“Maybe not.” McAdams took off his jacket. It was warm in the car. “So what do you think about Goddard?”

“Instinctively, I don’t like the man, but that doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”

“I saw some Tiffany pieces from the grapevine collection, but those aren’t major Tiffany. So are we back to thinking that Maxwell Stewart is the bad guy?”

“I don’t see that, either.” A pause. “I keep coming back to the Petroshkovich icons.”

“Why? That happened ages ago.”

“Because Latham was butchered and his field was Soviet art. Plus, he had this weird codebook in educated languages, which sounds international—and I like Russian mobsters as bad guys.”

“Russian mobsters?” McAdams made a face. “How’d you get from stolen Tiffany to Russian mobsters?”

“Well . . .” Decker bit his lip. “With the codebook, I think Latham had been doing something illegal for a while. I think he was the intended target.”

“Agreed.”

“I think Latham had underground illegal contacts for stolen art mostly in his field of expertise, which was Soviet art. And since he did have dirty contacts, maybe he fenced lesser stuff on his own to make a quick buck. Things like stolen books and antique prints. Things like Tiffany panels that he found out about from Angeline Moreau.”

“Okay. So why was she murdered? And so brutally!”

“She put up a struggle, she was hit, but she was probably strangled and maybe stabbed. But wasn’t dissected. Latham was. He was the main target. He bore the brunt of someone’s uncontrolled anger. I think she was killed because of her association with Latham. Someone was nervous that she knew too much, that Latham had told her too much.”

“She was murdered first, Decker.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You’d think Latham would be first on the list.” He thought a moment. “Angeline was murdered Sunday night . . . right after we met with Sobel and Steward at the crypt, right?”

“Well, not right after . . . but soon after, yes.”

“Suppose the killer saw us investigating the break-in . . . or at least got word that we were investigating the break-in. He comes up to Greenbury, murders Angeline, then works his way up the coast.”

“If you’re saying his working his way up the coast, are you assuming he’s from somewhere south of here?”

“Good point. Maybe we should go back to New York.”

“Sure. Whatever you think, boss.”

Decker was quiet. “We do know that both of their places were ransacked. The killer was looking for something.”

McAdams held up the codebook.

“Exactly,” Decker said. “We need to get it translated. If Gold doesn’t call back soon, we’ll try someone else.”

McAdams nodded. “This is the thing I’m confused about. The Petroshkovich icons happened decades ago. Why would that theft suddenly result in murder?”

“Okay. Let me throw this out. Suppose through his studies in Soviet art, Latham found out who is in possession of the Petroshkovich icons. Suppose it was someone in Russia who was very rich—like an oligarch.”

“Okay.”

“Suppose Latham made contact with the guy who has the Petroshkovich icons and presented him with another opportunity to buy something of value that might not have been obtained through regular channels. Suppose an agreement was reached. But then suppose his ‘client’ found out that Latham had hired someone else to do his illegal work. Plus, the client found out that Latham was involved romantically with his hired help. You know . . . pillow talk. Maybe the client got nervous that too many people were involved on this buying opportunity.”

“So why didn’t the ‘client’ just back out?”

“Because Latham knew the client had the stolen Petroshkovich icons in his possession. So he had both of them killed.”

McAdams shrugged. “Over some thirty-year-old stolen icons?”

“Okay.” Decker nodded. “Maybe you have a point. So let’s go back to motive, Tyler. What’s worth killing over? And think Russian.”

“The twenty-seven cartons that supposedly contain the original Amber Room.”

“Could be.”

“Uh, I wasn’t serious.” When Decker didn’t answer, Tyler made a face. “I think the Amber Room might be a little bit hard to fence.”

“Maybe not for Jason Merritt with his extensive client list who, by the way, mentioned that the Amber Room was worth killing over.”

“After we pushed him to say something. It didn’t flow trippingly off his tongue.”

After a pause, Decker said, “No, I don’t think it’s the Amber Room, maybe not the entire Amber Room. Maybe it’s a couple of cartons that suddenly showed up. I was looking it up last night. Every so often some German claims to have original pieces.”

“How would they know if the pieces were original or not? Amber is a fossil. It’s impossible to date.”

“I did not know that,” Decker said. “Yeah, it does sound a little cloak and dagger. But we do know that Merritt has contacts in that region. He and his family have been involved there for decades. I keep thinking that we’re looking for something priceless and unique to Russia that was looted by Merritt’s grandfather.”

“So you like Jason Merritt as a bad guy?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t like him as the bad guy. He was too transparent with his family history.”

“Maybe he wanted us to hear the rumors from him rather than someone else like Chase Goddard, who wasn’t as gossipy about Jason Merritt as I would have expected.”

“And Jason Merritt didn’t tell us much about Chase Goddard, either.”

Decker said, “But both implied that the other was crooked.”

“Maybe they’re in it together.”

“I am completely open-minded at this point.”

“We should probably just wait for the codebook before we draw any conclusions.”

“I’m not one to wait around. If we assume that Latham was an opportunist and was peddling stuff on the side, he needed a quick source of valuable things. Tomorrow I want you back at the libraries in the colleges and continue looking through antiquarian atlases, print books, and missing rare books.”

“And while I’m sitting at a carrel ruining my eyes, what will you be doing?”

“Rereading the files on the Petroshkovich thefts from Allan Sugar and going down the list of art galleries,” Decker said. “I know I’m missing something.” He thought a moment. “We should drop the codebook off at the station. But the security there isn’t very good. I have a gun safe at home.”

“I have a safe also. It’s a combination lock. My father’s birthday.”

“Probably be better if you kept it,” Decker said. “If anyone comes poking around, he’ll come to me before you.”

HIS EYES SHOT open and his heart started thumping in his chest.

The one thing that Decker appreciated about Greenbury was the quiet at night. It was possible to hear anything out of the ordinary. Next to him, Rina was sleeping soundly. Gently, he shook her shoulder and when she aroused, he put his finger to her lips. Her eyes widened and she brought her hand to her mouth.

Decker whispered, “Get under the bed.”

Rina knew better than to question. Silently, she slipped out of bed and slid under the bed frame. Once she was taken care of, Decker crept to the walk-in closet and the gun safe. Within moments, he had his loaded Beretta ready for action. He dropped down and showed Rina the gun. She nodded.

Then the two of them waited. By now, they could both hear the rustling sounds of someone going through their stuff in the living room.

Decker had a decision to make. Should he confront the burglar or should he wait until it was over. With Rina in the house, the decision was made for him. If there was more than one bad guy, he’d be putting her at risk by leaving her alone. No sense doing that unless it was absolutely necessary.

If it were punks, they probably wouldn’t come into the bedroom. They’d swipe the electronics and Rina’s purse and call it a day.

Decker’s mind kept racing, tumbling thoughts and scenarios.