A Heist Story

by Ellen Simpson

  Did Kat want her freedom from Topeté?

  Marcey tilted her chair back and stared at the ceiling.

  The table rocked.

  It was LePage who came in first, some time later, bringing with him a steaming cup of coffee and eyes ringed with circles so dark he looked like a raccoon. He looked worn out, as though the investigation was slowly eating him alive from the inside. His shirt hung thinly at his neck and his tan skin looked sallow in the harsh light of the fluorescent overheads.

  Marcey sat up straighter as he came in, eyeing him as he sat down across from her. She was glad he was alone. She guessed that the case was getting to him, and that he was struggling. She wondered if he’d caught wind that Gwen was involved, because that would change how she engaged. How could she find out? Marcey thought hard, fast. She saw the file in LePage’s hands, thick and intimidating. If it was that thick, it couldn’t just be for Marcey. Not for just this case. There was no way.

  “So,” he began. “We meet again, Marcey Daniels.”

  “I wasn’t aware the NYPD had jurisdiction this far north.”

  LePage ignored the comment and took a sip of his coffee. “Officer Raker says you got lost in the woods.” He set the cup down on the table and set the file beside it.

  Marcey wished, oh how she wished, to see inside it, but it remained resolutely closed. Instead she nodded. Her expression had to be kept neutral. This was what she’d learned in school, when they’d all found out about her. This was what she had learned to suppress. The panic, the feeling of exposure, all of that was weakness that could not be shown to this man. That was what he wanted. And Marcey refused to give it to him. “Figured I could get one last good hike in before the trails were closed for mud season.”

  LePage blinked wearily at Marcey and settled himself into the chair opposite Marcey. “Cut the crap, Daniels.”

  Marcey shrugged, looking at her fingernails. She picked at the dirt caked under them. “It was what I was doing.”

  “No, you were casing that place, looking to rob it. For what I have no fucking clue, but it doesn’t matter. We have you dead to rights trespassing.”

  “We?” Marcey asked.

  LePage glanced over his shoulder at the door. Marcey watched as it pushed open, her stomach sinking. The panic she’d managed to quell when it was just LePage mounted once more. Marcey’s heart raced, and she found she couldn’t swallow. This was different—this was a game changer. Wei Topeté stepped into the room with a tight-lipped smile and an appraising glance at Marcey.

  “My partner and I—well, temporary partner. I don’t know if you’ve met. Marcey, this is Wei Topeté, of Interpol.” LePage gestured to Topeté. “Wei, this is Marcey Daniels.”

  “Interpol?” Marcey’s eyes went wide, almost comically so. It was all fake, but the reaction would cover her calming down enough to not give herself away. Christ, she was fucked. “What’s Interpol care about my getting lost while hiking?”

  Topeté raised an eyebrow at LePage, who picked up his coffee and shrugged. “That’s your story?” Her voice was accented, but not unpleasantly so, this close. Marcey watched her with narrowed eyes. “It’s not a very good one, don’t you think, Ms. Daniels?”

  “That’s what happened.” Marcey tried to keep her tone even and not flippant. If she wanted to pull this off, she was going to have to tread lightly. “If you’re really that concerned about it, I’ll pay the trespass fine. I believe it’s about two hundred bucks.” She leaned over and tapped LePage’s folder, watching as the cover shifted to reveal the first line of handwritten notes. Marcey kept her eyes on Topeté; stealing a glance would be too much, but the folder remained propped partly opened as she retreated. A little triumphant thrill shot through Marcey, but she pressed her lips together for a moment, as though thoughtful, before turning to LePage. “You can’t hold me. I wasn’t doing anything illegal.”

  There, on the first page of the file, was Gwen’s name.

  Bingo.

  Marcey glanced over at Topeté. Resting her chin on her hand, Topeté surveyed Marcey with the sort of look that made Marcey want to crawl into herself and never come back out. It was the look of a woman betrayed, a woman unable to speak to the hurt she was going through. But at the same time, it was appraising. She was sizing Marcey up, and Marcey didn’t particularly like it.

  The guilt ate at her, despite the put-upon feeling of Topeté’s eyes on her. Marcey swallowed. She’d done this to Topeté. She’d allowed Kat to go through with what she was doing, with whatever the game was that Kat was playing with Topeté. It took two to tango, and Marcey had never once said no. The hurt Topeté hid behind disinterest and her appraising look was well concealed, but Marcey was good at reading people, and it was plain as day.

  When Topeté finally spoke, it was slow, drawn out. The sort of accusation that was leveled with a great deal of gravity. Marcey didn’t dare interrupt her. “Taking things that don’t belong to you is illegal, yes. And you haven’t done any of that just yet.” Topeté paused, as if for effect. “Have you ever heard of a man named Charlie Mock?”

  Feigning confusion was harder than Marcey imagined it would be. “I’m sorry? Who?”

  If they knew to ask about Charlie, then they were after the book. Marcey’s mother had spilled her guts to LePage when he’d visited her. None of this was about the painting or Marcey’s revenge. This was about the book and freedom—all of their freedom. That book could send everyone in this room to jail.

  “Charlie Mock. He was a figure in the lives of several of your new friends.” LePage opened the file. He ran his finger down a set of dates. Marcey struggled to read them upside down. They knew a lot about her movements in the past month. How had they been able to put all this together?

  Someone told them.

  Marcey thought of Kat, thought of how easily she drifted between two worlds. Kat wanted to drive this job, despite Marcey running it. Would she have betrayed their trust like that? Kat wanted Charlie’s book. That much was plain in the ways she spoke of it, the way she knew its contents backward and forward.

  Heartsick, Marcey stared at Wei Topeté. This was the woman Kat loved. Marcey was just the girl she’d fucked. That was obvious in the way that Topeté was eyeing her. This was betrayal. Cheating was a choice and Kat was doing it. Marcey had let it happen. The guilt chewed at the back of Marcey’s throat, threating to pull the words from her lips.

  “I still have no idea who that is.” Marcey spoke quickly, afraid the words would be smothered if she didn’t.

  LePage hummed and seemed to ignore her. Marcey swallowed. She couldn’t look away from Topeté. Kat wouldn’t have told her. There was no way. Kat stood to lose as much as the rest of them did.

  LePage sucked on his teeth, pensive. “I see here that you went to London recently. Why was that?”

  Distracted, Marcey turned to face LePage. She couldn’t follow his line of questioning. Why did it matter? “I was, um, visiting a friend,” Marcey answered. “Why? What did I do wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing,” LePage said. “Just trying to establish a timeline. When did that trip happen?”

  “About three weeks ago. Again. Why?” Marcey’s fingers twitched. She couldn’t look at LePage and his folder of damnation. Topeté kept staring at her, channeling hurt and anger into her steely glare. Marcey wanted to hide.

  “What was the name of the friend?” Topeté asked mildly.

  Marcey clammed up. If she said Kat’s name, they’d know. But she couldn’t lie, because they already knew who she went to go see. She could say nothing, she supposed, but that was as good as an admission of guilt. She exhaled shakily. The truth would set her free. Or at least throw them for something of a loop. “Her name is Kathryn. But seriously, what did I do wrong?”

  “Did you know,” LePage continued mildly, “That Kathryn Barber authenticated the painting that was housed in the Perôt Gallery the day it was broken into?” He was deliberately ignoring her! Marcey felt the indignation rise like a red fl
ush to her cheeks. That…that ass.

  “No,” Marcey said flatly. She never said Kat’s last name. Topeté’s face was expressionless. They already knew all of this.

  “Did you know that that same painting belongs to the man who lives at the residence where Officer Raker picked you up?”

  “What painting?” Marcey demanded. “I don’t know about any painting.”

  “Really?” Topeté’s tone was mild, the killer sort of quiet that came before the storm hit. “Ms. Daniels, you need to stop jerking us around. We know you’re not the big fish here.”

  “I—”

  There was a knock on the door. Marcey closed her mouth. Officer Raker stepped into the room and bent to whisper in Topeté’s ear. She glanced at LePage before bending to speak to him in a low voice. “Johnson’s on the phone. Wants a status.”

  “Wait.” Marcey felt confidence surge within her. This was where she could make her move. “This is all about Linda Johnson?”

  “It could be,” Topeté answered. She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “The assistant district attorney has some thoughts about you that seem to be driving how you are behaving right now, Ms. Daniels. If she weren’t on the phone, she’d be here, looking you up and down, trying to figure out how someone so small and insignificant could cause so many problems.”

  Marcey glared.

  Officer Raker looked between Topeté and LePage. “One of you needs to take the call.”

  “I’ll go,” LePage said quietly. He got up and followed Raker out of the interview room.

  Topeté pulled a small device from her pocket and set it on the table. Marcey stared at it, watching as the blue LED light on it pulsed three times before glowing a solid red. It was the same device that Kim had brought out during the job—the signal scrambler. “I believe we should talk.”

  There was no way she could know what that device was. She had to play dumb. “I’m sorry?”

  “This will scramble the video camera for the next five minutes. Johnson likes to go on, yes, but we don’t have much time, Ms. Daniels.” Topeté leaned across the table, tapping the device. “You’re about to be arrested, but I can help.”

  Marcey kept her expression natural. “All right,” she said. “Talk.”

  PART THREE

  The Jailer’s Gambit

  CHAPTER 29

  Wei, Bargaining

  Staring out into the early spring night, Wei shivered. Her breath fogged, mingling with cigarette smoke. William stood beside her, hands jammed in his pockets, staring up at the stars. “It’s beautiful here,” she said. “You can see so much of the sky.” She glanced at William, putting her cigarette to her lips. “Are you angry?”

  He shook his head. “No,” he answered. “You did what you had to do. Not your fault the lawyer showed up when he did.”

  “And if your ex is involved?”

  “What happened between Gwen and me is in the past. We’ve both moved past it.”

  Wei flicked ash away from the end of her cigarette and brought it back to her lips. Her expression was pensive; she was lost in the romantic notion of what William and Gwen Lane-Wright had once had. How she’d wanted them to succeed, how ultimately they’d never had a chance.

  “Have you really though?”

  It was a nasty business, this game they were playing. Wei sucked down smoke tinged with air still tainted with winter’s chill. The lawyer had arrived right on cue, right when Marcey Daniels was about to crack. It would keep Johnson guessing, and keep LePage thinking he was about to come out victorious, even if there were names said, names that should have been left silent. Wei hadn’t wanted to engage on that level, but her hand was forced. Marcey Daniels was a wild card, a variable that Wei hadn’t anticipated when she and Kat had hatched this plan years ago.

  Now, with the new hurt of Kat’s manipulation, of her betrayal, ringing so acutely in her ears, and the look of pity that Marcey hadn’t quite been able to keep from her eyes, Wei wanted nothing more than to walk away from everything. She did not want to be pitied. Not by someone like Marcey Daniels who had no frame of reference for what she’d stepped into. Wei kept her hurt contained, kept it close to her chest. The hurt belonged to Kat, not the child sitting in the interview room with Devon Austin Jackson. Kat played manipulation like it was her right, and this was just another wrinkle.

  She’d done it again. Fallen into the trap again. Allowed Kat to choose what would hurt her the most and allowed it to happen. I’m a fool.

  “I could ask you the same about Barber. The edge she wants you to walk is getting narrower by the day. How soon until you fall off?”

  The barb was wrapped up in William’s sly smile. Wei looked over at him, wishing the nicotine would kick in faster. She didn’t want to look at him anymore.

  “I’ll stay until it comes time to bring her in, and then I’ll walk away,” Wei answered. Her gaze was straight ahead.

  He sighed and changed the subject. “What did you find out in there?”

  Once, Wei would have debated telling him the truth, that Marcey Daniels was working on something bigger. But her action against Johnson was in Wei’s best interest as well, because the book could never fall into Johnson’s hands. The intent was there, carefully exposed, if only Wei was willing to piece it together. It was held out like an olive branch, a peace offering wrapped in the put-on innocence of Marcey Daniels.

  William could never know and would probably never see the larger picture. He was focused on the crime rather than the action behind it. Wei flicked her cigarette away and reached for another. “Do you want one?” she asked William.

  He shook his head.

  Wei shrugged and lit it. She couldn’t debate for too long. The question of the cigarette would only stall a moment. The bone she threw out, a hurt she couldn’t hide, cut into her deeply in the exposure. But eventually it was going to come out. “She’s sleeping with Kat Barber, which I thought was particularly interesting.”

  “I wasn’t aware Barber was the type to cheat,” William said. “That seems out of character.” He glanced at Wei sideways, his face a mask of shadows. “How does that make you feel?”

  “Like this isn’t a time for you to be my psychiatrist, William,” Wei said. Irritation crept into her voice. Honestly. “It intrigues me because it implies that she’s at least somewhat aware of Barber’s agenda. Whatever she was doing up here wasn’t connected to Charlie Mock, at least not in any way that carries meaning. Kat is involved, yet her agenda in this is the wild card, I think. She wants something and I don’t think Marcey Daniels knows what it is.”

  “What does Daniels want then?”

  Wei shrugged. “Far as I can tell, she wants to make a name for herself using Charlie Mock’s legacy as a jettison point. It’s foolish, yes, but she’s young. Her brush with Johnson when she was a teenager stung.”

  “Johnson’s vendetta against her is something else.” William scratched his growing beard. He’d been up for close to thirty-six hours at this point, if Wei’s math was correct. His mind was sluggish. “Never got a straight answer outta her about what that was about.”

  “Marcey Daniels supplied the pills the first time Johnson’s daughter nearly overdosed.” Wei sighed heavily. “She doesn’t broadcast it because she should have recused herself from the case because of the obvious conflict of interest but instead chose not to prosecute based on that set of charges. I have no idea how your American legal system allowed her to stay on the case.”

  LePage frowned. “She would have been removed. No DA is going to allow something like that. The mere implication of a personal vendetta or a conflict like that and the entire case could get thrown out.”

  “And yet it wasn’t. Think about it, William. Think about why it didn’t get thrown out. Think about how much Johnson stands to lose if that whole story ever comes out. That’s why she wants Mock’s book. Because the bastard documented the whole thing in there. He was the one who paid for that defense.”

  “Really?�
�

  “Not Daniels’s defense. Her mother handled that. But her friend, the one that’s up for parole in May.”

  “Is that why she didn’t ask for a lawyer until he walked into the room?” William rubbed at the back of his neck and shivered, flipping his collar up against the stiff breeze. “She wants to get caught? That seems foolish, but it would explain why she just walked out there for Raker to find.”

  “You don’t think she’s after something more than just the painting?” The painting was still there. “Maybe something that would make her want to get caught?”

  The call that had drawn William from the room and allowed Wei to speak to Marcey alone and unmonitored had been from Johnson. She’d had people back in the city track down the homeowner and obtain permission to enter the home and check the contents of the vault. Officer Raker drove back up to check, finding the place abandoned. With the painting still there, there was no cause to arrest Marcey Daniels. Wei couldn’t figure it out. Why not just walk away? There was no sign of intrusion at the house, so why would Marcey go to all the trouble of coming up here only to get caught?

  Wei thought back over the conversation she’d had with her. Behind the veiled threats and barbs they’d shared, there’d been an understanding of their mutually assured destruction. They both knew that if the book were to fall into the wrong hands, it was on both their heads.

  “I want it gone,” Marcey had said.

  “How?” Wei had asked.

  “Burn it, I don’t know.”

  “People won’t take kindly to that,” Wei had answered. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”

  “Your cases will fall apart, right? And you won’t be able to protect her anymore?” Marcey had tilted her head to one side. “Isn’t that why you’re doing all of this? To keep her, and your own ass, I suppose, safe?”