“But the wrong place happened to be in Hong Kong,” Derek muttered, frowning as he contemplated what Rich had told him. “And the wrong time happened to be when a murder was committed there, in a region where murders are rare. That’s one too many coincidences to me, in light of what happened last night.”
“Last night?”
Derek told Rich about the burglary, and about the tidbit C-6 had picked up on Xiao Long’s wiretap.
“Interesting.” Rich ingested that thoughtfully. “Burbank never mentioned the break-in. I’ll bring up the subject, and ask him about that omission as soon as I go back in there. He’s probably just shell-shocked. And, other than the nationality of the criminals, there’s nothing linking the two incidents, and nothing tying Burbank and his investment group to the murder.”
“His group sold the murder victim one of the Rothbergs.”
“Yes, but the paper trail tells us they sold Cai Wen the original, not the fake. That eliminates motive. And Cai Wen wasn’t exactly squeaky clean. We’re still investigating him and his clientele, but it looks like it runs the gamut—from trustworthy to questionable. Any of the questionables could have been involved. There’s also a gap in the provenance. No sales records for the painting from when Cai Wen was killed in 1995 until the painting resurfaced five years later in the private gallery of a Dutch collector.”
“Did you question the collector?”
“He died of natural causes a few years ago, and his heirs recently submitted Dead or Alive to Sotheby’s for auction. The painting showed up in their current catalog at the same time the forgery showed up in the Christie’s catalog. That’s where we came in.”
“So whoever killed Cai Wen stole the painting and sold it to an anonymous source.”
“Where it could have changed hands any number of times before finding its way to the Netherlands.”
“Talk about complicated.” Derek whistled, and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Welcome to my world.” Rich gave a tight-lipped smile. “For what it’s worth, I’ve spent the last hour interviewing Burbank, and I’d be really surprised if he’s involved with organized crime. If this Xiao Long is targeting him, it’s probably because he saw or heard something he shouldn’t have. But I tell you what. I’ll find a way to drop in your Dai Lo’s name, just to see if Burbank reacts. If there’s a connection, I’ll spot it. And I’ll stop by your desk afterward to fill you in.”
“That works.”
Rich had just turned to go back into the interviewing room when another agent from the Major Theft Squad strode over. “Rich. Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve got an urgent phone call fr
om Interpol. The Museo de Arte Moderno in Bilbao was just hit. The story is already breaking on Fox News and CNN.”
“On my way.” Rich was already in motion. “Do me a favor,” he directed his coworker. “I’m interviewing someone—Matthew Burbank—in there.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the interviewing room. “Would you just tell him something urgent came up, and ask him to please wait. Tell him I’ll be in as soon as I can.” A quick glance at Derek. “Somehow I doubt you want to do it.”
“You got that right.”
Rosalyn Burbank sank back in one of the pebbled chocolate leather sofas in her living room. Gratefully, she accepted the cup of tea her daughter had brought her, at the same time turning her trained smile on Derek.
“I appreciate your dropping by, Derek. I also apologize for the mess. The cleaning team I hired is still putting things back in order. But, as you can see, we’re almost there. Myself included.” Gingerly, she rubbed the side of her head. “No permanent damage. Certainly nothing that won’t return to normal in a few days.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Derek stood against the far wall of the living room, his arms folded across his chest, his body language conveying that he had no intention of making this a long visit. “Sloane said you defended yourself like a pro. Maybe you should take up Krav Maga and give your daughter a run for her money.”
Amusement flickered in Rosalyn’s eyes. “I don’t think so. Not at this stage of my life. But, you never know. I did knee one of those animals in the groin. I hope he’s doubled over for weeks.” Her smile vanished. “I just wish I’d understood what they were saying. I should have joined Sloane on those trips she took to the Far East with her father. Then maybe I could tell the police something useful. As it is, all I’m sure of is that the thieves sounded like they were young—early twenties. And they weren’t speaking Mandarin; I have a feel for that from hearing Matthew on the phone. Their phrases sounded way too guttural. Not that that’s helpful. There are more Chinese dialects than I can count. And frankly, my main focus was on keeping myself alive. So I couldn’t give the detectives much to go on.”
“I’m sure you told them whatever you could.” Derek felt Sloane’s probing stare. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was trying to gauge his real reason for dropping by. And if that reason was to pry information out of her mother, she’d be applying the brakes—forcibly.
Derek could have saved her the aggravation. Whatever information he wanted, he wanted from her, not her mother.
Purposefully, he straightened. “I’m sure the NYPD launched a full-scale investigation. They’ll come up with answers. I’m just glad to see you looking so well,” he concluded, his brows lifting in question. “Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow Sloane for a while—if you feel up to sparing her.”
Realization flashed in Rosalyn’s eyes. “This is the week you’re supposed to move into the cottage.” She shot Sloane a rueful look. “I’m sorry. I forgot all about it. This must have caused a major chink in your plans.”
“Not at all.” Derek answered before Sloane could. “Given the circumstances, I assumed Sloane would want to be here with you. Besides, moving’s a bigger hassle than I thought, especially since I’m practically married to my job. So I’ll spend my evenings driving boxes over to New Jersey. Sloane’s welcome to stay at my place until you’re fully recovered.”
“Nonsense.” Rosalyn waved away the idea. “Matthew hired a private nurse until my hospital recheck at the end of the week. After that, it’ll be business as usual. Now go.” Another wave, this time toward the door. “Both of you. Stop by your place and pick up the hounds. Take them for a walk. Then plan your move. I’m absolutely fine.”
Sloane hesitated, clearly not eager to talk to Derek alone.
“Go on,” Rosalyn reiterated, shooing her daughter off. “Your father’s due home soon anyway. He had an early morning meeting. And Lana, my nurse, is in the kitchen, getting my pain medication. So I’m in excellent hands.”
“Okay.” Sloane relented, scooping up her jacket. “But I’ll be back later to check on you.”