“That’ll work. If you’ll come with me.”

  “Packing will be done by a team authorized by the Metropolitan Museum.”

  Morbelli didn’t bother to introduce them, but Eve noted they dressed not in black suits but more like sweepers. She led the way.

  She went straight to the office. “Record on.”

  “Record on,” Lowenbaum echoed.

  “All records on,” Morbelli ordered.

  “Lieutenant Dallas unsealing the crime scene door, accompanied by SWAT commander Lieutenant Lowenbaum and Metropolitan Museum Security head Morbelli and team.”

  She unsealed the door, disengaged the locks, and opened the door to a room that smelled of blood, death, and sweepers’ dust.

  “The scene’s been processed, the electronics are with EDD. The windows are also sealed and locked and monitors installed.”

  Before entering, she took out her ’link, shut down the monitors.

  “Clear there.” Moving in, she skirted the blood, went to the panel, tripped the mechanism, then slid open the panel. “I personally relocked the vault after my consultant changed the combination. Reopening now.”

  She turned the dial, ordered herself not to be embarrassed or sentimental that Roarke had used their wedding anniversary.

  After depressing the thick brass lever, she used it to pull—with some effort—the vault door.

  Beside her, Lowenbaum let out a low whistle. Beneath it, she heard Morbelli’s involuntary gasp.

  “That’s a hell of a thing,” Morbelli murmured. “A hell of a thing.” She stepped in, took a long, slow look, then seemed to pull back into her spit and polish. “All right, let’s get started. Lieutenant Dallas.” She inclined her head. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  Eve gave her the same head gesture. “Thank you for yours. I’m going to remove the monitors, the seals, and the police guards on the windows.”

  “If Lieutenant Lowenbaum has the property secured, you might open them.”

  “You’re covered.”

  As the team in sanitized white trooped in, Eve went to the windows. As she unsealed, removed guards, she saw through them members of SWAT stationed.

  She opened the windows, breathed in the blissfully fresh air.

  This part was off her hands, she thought, and the boot of stress on her neck lifted.

  Morbelli stood, arms folded, watching the activity in the vault like a hawk. After they exchanged another brief nod, Eve started out.

  Chloe stood outside, arms also folded, blocked by security.

  “I want to go in. I have a right to see where my father died.”

  “He’s not in there, Chloe.”

  “I have a right to see where he was murdered.”

  Eve held up a hand to security, then took Chloe’s arm. “That’s far enough,” she said at the doorway.

  She felt the girl jerk, felt her tremble. But she didn’t cry out. Instead, she made a low, keening sound, then sucked in her breath and stopped it.

  “How did they kill him? What did they use to kill him? I didn’t want to ask the medical examiner in front of my mother.”

  “There was a display piece in the office. An amethyst.”

  “The magic crystal?” Another keening sound escaped again, and she swallowed it. “We called it that, Anya and I. Granddad told us he won it from a wizard in a poker game.”

  When she clutched at her belly, Eve grabbed her arm again. “If you’re going to be sick—”

  “I’m not. I won’t.” She’d gone pale as glass, still trembled, but fought to stiffen her shoulders.

  “Let’s walk outside. You could use the air.”

  When Chloe only nodded, Eve guided her out.

  “I’m okay. I have to be. My mom … she’s not weak, but she’s shattered. She’s just … lost right now. They really loved each other. Not everybody does who stays married. But they really loved each other. They liked each other. This is all going to come out now, isn’t it? The things my grandfather stole.”

  “Yes.”

  “I loved him. We always had so much fun when we visited here. My dad used to say how Granddad liked us better than he did his own kids, and Granddad would say, why wouldn’t he? He didn’t have to raise us, clothe us, educate us. He only had to enjoy us.”

  Pressing a hand over her mouth, she breathed through her fingers. “But he was a selfish man. Only a selfish man could have all that stolen and locked away. Now my dad’s gone, and he’ll be smeared with that. And he didn’t do anything wrong. He was working on the best way to give it all back.”

  “I know that. I believe that.”

  “It’s what everyone cares about. His blood’s all over the floor. My mom’s broken, our family’s broken, but all everyone cares about are those things. All these guards and weapons, for the things, and my father’s dead.”

  That keening sound. Eve didn’t have to hear it to know it lived inside a dead man’s daughter.

  “I have to care about the things. They were my responsibility, and now they’re not, or soon won’t be. I have to care about the things because they’re the reason your father’s dead. And he’s mine now. Not the same way he’s yours, but he’s mine now and deserves the best I’ve got.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “I know he fell for your mother in college and never quit. I know he maybe got a boost at Zip, but he worked to earn his place. I know his cook made him chicken soup and valerian tea not just because it’s her job but because she cared about him.

  “I know he ran track in high school—pretty good sprinter,” she added as Chloe stared at her.

  “I know he liked to read science fiction novels, played tennis. His best man at the wedding was a childhood friend, and a few years later, he was best man at that friend’s wedding.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “I know all that, and more, because he belongs to me now.”

  Chloe looked away. “The guy I’m seeing, he was really into the Furst books, the vid. And I thought, right. They cashed in because she’s married to a guy who’s got more money than ten gods, and she’s probably playing at the cop thing while thinking about her next trip to Paris. Then my aunt said when you came last night he was in a tux and you were wearing a designer gown.”

  “That part’s true. We were at this charity thing when I got the call.”

  “Why didn’t you pass it off? Why didn’t you just hand it off and go on dancing?”

  “Because I’m a cop, and someone was dead. I work Homicide because the dead can’t speak or stand for themselves, so I speak and stand for them. That’s it.”

  With a nod, Chloe wiped at her eyes. “I had to be pissed at someone. Had to blame someone or I’d just fall to pieces. But that’s a stupid way to get through this. I’m sorry I used you for it.”

  “No need to apologize.”

  “Please. There is, for me. I’m sorry.”

  “Accepted.”

  “He said—Roarke said you wouldn’t stop. He said this was your calling, and you wouldn’t stop until you found who killed my father. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Holding on to that’s a better way not to fall to pieces.”

  “Chloe, did you tell anyone about the vault?”

  Her tear-filled eyes widened in something like horror.

  “God no! It’s—it’s just shameful. Who wants to tell people your grandfather stole priceless art, historic jewelry, and worse, did it just to lock it away like—like some finger-tapping miser. Plus, we promised, all of us. We take promises seriously. You don’t make one unless you know absolutely you can keep it.

  “Not even some casual thing,” she added with a little smile. “Like, ‘Hey, Dad, will you bring home some ice cream?’ He’d always say he’d try, or he’d make a note of that. Because what if he fell and broke his ankle, or had to help deliver a baby?”

  At Eve’s expression, she laughed. “Honestly, that’s the sort of thing he’d point out. So when you promised, you had to mean it all the way. And we promised, no one said anything about it to anyone until we figured out how to make it all right again. And it hurt him, Lieutenant, because he knew we had to make it right again, and it would stain his father’s name. The father he’d just lost. It hurt, but he was going to do it.”

  She took a breath. “Before you ask, Anya wouldn’t, either. We barely talked about it when we were alone because it’s painful.” She looked back out to where security loaded packed items in the armored truck. “It’s going to hurt. I worried about that, about how I’d handle the talk around campus when it came out. Now? It’s nothing. The sooner it hits, the better.”

  “Can you think of anyone who your grandfather might have told?”

  “I don’t know. I know he didn’t tell my father or Aunt Joy.” She let out a sigh. “He liked women—you probably know that. Dad called it Henry Barrister’s ‘Asinine’ Heel. Kind of a joke, a play on Achilles’ heel.”

  “I get it.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s impossible he might’ve said something when he was, you know, caught up. But if he did, I don’t know who, I don’t know when.”

  “Did you ever meet any of his friends or his ‘Asinine’ Heels?”

  That got another little smile. “Now and then. Once he decided we were old enough to behave at a dinner party, we got to come sometimes. He liked entertaining, especially if he had a new beauty to show off. Always young. I think thirty-five to forty was the cutoff. It was the money. Not that he wasn’t charming, interesting, even dynamic nearly to the end. But no thirty-year-old’s going to get naked with a man seventy years older unless he’s rich.”

  She shrugged. “He knew it, Granddad wasn’t stupid. But it didn’t bother him. In fact, he got a charge out of it. He loved us, Anya and me especially. That was real. He was always so good to us. But he was a selfish, dishonest man. I know that now. We all have to live with that now.”

  She looked back toward the house. “I need to get back to my mother. If you come up with more questions, or if you get any answers, we’ll be here. I’m going to have what Anya and I need sent from college.”

  “You’re not going back?”

  “Not now. We’ll take a pass this semester. Mom will fight that, so we’ll compromise and take some classes remotely. But we’re moving back for now. She needs us. God, we need her. So we’ll be here.”

  “All right. I’ll be in shortly.”

  “Did I help at all?”

  Eve met her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Something else to hold on to.”

  When she went back in, Eve tracked down Lowenbaum.

  “It seems to be moving along faster than I figured once I saw the vault. There’s a frigging Cézanne in there.”

  She’d started to speak, but now just stared at him.

  “What? I know stuff. The jewelry? I can tell you it’s really shiny. The statues and that? Either hey, pretty, or wow, weird. But the paintings? I know stuff. He’s got a Cézanne in there, a Degas, a Renoir, a Corot, I think an early Picasso, and that was just at that initial scan.”

  “I sense unplumbed depths.”

  He grinned at her. “I got some that are plumbed, too. Anyway, Morbelli runs a tight, efficient ship.”

  “Good to know. I’m going to take another run at the household. If she’s not done when I am, I’m leaving it in your hands.”

  “We got it covered.”

  “I wouldn’t leave otherwise. You could tag me when everything’s moved and secured.”

  “Can do. What the hell was that guy thinking? Locking all that away?”

  “Mine,” Eve said. “All mine.”

  When she went back in, Roarke met her in the foyer.

  “The widow went up to lie down, her youngest with her. The older daughter just went up to check on them. The sister’s using the widow’s office to draft a statement.”

  “The staff?”

  “About their duties. I asked that they stay available to you.”

  “That works. I’ll take the sister now. Listen, you don’t have to hang around for the rest of this.”

  “It’s rather fascinating.” He glanced back toward the crime scene. “I’ll go when you go.” Despite the recorder, he touched her cheek. “Haven’t eaten since breakfast, have you then?”

  “I’ll get something when we’re done here. If you’re staying, maybe pick the best spot for me to talk to the staff, separately, housekeeper first.”

  She walked to the second office, where Joy Barrister sat at the desk, staring at the monitor. She’d done her makeup, Eve noted, and carefully, but the strain showed through.

  “I have to interrupt you.”

  “It’s fine. I can’t get my head around it. I can’t ask Aileen to help. She’s just not up to it. And I don’t want to call the PR team who’d usually … it’s too personal. But we have to have something. It’s going to hit the media soon. We have to be ready.”

  “I’m going to give you the name of our media liaison.”

  “Roarke’s?”

  “No, NYPSD’s media liaison. He’s very good, and it’s best if you coordinate with him anyway. On the statement, on the time and the place to give it.”

  “Oh yes. Of course.” She lifted her hands. “I need to do something, but I’m not doing very well at this. Do I need to go over everything about last night again?”

  “No, unless you remember something else.”

  “I wish I did.” On a sigh, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I wish I’d gotten up. If it had been Nate I heard walking down the hall, I wish I’d gotten up, gone down with him. Maybe … Well, maybe doesn’t count.”

  “Ms. Barrister, someone knew about the vault, at least some of the contents.”

  “Yes, that’s painfully obvious.”

  “Your brother told you.”

  “Yes. He asked me to come over, and said it was important. When I got here, he took me into the office, shut the door. When he locked it, I was not just surprised but a bit anxious. He looked upset. Then he opened the panel.”

  She pushed at her hair. “Honestly, I was delighted. A secret vault! What fun, I thought. He told me our father had done something criminal, something we had to deal with.”

  She rose, began to pace. “I said something about don’t tell me he has bodies of ex-wives we don’t know about, but he didn’t laugh. Nate loved a joke, but he didn’t laugh. He opened the vault.”

  Joy stopped, stared out of the window.

  “At first, I was just stunned. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand why our father had all those beautiful things locked away. Why weren’t they on display? And Nate told me they were stolen. That when he found them, he looked up every item, and every one had been stolen, and over the course of decades.”

  She shook her head, rubbed her arms, paced again. “I didn’t want to believe it. But he showed me the tablet. It was all there. Now, I was horrified, and I admit my first instinct was to lock it away again. Lock it all away and forget it was there. I thought of our name, our reputation, the business. I thought of all that first. Nate didn’t, and of course, he was right.”

  She stared down at her hands, then pressed her fingers to her eyes again. “I did ask—begged—for time. We needed to find a way to return everything discreetly. Even, if possible, anonymously. We needed to research how it could be done. Find the best way, then work through the lawyer. If I hadn’t pushed for that time, that discretion, it might have been done quickly. This would never have happened.”

  “You were shocked, upset.”

  “I was. God, I was.”

  “Did you tell anyone? A trusted friend, a confidant?”

  On a half laugh, Joy shook her head. “I don’t trust anyone that much. What my father did was shameful, and that shame could fall on us if we didn’t handle it all perfectly. No, I told no one.”

  “Did your brother? Is there anyone he’d have trusted enough?”

  “Not for this. We swore, as a family—the girls, too—that we wouldn’t speak of it to anyone until it was time to contact the lawyer, or whatever intermediary we’d chosen.”

  “It had to be hard to live with.”

  “When something’s that hard, you find ways to put it away, to compartmentalize. Otherwise, you’d go crazy. Nate and Aileen did talk about it, in private.”

  “Here, with three live-in staff?”

  “In the office, or in here, with the door closed. Or at my condo, just the three of us. Aileen started to research the laws in every country where something was taken. I don’t think it was overreacting to want to be sure we wouldn’t be charged, to want to protect ourselves. We all agreed it was worth the time, that these pieces had been in there, some for decades. What would a few weeks matter?”

  She closed her eyes. “In the end, it mattered far too much.”

  When Eve stepped out again, Roarke waited.

  “Uma’s ready whenever you are. The small sitting room off the entrance would do. There are pocket doors you could close if you needed to.”

  “Okay. Would you mind sending her in?”

  “Why don’t I send her in with coffee?”

  “Even better.”

  As she walked down to the sitting room, her ’link signaled. One glance at the readout had the slow beat of a headache pulsing in her temples.

  “Nadine, I’m busy.”

  “Investigating Nathan Barrister’s murder. I’m aware. I’m at the gates. SWAT and armored vehicles aren’t usually deployed post-homicide. What’s the story?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars of the investigation at this stage.”

  “So you want me to go on air with the report of SWAT and security swarming the Barrister estate, the armored vehicle?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I have to do my job, Dallas.”

  Eve turned, started back toward the office. “Why are you at the gates?”