“Nick, I promise we’ll keep considering anything that even sounds plausible. Look, I haven’t known Elaine all that long, but I can’t imagine her stealing the diamond any more than you can. Unfortunately, she’s the only one who can’t speak for herself. The insurance people are going to dive that way, and I can’t stop it. And you know as well as I do that you never really know another person.”

Nicholas nodded, feeling a bit defeated himself. “Is the New York FBI investigating both Elaine’s murder and the missing diamond?”

Bo smiled, a smile Nicholas recognized from his childhood. Naughty, that smile, and sly.

“What are you planning, Uncle Bo?”

“Well, you see, Nick, here’s the thing. We haven’t officially told anyone the jewel is missing yet.”

9

Nicholas stared at the three grinning faces on his laptop screen. “What? No one’s been informed of the theft? Uncle Bo, are you mad?”

“Maybe. Here’s the thing: the moment I tell the director of the Met the Koh-i-Noor is gone, he’ll order an immediate lockdown—that means no exhibit and no gala, the media will be loosed, and they’ll swarm all over us. The whole thing will go viral in thirty minutes.”

Sherlock said, “The moment word gets out, we lose our advantage and have much less chance of identifying our thief.”

Bo continued. “I want time, Nick, without having to worry that paparazzi will show up in the men’s room with cameras and recorders, time without the overwhelming media distractions. I want time so we can catch whoever did this and get the Koh-i-Noor back. I don’t want to tell the director anything, not until—well, until I’ve had my shot at resolving this.”

It was a disaster waiting to happen. No, the disaster had already happened.

Savich said, “We’ve come up with a plan, and we want you on board, Nick. I’ve seen the real Koh-i-Noor. It’s a massive diamond, over one hundred carats. It’s so big it looks fake anyway.”

Nicholas said, “I’ve seen it as well. Many times.”

Bo said, “This replacement diamond? It’s an exact replica. Honestly, I couldn’t tell the difference. The size of it makes it look surreal.”

Sherlock continued. “Here’s the plan, Nicholas: we carry on with the big gala as planned. All the guests can ooh and aah over the fake Koh-i-Noor and not know the difference, and all will be well in the kingdom, at least for tonight.”

Bo said, “We believe it’s audacious, but doable. What do you think, Nick?”

Audacious was an understatement. Nicholas said, “I like it, but there’s one thing. Uncle Bo. You’ve got to tell the director, and you’ve got to sell him on what we’re doing, tell him we’re the ones who need to control the situation, not let the media grab it and run with it to the good Lord knows where. Your biggest selling point? His bloody job.”

Savich said, “He’ll go along when you remind him the Met will have to pony up the indemnity the museum paid for.”

Bo said, “I may be able to sell it to the director, but I’ll have to swear on the head of my sainted mother that I’ll get the Koh-i-Noor back. He’ll buy keeping it quiet for the time being; he’ll realize it would ruin him as well as the rest of us. And if Elaine wasn’t involved, the thief could possibly show up tonight. If we manage to keep it quiet. He won’t know we’re aware the diamond’s missing.”

Sherlock said, “The thief has to be someone intimate with all the security systems you have in place, Bo, who knows any inherent weaknesses, the triggers, everything. Someone close to the exhibit, and close to you. Someone you trust. Will he show up tonight? Very possibly. To deflect any suspicion, to give him more time to do whatever it is he plans to do with the Koh-i-Noor. Or he’s long gone as we speak.”

Savich said, “And if Elaine York was murdered for her involvement, then there is indeed someone else involved, someone dangerous, someone who’s already committed murder.”

They all took that in, then Bo said, “We don’t want to tip our hand too early. I’ll need something to explain why all three of you are here.”

“Uncle Bo, you can tell the Met staff and your people that you’ve been surprised with a new foreign dignitary coming to the gala tonight. That will explain the FBI’s presence. You can explain my presence with the truth: I’m here to find out who murdered my inspector.”

Bo rubbed his square jaw for a moment. “That will work. The key to this is to watch everyone close to the exhibit who shows tonight at the gala. If anyone doesn’t show, then we’ll know they’re involved, and can take immediate action. I’ll tell you, I’m ready to track the guy to the ends of the earth.”

Sherlock said, “Either our thief is also a murderer or he isn’t. Either he’s long gone and doesn’t show for work or he thinks we’re idiots and wants to come see the show.”

Bo no longer looked like he wanted to shoot himself. He was rubbing his hands together. “We can do this. Nick, I’ll have someone at the airport to meet you and bring you directly to the Met.”

Nicholas closed down the call and shut his eyes. How much time could they buy? Things like this got out even when you’d swear they wouldn’t.

One of his uncle’s phrases stuck in his mind, replaying itself on a loop. It was a master thief.

A master thief who’d managed to get through Uncle Bo’s security checks. Elaine as a suspect was ridiculous. He’d never believe it, never, but a master thief, someone either hired to pull off a theft of this magnitude or acting of their own accord to try and sell the diamond on the black market, yes, that made more sense. No run-of-the-mill sort of thief, either. This was the work of a pro. A legend.

He had a place to start. Find the thief, clear Elaine. It became his mantra.

He was due to land at JFK at 11:10 a.m. He reset his vintage Breitling to eastern time, calculated that the flight had a bit more than two hours left. Plenty of time to develop a list of the top thieves in the world.

10

New York, New York

201 East 36th Street

Inspector Elaine York’s apartment

Thursday, 2:00 a.m.

Mike pulled her Glock from its holster and flipped on the light switch beside the door. She cleared the corners, Glock swinging in a careful arc, as she made her way through the entry hall and right into the living room.

Paulie said from behind her, “Oh, not good.”

Mike edged farther into the room, gun still at the ready, saw a dead man, face congested with blood, his body half on, half off the couch. She didn’t see any blood, or wounds. What happened, Elaine? Did you and this guy fight and you both lost? But how did you get in the East River?

“Dude is seriously dead,” Paulie said, coming forward to look at the body with the detached curiosity Mike had become accustomed to from crime scene techs. “Check it out. There’s a syringe in his thigh.”

“Stay with the dead guy. I need to make sure there’s no one here.” She cleared the small dining room, the modern efficiency kitchen, down the hall into the one bedroom, her breathing steady, her Glock at the ready. She took only a quick look. The bedroom seemed undisturbed, nothing messy lying around. Nothing obvious had happened in here. She walked into the decent-size single bathroom—it was wrecked.

A lacquer painting of brilliant red poppies hung drunkenly on the wall, and the contents of York’s makeup bag were spilled on the countertop. Bottles were tipped over on the vanity. The blue bathroom rug was shoved into a corner, and a bottle of room spray was on the floor. The shower curtain was open wide. This was clearly where the struggle with her murderer began.