“It was. We’ve been trying to retrieve her for a number of years, and right now, this is the best lead we’ve got. Just know that we don’t much care about Red After Dark or the reward. Our only goal is to get Emerald back where she belongs. Help us, and we’ll help you.”
Harriet’s voice rose as nerves got the better of her. “But we know nothing about The Girl with the Emerald Ring. My father’s never mentioned it, or any of the other paintings.”
“No, but whoever gave Red to your father might have information, and they must have communicated with him somehow.”
“What, and you want to interrogate Daddy? He’s gone downhill rapidly since last week. This morning, he didn’t even know who I was. I very much doubt he’ll be able to tell you anything.”
“There are other ways. If we can get into his phone…. His emails… Have you ever heard your father mention the School of Shadows?”
“The School of Shadows? What’s that? A training camp for spies or something?”
“It’s the name of a group of art thieves,” Alaric told them. “Nobody’s ever been able to identify the ringleader, but rumour says they’ve been responsible for some of the biggest heists in the last four decades. Not only Emerald and Red but a Van Gogh, a Monet, works by Cézanne, Rembrandt, da Vinci… The list goes on.”
“I don’t recall him ever mentioning any school. Stéphane?”
Hegler shook his head. “It’s not a name I remember either.”
“My father never confided in me, Alec. Is your name even Alec?”
“Close. It’s Alaric. Alaric McLain. And this is Emmy.”
“Alaric.” Harriet let out a long sigh. Her expression was pained. “I guess I could give you Daddy’s phone.”
Hegler didn’t seem hopeful. “I don’t think these people used the phone.”
“What do you mean?” Harriet asked the question before Alaric could.
“There was a gentleman who came to the house unexpectedly a week before your father sent me to England. While you were in town. He brought a fruit basket and said he was an aide to Senator Schuman, but why would anyone deliver a gift by hand all the way out here? The more I think about it, the more certain I am that he was the one who started the ball rolling. Irvine was different after he left. Happier. Remember we thought it was the change of medication?”
“Did you call Senator Schuman to check?”
Hegler looked sheepish. “What was done was done. I didn’t see how it would help.”
Harriet patted him on the hand, the gesture supportive rather than affectionate. Alaric reconsidered his age estimate. Harriet had to be closer to thirty if she’d gone to school with Kyla Devane.
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter.”
“Actually, it does,” Emmy said. “We’re trying to track down the people behind this scheme, and one of them was right here. What did the man look like?”
“Uh, older than the average political aide. I guess in his early fifties? Or maybe his late forties? Most of us are worn out by the time we hit thirty. His hair was thinning, though. Probably due to the stress.”
“What colour was his hair?” Alaric asked.
“Medium brown.”
Alaric glanced at Emmy. Had she had the same thought? Hegler’s description fit Dyson, the last man they’d known to be in possession of Emerald. Alaric had crossed paths with him eight years ago and only lived to tell the tale thanks to Emmy’s shooting skills.
She shrugged. “Could be.”
“Could be what?” Harriet asked.
“That description matches a suspect on our list.”
“Well, great. You want Stéphane to pick him out of a line-up?”
“Unfortunately, we can’t find him. Did anyone notice what vehicle he arrived in?”
“Sorry.” Hegler shook his head again. “I don’t recall seeing a vehicle at all, which is odd now that I think about it. But I could have missed a car, or possibly he came in a cab? Irvine called me into the sunroom right after the gentleman left, and as I said, he was in better spirits than he had been for weeks. We drank tea together, and Irvine told me the future was brighter. I assumed he meant politically.”
“So really, we’re no farther forward than we were before.” Harriet rose to her feet and moved to the window. A mare and foal had come into view, waiting at the fence, ears pricked. “Dammit, this is their home. This is our home. I’ll hand the painting back, of course, but even if they give me the reward rather than throwing me in prison, that’s still only half of the amount I need to save the ranch.”
Alaric got up to join her. “There’s another fifty thousand on offer for Emerald.”
“But I keep telling you, we know nothing about that.”
Emmy took another sip of tea. Secretly, Alaric had always been envious of the way she stayed so calm under pressure. It seemed effortless to her, whereas he’d constantly had to fight to maintain a cool facade.
“Let’s go through the chain of events again,” she said. “A man came to visit the senator. Your belief is at that point, he negotiated an endorsement for Kyla in exchange for a stolen painting. If we apply Occam’s razor, that probably isn’t a bad assumption. The senator then dispatched Stéphane here to pick up Red from London, and at the same time, he released a video praising Devane. And that’s where the theory falls apart. Why would the two sides trust each other? What would have stopped the senator from simply picking up the painting and keeping his mouth shut? The other party could hardly go to the police.”
Good point. “What if he recorded the speech in advance?”
“A possibility. But if that was the case, then what incentive did the other side have to deliver Red? There’s no honour among thieves.”
“Dyson always had a reputation for keeping his word until…you know.”
And the outcome of that day hadn’t been entirely Dyson’s fault. One of Alaric’s “team” had shot first, and then events just spiralled out of control.
“He’s still a bloody criminal.”
“Who’s Dyson?” Harriet asked.
“Our suspect. Have you got any more cookies? I skipped breakfast.”
Hegler headed for the nearest cupboard while Emmy continued.
“So, as I was saying, there had to be a safeguard in place. Stéphane, you mentioned that you called Irvine from the plane?”
“I did. Chocolate chip?”
“Perfect. I bet that your call was the senator’s cue to hand over the recording. Do you know when it was filmed?”
“Neither of us heard a thing, did we, Harry? Frankly, I’m amazed he managed to record it at all. Before he got sick, he used to film his own sound bites for Twitter, but I still had to edit out the pauses and the mumbling.”
“Daddy always was determined. When he set his mind on something…”
“I’ve seen the video,” Emmy said. “Watched the whole thing half a dozen times last night on a big-screen TV. How long was it? Two minutes? And the quality was on point. That thing was made for broadcast. Even if your father managed to film it on his phone, the file must have been two gigabytes, which meant he couldn’t simply email it. He’d have needed to use a file transfer site. Or…”