Page 9 of Wicked Games
“I’m not your bitch, Banks.”
“You are for as long as I say you are, Lucky,” he snarled into the phone before disconnecting.
I continued to stare out the window for a long time after I set my phone on the coffee table until the voice of the news broadcaster finally penetrated my fog.
“We’re outside the federal building where sources say the FBI has already begun interviewing museum staff about the heist. Jessica Peabody is on site with more information. What do we know, Jessica?”
“Hello, Carl. I wish I had breaking news for you, but the feds are keeping things quiet. What we do know is someone overrode the cameras and security system at the museum in the middle of the night and stole a priceless artifact dating clear back to the Shang Dynasty. The item is valued at…”
I stopped hearing a word the reporter said because I saw the only man I’d ever truly loved walking up the steps to the federal building.Ryder. Shame washed over me once more, and I realized there was more unfinished business to settle in Cincinnati than finding out how Carmen was able to steal the vessel out from underneath me.
IARRIVED AT THE FEDERALbuilding before my attorney. Rather than wait for him on the street in the pouring rain, I went inside and asked to speak to the agents in charge of the art heist at the museum. I was familiar enough with the procedure to know they’d show me to a room where they could observe my habits and behavior. Did I sweat, fidget, or twitch? Did I bite my lips and cower in the corner? I had nothing to hide, so I calmly sat in the room and waited for Richard to arrive.
It was close to eleven o’clock by the time he appeared. “Ryder,” he said, extending his hand. “I apologize for arriving so late, but I expected your mother to call and inform me when you were on the way.”
“The lack of communication was my fault, Richard. I’d told Mother I was taking a quick shower and leaving to come here, but I realize our idea of a quick shower varies,” I said wryly. “I should have called her when I was on my way.”
“I’m glad to see you’re in good humor.”
“I have nothing to hide, Richard. I know you’ll want me to say as little as possible, and I will follow your advice, but it’s my experience this goes better when I’m as upfront with information as possible. Wasting their time is only going to piss them off, and they need to find whoever stole the item. I’d rather cooperate than hinder the investigation.”
“I understand and appreciate your candor. I’m sure the agents in charge will too.”
The door to the interview room opened five minutes later, and two agents entered the room. They wore somber suits and expressions to match.
“I’m Agent Kiphart,” the male agent said then gestured to his female partner, “and this is Agent Marshall.”
Neither agent extended their hand to us in greeting. They sat down in the chairs across from Richard and me. Kiphart set down a folder on the desk in front of him, pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and removed a legal pad from the file. Agent Marshall folded her arms on the table and studied me. He was the note-taker, and she was the observer.
“I assume you know why we asked you to come down for an interview?” Marshall asked.
“To be clear, you didn’t ask me to come down for an interview. My mother called me and said there was an emergency at the museum. She was the one who advised me to come down to speak to the agents in charge.”
“Your mother didn’t tell you what occurred?” Marshall asked while Kiphart began making his notes.
“No, ma’am.”
“Let me inform you then,” Kiphart said, looking up from the legal pad and eyeing me like I was public enemy number one. “Sometime during the night, a person, or persons, broke into the vault located inside the lab that is under your supervision and stole”—he opened the folder on the desk—“a fanyi ritual wine vessel dating back to the Shang Dynasty.”
“Damn,” I said, sitting back in the chair. “It’s a gorgeous piece.”
“How long has the artifact been in your care, custody, and control?” Marshall asked.
“I just started working at the museum in September, and the wine vessel was already there. The restoration was nearly halfway completed at the time. I can’t honestly say when the museum acquired it. The information is documented in the files, of course, but it isn’t something I need to have memorized to do my job.”
“You’re the director of conservation, and you don’t know how long an object has been sitting in your vault?” Kiphart countered, never looking up from his legal pad.
“Agent, my client isn’t going to answer the same question twice. You asked how long it was at the museum, and he told you he couldn’t say because it was there before they hired him. He can’t answer for events occurring before his arrival.”
“I can tell you the deadline for completing the restoration,” I offered. “Would that help?”
“Sure,” Marshall said.
“We planned to feature the wine vessel in an exhibition from December first to January fifteenth. We were to return the fanyi to its owner by the end of January.”
“Who knew the museum had the fanyi in the vault? Is the information ever released to the public?” Kiphart asked. “Does the museum post updates on their social media accounts or website? Are there live feeds allowing people to watch the restoration process?”
“Some museums will do those types of things to build up excitement. It’s good marketing. Our videos or photos don’t go viral like the feeds for watching live giraffe or hippo births at zoos. We haven’t posted anything about the fanyi vessel since I arrived. Again, I can’t say what occurred before they hired me as director.”