A Heist Story

by Ellen Simpson

  “Anything that the PAC does has nothing to do with me, Wei, you know that. I don’t sign off, I do not approve. I simply enjoy the publicity.” It was clear that Wei was overstaying her welcome, but Johnson kept speaking. “It’s all political in the end. I doubt you’d be able to understand the nuances of American politics. I hardly understand them and I’ve lived here my entire life. The people want a candidate that’s strong on crime. I’m behind in the polls. I want to give them something that they can really sink their teeth into. A meaty story like Charlie Mock and his legacy will keep me in good press for months. I have a few things I still need to prosecute before I accept the DA’s office.”

  “You say this like you’ve already won.” Wei’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that up to the voters in November?”

  “No,” Johnson answered with a wicked smile. “That’s up to you and William.”

  Wei turned to leave, knowing a dismissal when she heard one.

  “Oh, and Agent Topeté?” Johnson had gotten to her feet as well. She opened a drawer in the filing cabinet behind her. She pulled a file out. “I was trying to figure out why you were so reluctant in this case, but then this landed in my lap and it all made sense.”

  Wei flexed her fingers. Her palms were damp, she was nervous, but she couldn’t show it. She wanted to leave. “What is it?”

  Johnson let the file fall, open onto her desk. Inside were photographs of Wei sitting, smoking on a park bench, staring up at the sky. These were taken…oh, Christ. Wei leaned forward, feigning interest. “Are you having me followed, Linda?” she asked, her tone deliberately mild. “Because as I’m sure William has reminded you many times, I don’t work for you. My investigative work here is purely in an advisory capacity until the matter with Barber is sorted.”

  The series of pictures showed her sitting next to Shelly Orietti, their heads bowed in conversation. She wasn’t an idiot; there was no way to get away from this in Johnson’s eyes. The proof was right there, damning and brought to light. It was all about how she played the next few moments that would determine the success of this enterprise. That was what Shelly wanted, that was what Wei wanted. They had a plan also.

  “Yes, but don’t you see, Agent Topeté? This is proof that you are not doing what you are reporting to me that you are doing. You are not reporting this to your superiors either, are you?” Johnson sat down heavily on her chair and pulled herself up to the desk. She surveyed Wei with the look that a cat gives a particularly delicious looking mouse before pouncing. Wei braced herself. “So tell me, Agent Topeté, what are you doing?”

  Wei stayed silent.

  A clock ticked loudly on the wall.

  Johnson examined her fingernails and reached for a nail file from her pencil jar. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll ask Kat Barber. Or even our dear Ms. Daniels. William’s gone up to New Hampshire to bring them back from their little escapade. He’s been liaising with municipal police for the past week. For a child of a very good thief, Marcey Daniels isn’t very good.”

  “Child?”

  “Oh…” Johnson moved in for the kill. Wei’s mind was racing. “You didn’t know.”

  “How could I possibly have known that?”

  “It didn’t take William much digging at all. I was aware, or at least I suspected, when Charlie Mock’s pet lawyer showed up to defend them both upon their arrest. I sent William along to confirm it with the girl’s mother. She owes me a favor or two as it is, after the humiliation that the lawyer she hired to replace Mock’s goon got her daughter off on an airtight case. She’s not a very good liar when she’s in front of a true diviner of truth like William. Neither are you.”

  Wei had some protections; Interpol wasn’t an ADA’s personal sandbox. If Johnson wanted to get her into trouble, she’d have to take time away from the campaign and trying to build up her record to ensure Wei’s sanction. Wei was counting on this, counting on Johnson’s still preferring William do her dirty work, to see this plan through. But they were going to need to be quick about it.

  “Do you want me to go New Hampshire? Go with William and make sure that this is done?” Wei pulled the pictures toward herself, concentrating on the affected nonchalance of the action. She was right: there were a few of her with Shelly. Which begged the question, who was following her?

  It couldn’t have been William. He’d been on assignment—

  She remembered then, remembered the old woman sitting at the corner, a scarf bundled up to her neck and a large wool hat on her head. She’d been distracted, thinking about Kat and that girl, thinking about how Kat had told her everything afterward, like she was sitting in confession begging for forgiveness for her sins. Wei wasn’t the bearer of absolution, and the hurt of it, the hurt of Kat, must have blinded her to what was happening. How could she not have seen it? It was clear as day. That woman.

  Wei hadn’t gotten a good look at her, but she remembered finding her hair, blonde and poufy, surprisingly well styled for a little old woman snapping photographs of the park. Christ, Kat was destroying everything around Wei, pulling Wei into her head and distracting her from the fact that she looked like a goddamn idiot who was awful at her job.

  Merde. She glanced up at Johnson. The woman’s slow, smug smile, and the way she looked so utterly pleased with herself had Wei’s heart hammering… But Linda had done it herself? Linda mustn’t be certain of the information she had then. That boded well for Wei.

  “William is more than capable of doing this without your assistance, however helpful it might prove to be. I, however, am not so certain of your loyalties. He’s got a nice, neat little theory about you, one I’m inclined to believe. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Not particularly.” Wei got to her feet. “I think you’re sorely mistaken. You took those photographs yourself, didn’t you, Linda? Are you really that worried that the ghost of Charlie Mock is going to come back to haunt you? The man is dead. As you said, his child—if she even is—isn’t particularly clever or sneaky. Why not just let her hang herself? Why waste mine and William’s time when we could actually be working on closing the Mock matter for you? If she has the book, we’ll find out when she inevitably gets herself caught.” Wei glared. “I am here to solve the other problem. Nothing more. The fact that these two cases have become married to each other does not surprise me. You want what I want. Let’s not antagonize each other by accusing each other of crimes where no criminal activity exists.” That part would come later, when all the players were set up and the game could move smoothly.

  “Association with criminals might as well be a crime,” Johnson said.

  “Do you forget all the help Kat Barber’s given you in cases over the years? All the little tidbits of information passed on to me? Do you forget how she handed you Charlie Mock when William got himself found out?” Wei shook her head, not interested in what Johnson was trying to push onto her. “Sometimes the marriages we have are convenient.”

  “You’d do well to keep your nose free of whatever it is that Kat Barber is up to in New Hampshire. Go. Meet up with William and get me that book.”

  Wei turned and left without another word. She stalked over to her desk and called LePage, demanding to know where he was. He gave her an address, and she wrote it down. She stared at it for a minute and then reached for her phone.

  The phone rang twice. “Tom Yelnan.”

  “Tom, it’s Wei Topeté.” Wei spoke quickly. While LePage could run off and do whatever he wanted with only the feeblest of blessings from Linda Johnson, Wei had to plow through more red tape. Her work with Johnson’s office was overseen by the Justice Department, and Wei still marginally reported to Tom, rather than Johnson. She hadn’t checked in for some time, and now that she was going to be moving into another jurisdiction, she was going to have to get clearance.

  “Wei!” Wei could picture him leaning back at his desk, throwing a ball up into the air, paperwork strewn around. He was young. Wei liked working with him. “How are you?” He segued neatl
y into French. “I heard you were sticking your nose into things all over New York.”

  “I was. The Mock case is turning out to be far more complicated than I’d ever anticipated.”

  “How so? I know that Interpol has wanted him for a while.”

  “They have, but the trail’s been cold since he got locked up. It isn’t him so much as his legacy we’re after, after all.” Wei exhaled. “There’s a chance that his book is being used to conduct an art heist. Can you put a call into the New Hampshire state’s attorney?”

  “And what?”

  “Let them know I’m going to be up there.” Wei hated this, hated the lack of autonomy that this Interpol assignment gave her. She was used to roaming, to liaising where she wanted, and pushing herself through the worst of the weeds alone. Working with Johnson and LePage, feeling like a kept animal, was never going to lead to victory, no matter how pyrrhic it would be in the end. “I’ll be going to Lincoln, in the mountains.”

  “Will you be with anyone?”

  “William LePage. Possibly a defense attorney.”

  “A defense attorney?” Tom sounded intrigued. “What are you doing, Wei?”

  “I’ve found a thread, Tom. I’m pulling at it to see what unravels.”

  He hummed. “I’ll make a call.”

  “Thanks,” Wei said, and hung up. She turned to leave, and then hesitated. She picked up the phone once more.

  The number was one she had dialed many times before, when she was actively looking for the book, not trying to avoid thinking about where it was in order to undercut Kat’s proposed endgame. The secretary who answered was nice enough, putting her call through with only a few moments of resistance.

  “Devon,” Wei said when he answered. “Do you fancy a weekend in the mountains?”

  CHAPTER 27

  A Heist, at Its Ending

  Later that night, Kim returned with a half-eaten box of vending-machine Pop-Tarts and a triumphant smile. “You needed a secure connection, you’ve got one. Now, what do you need to use it for?”

  “I need to call Shelly,” Marcey said. Gwen and Kat glanced at her with equally bewildered expressions. “One of the things I asked her to keep an eye on while we were out of reception range—thank you, Kim”—Kim gave a little salute and sat down with her box of Pop-Tarts—“was the chatter around this particular piece of artwork. She’s been monitoring the security company from the inside for the entire time we’ve been up here. Turns out her pretend job at their information storage facility has paid off.”

  Marcey clicked a few keys on her computer after Kim obligingly plugged her into the Ethernet cable protruding from her laptop. The call rang and Shelly’s face swam into view. Her eyes were drawn down, her lips pursed. She sat at her desk in the library, which served as a TOR relay, so it was guaranteed to be far more secure than their connection at the hotel, hacked though it was. Marcey stared at her, and realized, quite suddenly, that she was fidgeting.

  “Is everything all right?” Marcey asked.

  “You need to do it tonight.”

  Marcey swallowed. She was afraid of that.

  Kat leaned forward, past Marcey. She smelled good, like summer and winter snowmelts. If that even was a thing. Marcey wasn’t sure it was. “Shelly?” she asked. Her eyebrows furrowed. “This isn’t about—”

  “No, you fool girl, of course it isn’t.” Shelly shook her head. Marcey glanced from Gwen to Kim and then back to Kat, absolutely lost. “The owner of the painting’s been floating transporting it to the city for storage until the auction next month, wants to get it cleaned or some bullshit. I intercepted one of the calls and was able to delay him until tomorrow. He’s going to be out of the country and wants this taken care of before he leaves.”

  “Oh.” Kat’s lips smacked shut.

  “What did you think it was about?” Marcey’s question only drove home the truth: that Kat was worried about Topeté and would not openly admit it.

  Kat waved her hand dismissively. Marcey scowled. “The plan was for two days from now. We aren’t prepared.” The anger behind Kat’s pretty, blank expression made Marcey draw away. It was drawn up around her eyes and it curled with the twist of her lip. Kat’s teeth were clenched, her jaw a tight line.

  “This is Marcey’s job, Kathryn,” Shelly answered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mar, what do you think?”

  “We need more time,” Marcey said automatically, because they did. Gwen wasn’t ready. Her fingers were still clumsy with the final forging work. Getting the painting stretched on the stretcher bar and into the frame took far too long and her canvases were never quite straight. Marcey exhaled, a headache building behind her eyes. “Kat would have to go along if we were to do it tonight. Gwen, I know that you’ve been practicing for a one-man job, but we may need to make it two. Kat can still stretch a canvas and make it look authentic faster than you can.”

  Gwen nodded her agreement. Marcey was grateful that she didn’t argue the point. Theirs was a business arrangement, four pieces working toward a whole, complete job. Sometimes improvisations had to be made, even though Marcey’s every instinct was screaming at her to scrub this whole thing. This was a part of the plan too, after all, the part they weren’t privy to. “She knows the plan as well as I do.” She fixed Kat with an inquisitive gaze. “You’re not going to wander off, are you?”

  The smile that drifted across Kat Barber’s face was slow and predatory. “I make no promises.” There was a smugness in her voice that made Marcey want to scream. She winked at Marcey, her smile contorting to something more sly and playful. “I like beautiful things, what can I say? That picture is dreadfully ugly.”

  “Damn straight,” Kim muttered.

  Shelly gave them a hard look. “Be careful.” She reached up and ended the connection before they could talk more.

  Gwen folded her arms over her chest and surveyed the room. Kim fiddled with her laptop. “Changing the plan is a great way to get people arrested,” she said. “Are you going to be able to do this, Barber?”

  Kat’s expression and tone were bitter. “I would’ve liked more time.”

  “Well, you don’t have it,” Kim pointed out.

  Marcey exhaled, rubbing at the back of her neck. The headache was getting worse. She ran her hand through her hair. She was stretched, worn. If they could just get through tonight…maybe then Marcey could find the words to ask Kat what the hell she was planning. Right now, Marcey just wanted her to say yes.

  “I’ll do it,” Kat said eventually.

  “Right,” Marcey said. “We’ll be on the clock in six hours. Let’s work Kat into the plan.”

  The adjustments were fairly rudimentary. Gwen would get Kat into the building, open up the safe, and keep time while Kat disassembled and reassembled the canvas inside. Kim would hopefully be able to hold off the security system long enough that the alarm wouldn’t have to be disabled, but if it needed to be turned off, Marcey would cut the power, as well as take care of the dogs. It felt…messy. Marcey didn’t like it. There were too many chances for error, but this was their only chance. They had to do it tonight.

  Marcey’s heart felt like it was beating somewhere around her navel.

  She sent Gwen and Kim out to take care of their getaway cars, carrying their things. The plan was to leave the hotel and go in four different directions, rendezvousing in four days at Charlie’s storage unit. Getting away from them was the best Marcey could do for her fraying nerves. Panic tasted acidic. She’d never known that before.

  Kat stood by the window, her back to Marcey as Marcey dumped out their trash into a single trash can and checked under the beds for any lost receipts. They would take it with them, throw it away at a gas station in Bow. Better to be safe than sorry.

  “You overheard the conversation I had with Wei,” Kat said, not turning around. She held herself perfectly still, her back ramrod straight and her arms wrapped around her sweater-clad torso. Her hair fell down her back in waves, a beautiful splash of
yellow against the blackness of the nighttime forest outside. “Didn’t you?”

  “I don’t kn—”

  “Save it, Marcey.” Kat turned around. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  That was where she was wrong. Marcey stuck her chin out defiantly. Kat was taller than her and loomed over her effortlessly. A wild light took to her eyes, making them sparkle low and dark and ominous in the dim hotel room light. She put her hands on Marcey’s shoulders, on her neck, smearing away the concealer.

  “What if I did?” Marcey asked. What if this was the plan all along?

  “Then you know that I am on borrowed time and I have very little patience for”—she paused, gestured to the room at large, fingers of her other hand twitching against Marcey’s jaw—“all of this. Marcey, you must understand why I did what I did.”

  But Marcey didn’t understand it at all. She didn’t want to understand Kat with her beauty and her twisted doomsday smile and her ability to make Marcey make the stupidest decisions of her life. “What did you do then?”

  The grip Kat had on her neck tightened. “This isn’t the time for this.”

  “There is no good time for this,” Marcey pointed out. “And you brought it up. Yes, I overheard you and Topeté talking. Yes, I know you’re on borrowed time. What the hell did you do?”

  Kat pursed her lips into a thin line until her red lipstick was all but obscured. She stared down her nose at Marcey, her nostrils flaring out slightly, her expression utterly unreadable. “I was in Barcelona. It wasn’t meant to be a job.”