Drawn in Blood

by Andrea Kane

  Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Who is this?”

  “I think you know. But if you need confirmation, that’s fine. This is Johnny Liu.”

  “Johnny Liu,” Derek repeated, his hard, pointed stare meeting Sloane’s startled gaze, then flickering to Rich’s intrigued one. Quietly pressing the speakerphone button, Derek placed the phone on the conference table and pulled his chair up close beside it. “How did you get this number?”

  “I would think by now you’d realize I’m a resourceful man. There’s very little I can’t acquire.”

  “Including the most efficient and devout followers,” Derek replied. “Xiao Long has really proven himself to be a worthy Dai Lo. You must be very proud.”

  “By nature, I am proud. What I’m not is stupid. Don’t insult my intelligence with pathetic attempts to bait me.”

  “Fair enough.” Derek gripped his phone more tightly. “No games. Just tell me why you’re calling. Are you hoping to make some kind of deal before we have enough on you to make that impossible?”

  “Again you insult me.” Liu didn’t even flinch at Derek’s pointed question. “I make deals every day, Agent Parker. Business deals. I set the rules. I profit by them. What you’re referring to isn’t a deal. I believe it’s what you Americans call bartering. That kind of negotiation is beneath me.”

  “I see. But criminal acts are not.”

  “That’s actually the reason for my call.” Once again, Liu evaded the question and led the conversation in the direction of his choice. “I have some helpful information to pass along to you. It might provide the answers you’re looking for.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “One of the gentlemen you’re investigating has an estate in East Hampton. It’s been brought to my attention that he has his own private art collection buried deep inside his manor. No one is permitted to enter. He keeps it under lock and key. I’ve been told he has good reason for that secrecy. The paintings he owns are all valuable, many of them priceless masterpieces. Sadly, they’re also stolen. I’m assuming that Special Agent Williams is with you now, being that you’ve put me on speakerphone. Am I correct?”

  Rich didn’t miss a beat. “I’m right here, Liu.”

  “Good. Then Agent Parker doesn’t have to waste time relaying my message. I know how eager you both are for justice to be done. It would be a shame for others to be sent to prison for the crimes of one. Especially Matthew Burbank. He’s already under arrest and suffering great strain—possibly beyond his endurance.” A poignant pause. “How is his daughter holding up? The poor woman must be at her breaking point. I know how close you two are, Agent Parker. Losing her would be tragic.”

  Derek heard the underlying threat loud and clear. He gritted his teeth, fully aware that Liu wanted to get a reaction out of him. He wasn’t going to get it.

  Sloane opened her mouth to cut Liu off. Rich silenced her with a hard shake of his head.

  “Thank you for your concern,” Derek said in a calm, even tone. “Although I think you should reserve it for your own health. From what I understand, your time here is very limited.”

  The barest hint of a pause. “I’m at peace. I’ve accomplished all I set out to. And my honor will be my legacy.”

  “Good to know.” Derek didn’t pursue the point. “As for your tip about the East Hampton estate, I’m sure Special Agent Williams will take the necessary steps.”

  “I doubt a phone call from me will suffice. But my sources tell me a package should be arriving at your desk within the hour. It will give you more than you need for a search warrant.”

  “How considerate of your sources—and of you.”

  “I’m glad I could help. Have a nice day, Agent Parker.”

  The connection was broken.

  “Unexpected,” Rich commented drily.

  “Desperate,” Derek amended. “Liu knows we’re getting close. He wants Wallace to go down—fast.”

  Sloane, who had remained unusually quiet, now spoke up. Her tone was strained as she strove for objectivity. “It’s no news flash that Liu wants to destroy Wallace. But he can’t fabricate a roomful of stolen paintings. We were just questioning what could be used to blackmail Wallace. It’s possible we just got our answer.”

  Both men looked at her. “Why would Wallace associate himself with stolen paintings?” Derek asked.

  “I don’t know. But Liu does. We’ve got to follow up on this lead.”

  “I intend to.” Rich’s wheels were already turning. “I’ll call the assistant U.S. attorney and alert him to the fact that we’re going to need a search warrant fast. As soon as we see what’s in Liu’s package, we’ll act.” A quizzical look at Sloane. “You know Johnson better than we do. How hostile a reception should we expect when we march into his house with a search warrant?”

  Sloane glanced down at her watch. “No reception at all. My father convinced Wallace to go to a museum reception in Soho. Other than possibly whizzing by each other on the parkway, we won’t be seeing him.” She swallowed. “We also don’t have to go through a whole production to gain entry. My parents have a spare key to his house. They go out to the Hamptons a lot over the summer. Wallace insists they stay at his place.”

  “Sloane, this is going to be hard on you,” Derek said gently. “You don’t have to go.”

  “You couldn’t stop me if you tried.” Sloane gave him a wan smile. “I appreciate your compassion. But I need to see this through.”

  “Understood.”

  “Then I’ll make that call so our warrant will be ready when we are,” Rich said.

  “Make that two warrants,” Sloane corrected. “Liu’s sources weren’t just Xiao Long and the Red Dragons. Not this time. Xiao had outside help. I vote for Cindy Liu. Between what we’re beginning to piece together about the roles that she and Peggy are playing in Liu’s operation, and the fact that Cindy just happened to have returned from a romantic weekend at Wallace’s place…”

  “As an architect, she’d remember the layout of the manor well and make a mental note of any rooms that were locked tight and off-limits,” Derek finished for her.

  “Exactly.” Sloane was already back on the computer. “Rich, you go make those phone calls. Derek, stick to your desk till that package arrives. I’ll call Diane and ask her to find out from my mother where in their apartment she keeps Wallace’s key. Someone from the precinct can pick it up and drop it off here at the security desk. I’m not leaving this computer until I find something—anything—on Peggy Sun. Digging for information on Cindy won’t do any good. Liu will have covered her ass in every way possible. But Peggy’s another story. He won’t have been as thorough with her. Which makes her vulnerable—especially since she’s up against me.”

  Rich regarded Sloane with amused admiration. “I don’t envy Peggy Sun. She doesn’t stand a chance.” His gaze shifted to Derek. “Neither do you.”

  “Not to worry. I give as good as I get. Plus, I love a challenge.” Derek shot Rich a quick grin. “Besides, I don’t know why you’re surprised. Tony warned you she’d end up being this case’s lead agent.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The package Johnny Liu had described arrived twenty minutes later.

  With Sloane and Rich peering over his shoulder, Derek tore it open. Inside were spreadsheet printouts detailing specific assets that Wallace had liquidated and their selling price, and matching receipts documenting monetary deposits made to a numbered bank account in the Cayman Islands.

  A copy of the original account application confirmed that the numbered account, along with all transactions connected to it, belonged to Wallace.

  “Bribery goes a long way,” Sloane commented, trying to keep her tone light.

  “It sure does. All it takes is one greedy bank employee to bypass the veil of secrecy. Or a bank manager desperate to keep his biggest customer—a customer who’s threatening to withdraw all his money to force the bank manager’s hand.” Rich reached across the desk to grab Derek’s phone
and used it to notify the assistant U.S. attorney that they were armed with the grounds they needed and on their way to secure their search warrant. “Did someone from the Nineteenth Precinct drop off the key to Johnson’s place?” he asked Sloane.

  Sloane held it up.

  “Good. Then let’s pick up the warrant and get on the road. As it is, we’ll be fighting rush-hour traffic.”

  “We’ll have to take two cars,” Derek informed him. “My SWAT gear fills my entire trunk, and my backseat is loaded with boxes of personal stuff I’ve been meaning to clean out.”

  “Not a problem. My trunk’s jammed, too, between my firearms bag, vest, shotgun, and MP5, plus all the changes of clothes I keep in there for undercover work.”

  Derek’s brows shot up. “You still carry a Remington and MP5?”

  Rich’s lips twitched. “I may be a decade older than you, and no longer on SWAT, but I’m in better shape than you are,” he retorted. “I was doing Major Theft and Enhanced SWAT when you were still in high school using Clearasil. Oh, and remember, I’m a former marine. You’re just a former Army Ranger—what we call a marine wannabe.”

  “My mistake.” Derek snapped off a mock salute. “Didn’t mean to insult your abilities. Although when we have more time, I plan to challenge you over that snide remark. Loser buys dinner, drinks, and cigars.”

  “Make that two steak dinners, drinks, and cigars. You already owe me one. I’ll be glad to relieve you of another. So bring your wallet and you’re on.” Humor faded as Rich’s mind returned to the matter at hand. “Time to head out. I’ll follow you and Sloane.”

  “That’s a given.” Derek couldn’t help it. Rich had set himself up for this one. “Rangers lead the way.”

  A half hour later, with the sun setting behind them, the two cars were en route to East Hampton, search warrant in hand.

  As Derek drove, Sloane contemplated the intriguing pattern that had emerged during her research. There was a distinct correlation between the dates of Cindy’s recent cocktail party appearances and the equally recent burglaries carried out by the Albanian art-theft team. In addition, every one of the burglary victims had been a guest at the cocktail party Cindy had attended just before their homes were burglarized, and, from the specifics Sloane had acquired from the follow-up calls she’d just made, they had spent time chatting with Cindy about potential renovations to their homes and the existing layouts.

  Interestingly, not one of the hosts and hostesses’ apartments had been robbed, even though there was a wealth of valuable paintings in each of their homes. Cindy was far too smart to be so obvious.

  Timetables were lining up. Sequences of events were making more and more sense. And ultimate connections, and conclusions, were being drawn.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Derek commented. “Are you concentrating on your notes, or worrying about what we’ll find at Wallace’s place?”

  Sloane looked up. “Honestly? I’ve laid out what I think is an ingenious addition to Johnny Liu’s plan. I’ll give you the details later, and the bottom line now. Short and sweet—Cindy is scoping out homes to rob, the Black Eagles are carrying out the crimes, and Peggy is forging copies of the stolen paintings. It’s all being shipped to China, and Johnny Liu is selling them and making a huge profit. My guess from what I’ve learned hearing my dad talk about the art dealing world? Liu is selling the forgeries on the open market, and the originals to private collectors—quietly and secretly.”

  “Getting paid twice, along with the security of knowing that the valuable original will never see the light of day. And even if it does, and it’s identified, there’ll be no trail leading back to him.” Derek let out an admiring whistle. “Smart plan. Smarter analysis. Great work.”

  A half smile. “I aim to please.” The smile vanished. “The one thing I’m missing, which is the most important part, is how to turn this theory into enough probable cause to get our warrant to search Cindy’s place. But I’m working on it.”

  She glanced around, tensing as she realized they were nearing their destination. “As for your question about Wallace, I’m not looking forward to what we might find at his house. But I’ll deal with it. There’s no choice. Although I still can’t figure out his motive. Liquidating his assets to buy stolen paintings? It just doesn’t fit.”

  “I can’t disagree with you.” Derek turned onto Wallace’s street. “I’m hoping we’ll find answers.”

  They maneuvered down the long winding driveway, Rich directly behind them. As Sloane had predicted, Wallace’s BMW wasn’t in the driveway or the garage.

  Still, they gave a procedural knock on the front door.

  “FBI,” Derek called out. “We have a warrant to search your house.” A pause, then a second knock, this one louder than the first. “Johnson, it’s Agent Derek Parker of the FBI. If you’re in there, open the door.”

  No movement or reply.

  Derek gave Sloane a terse nod.

  She took out her parents’ key and opened the door. The rhythmic, warning beeps of the burglar alarm sounded, and Sloane punched in the code her mother had given her. The beeping stopped, telling them that there’d be no tripping the alarm.

  The foyer was dark.

  Rich flipped on the light just inside the door. Automatically, Derek pulled out his pistol, raising it in a defensive motion.

  “He’s not home,” Sloane stated tonelessly. “And he wouldn’t know how to hold a gun, much less fire it.”

  “It’s procedure, Sloane,” Derek replied. “You know that as well as I do. This manor is way too big to assume no one’s here just because the car is missing and Wallace didn’t answer the door. As soon as we’re sure all’s clear, I’ll holster my weapon.”

  Sloane nodded.

  “Rich, you and Sloane start looking around,” Derek instructed. “I’ll cover you.”

  They made their way through the foyer and stepped down into the sunken living room. Sloane paused, reaching over to slide up the light dimmer until the room was illuminated enough to make out everything in it.

  The first object they saw was the painting of the little Chinese girl. Wallace had put it on an easel just inside the room, so the eye would be drawn directly to it.

  “That’s beautiful,” Sloane murmured, approaching the painting and studying the innocent quality of the little girl.

  “It should be,” Rich responded drily, walking up close to the painting and studying the details of its design and frame. “It’s a costly painting, created by a highly successful Chinese artist. It was stolen from a private collector in Beijing six months ago.”

  Sloane’s head jerked toward Rich. “Stolen?”

  He nodded. “So we’ve already got grounds for Wallace’s arrest.”

  “What we’ve got is grounds for that second search warrant,” Sloane corrected him. “Wallace didn’t steal or buy this painting. He told me that Cindy gave it to him as a thank-you gift from her and her uncle.”

  Derek had already flipped open his phone. “I’ll call Jeff and have him get started on the warrant right away. I don’t want to give Cindy Liu an extra minute to clear out any evidence she’s hiding at her apartment. If we can tie this stolen painting to Johnny Liu, it will be a real coup.”

  “It’ll get you the warrant. But it won’t get you Liu,” Rich apprised him. “He’ll deny knowing it was stolen property when he bought it. He’s probably already fabricated a paper trail to make the provenance as murky as possible.”

  “Plus, he’d never send us here if he knew we’d find something to use against him or his niece,” Sloane added. “But right now, I’ll settle for the warrant.”

  “You’ll have it.” Derek called Jeff and set the wheels in motion.

  After that, Sloane, Rich, and Derek made their way through the seven-thousand-square-foot manor, room by room. The starkness of each room revealed a man whose emptiness had consumed him. The furniture was minimal, the accents nil. Any remaining space that was richly decorated and highlighted with complem
entary colors was clearly the work of Beatrice’s elite European interior designer, and had been done ages ago.

  The one bedroom that emanated personal warmth and a sense of light and life was, without question, Sophie’s. Painted a soft pastel pink, it had ruffled white curtains at the windows and a matching bedspread on the four-poster bed. The bed and one entire wall was filled with dolls and stuffed animals, and the dresser held a DVD player, a color TV, and a lineup of Disney and other family-oriented DVDs. The way the room was arranged, the exact lineup of toys and movies, told Sloane that, other than keeping the room immaculate, Wallace hadn’t changed a thing since Sophie’s death.

  She felt a lump in her throat as she turned away.

  “Let’s move on” was all she said.

  Exploring the multitude of rooms took an inordinate amount of time. But even though the doors were shut, none of them was locked, not even Wallace’s bedroom, which was masculine but minimal—a place to sleep but not to live.

  They checked the basement, which would be an obvious choice, but it was nothing more than a storage room. Ditto with the attic. They checked the wine cellar, which was stocked only with bottles of fine wine. They even checked the garage, which had two additional pricey sedans in it, but no paintings.

  “Do you think Liu was lying?” Sloane asked.

  “No.” Rich shook his head. “There’d be no point. Besides, if Johnson’s collection is not only hidden but also extensive, I haven’t seen a room yet that would fit the bill as a gallery.”

  “So it’s time to play Nancy Drew: The Hidden Staircase,” Sloane murmured. “I’d suggest we start looking for places in the main section of the house that might lead to an inconspicuous stairway. Maybe an area with wood panels, where a doorway made of the same wood would blend in and go unnoticed.”

  “There are wood panels in the breakfast room, the den, and the media room,” Derek reported.

  “Fine. Let’s each of us take one of those rooms and explore it inch by inch.” Rich jerked his thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll take the breakfast room. It forms an L-shape with the kitchen, but it juts out to the rear, so it’s not visible to arriving guests. It’s also a place where Wallace would probably spend time when he was here—reading the paper, eating his meals.”