knowledge when he knew Joel wouldn’t be using it. It’s an old vehicle with a regular key, and he had it copied. Joel, of course, didn’t realize Adam had done that, which is why it didn’t come up in my earlier conversation with him. Adam just as easily got the key to the warehouse copied a couple of years ago. Joel lent him his entire key chain when he’d let Adam store some supplies for the jewelry store in the warehouse. Unwise, but he’d given him the security code, too.”
Colin raised his eyebrows. “He’s been at it that long?”
“No. I believe he was trying to beat his addiction back then. He said he copied the keys because he thought they might come in handy at some point. I believe he was thinking about what he could do for money, but hadn’t acted on it yet.”
“And he confessed to hitting you with Sinclair’s car?”
“He tried to deny it at first, but ultimately he broke down and confessed to that, too. He claims it was unintentional. An accident when he panicked and tried to get away as quickly as possible. I believe him.”
Colin nodded. “Does Joel Sinclair have a role in what’s been going on?”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. At least not directly. He also hasn’t had access to the warehouse since Adam had the lock changed at his partner’s behest. Apparently, their business was flourishing, and they decided they needed to find alternate premises. Secure and not associated with the gallery. In the meantime, as protection against Joel getting in and discovering what they’d been doing, the lock was rekeyed.
“I’ll interview Joel again, but there are a couple of other steps we’ll need to take first. My interpretation is that Joel learned of Adam’s drug problem a few years ago, when he could no longer hide it from him because of how close they were at the time. Joel tried to get his friend to quit. When that didn’t work, it drove a wedge between them.”
“So, the drug-addicted nephew of the jewelry store owners somehow managed to mastermind an operation that involved not only forging and selling jewelry but also fine art? And somehow he happened upon the stolen Rembrandt worth millions of dollars?” Colin l
eaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I find that hard to believe, if that’s what you’re telling me.”
Sam made a snorting sound and smiled wryly. “No, that’s not what I’m telling you. Adam started with the jewelry end of it, but the art forgery? It’s far beyond him. He’s not the mastermind. He’s been a pawn. We have a bigger fish to catch.”
* * *
“CHELSEA, COULD YOU do me a favor?” Mr. Hadley asked.
There was another storm threatening and traffic at the gallery was slow, so Chelsea had been absorbed in trying to understand the financials again. She glanced up from her computer screen. “Sure.”
“I have some paperwork that Nadine has to sign. Unfortunately, she had one of her migraines overnight. Although she’s feeling better this morning, she still has a headache and she didn’t get much sleep, so she’d prefer not to come to the gallery.” He handed her a file folder. “Since Joel’s booked solid with meetings today, would you mind taking these documents to her and getting her signature?”
“No problem.”
Chelsea shut down her computer, put on her boots and coat and headed out.
Mrs. Sinclair opened the door as Chelsea arrived. She was dressed in velvet lounge pants and a matching top. Even though her hair was as impeccably styled as usual and her face was made-up, both were lacking luster and polish.
Placing a hand on Mrs. Sinclair’s elbow, Chelsea helped her into the living room. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” she said once they were seated.
“I’m much better, thank you. It’s just the vestiges of a darn migraine. But this, also, will pass. If it’s not too much trouble, could you make us some tea?”
“I’m happy to do it.” Chelsea gave her the file folder. “You can start looking at those, if you wish. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
When Chelsea returned with the pot of tea, two mugs, sugar and milk, all on a tray, Mrs. Sinclair had nearly finished reading the documents. Chelsea fixed her a cup and poured herself one, too.