The Spy (King’s Security #3)

Chapter 4

4

FIONA

After Zeke finished pulling together a basic information bundle about Bergen, he shifted to looking for details about the crime itself.

“Which Monet was stolen?” I asked as he jotted notes on a tablet.

“ Daisies ,” he replied.

I closed my eyes and summoned an image of the painting to mind. I’d familiarized myself with most of Monet’s works during my studies. Daisies was a painting of a grassy hill speckled with tiny white and yellow flowers beneath a cloudy sky. Monet’s works were famously grand in scale, but Daisies was on the smaller side, measuring approximately three feet in length and two feet in height. He’d painted it not long after completing his iconic Water Lilies collection. It wasn’t as well-known as his most famous works, but it would still be worth upward of five million dollars, assuming the person who’d stolen it knew a decent fence. Without someone to connect them with a buyer, it was essentially worthless.

“We have to assume Bergen already has a fence lined up,” I said. “He never got caught with the paintings four years ago, and he was very money-focused so I doubt he’d have stolen them purely for the joy of having them, as other people might. He probably had a fence then, and if so, he’ll be able to use them again now.”

“Hmm.” Zeke cocked his head. “I follow your logic but there’s a difference between fencing a couple of lower valued paintings by a moderately well-known modern artist versus an original Monet. The fence he used back then might not have the right connections to get rid of a Monet.”

“Maybe. But Bergen isn’t reckless,” I said. “He’s manipulative and calculating. I didn’t see it when we were dating, but I do in hindsight. I don’t think he’d have stolen such a famous piece of art unless he had a plan.”

“Assuming he did take it.”

I flashed Zeke a look. “Assuming the crime was similar enough to the previous one for the police to come looking for me, then it must have been him or someone he shared his methods with.”

“I’ll grant you that.”

I tapped my finger against my chin. “The painting was taken from the Windy City Gallery, right?”

He nodded.

“The woman who manages the gallery is an old friend of mine.” Calling her a “friend” might be stretching the truth considering we hadn’t been in touch since I was fired from my last job, but Patience was clever, and I didn’t think she’d have believed I was guilty. “We should go and talk to her.”

“I don’t know if that’s a great idea,” Zeke warned. “Going to the gallery you’re suspected of stealing from to speak with the manager might not be a good look if the police find out about it.”

“Why not?” They already thought I’d done it anyway. Surely I couldn’t make the situation worse.

“They might think you’re revisiting the scene of the crime or trying to sway the manager into believing your side of the story.”

I pulled a face. He could be right about that, although I wouldn’t admit it. Still, when the options were to either be a sitting duck or try to figure out what was going on, the latter would win every time. I couldn’t just wait for the police to decide they had enough to make the charges stick.

“Let’s do it.” I stood up. “If she vouches for me, it could help.”

Zeke muttered something under his breath but I couldn’t make out the words. I got the gist of it though. He thought I was making the wrong decision.

“If we go and it doesn’t work out, then at least we know we tried.” I crinkled my nose. I wasn’t used to trying to persuade Zeke of anything. Usually it was the other way around, and I didn’t know what to make of the change. “Your staff can look into Bergen more while we’re gone.”

“Fine.” He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “But just so you know, I think this will backfire.”

“I hear you.” I raised my chin. “I choose to take the risk.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “That’s on you then.”

I waited while he gave his team instructions, then we took one of the company’s black SUVs to the Windy City Gallery. It was a large building, designed in the mid-2000s by a world-renowned architect, with a reflective dome-shaped roof and steel beams forming veins across the surface. A lot of people thought the gallery was beautiful. Personally, I found its exterior cold and soulless, but the interior was divine. High ceilings rose overhead as we entered. The floors were pale wood and the walls were stark white, the better to direct viewers’ attention to the artwork.

I headed for the small booth near the entrance. In the morning, there would have been a line of customers, but now, it was much quieter.

“Hi.” I smiled at the woman behind the glass. “I’m looking for Patience Heath.”

The woman smiled back. “Is she expecting you?”

“No,” I admitted. “But we won’t take up much of her time.”

The woman hesitated. “I can call and see if she’s willing to meet with you. Who may I say is looking for her?”

“Fiona Ryan.” I searched her eyes for a hint of recognition but thankfully there was nothing. Perhaps the police hadn’t shared their suspicions with the gallery yet, or perhaps Patience hadn’t shared with the staff.

“One minute, Miss Ryan.” She withdrew her cell phone and made a call. I turned away and tried not to eavesdrop as she spoke to Patience. After a few moments, she lowered the phone. “Patience will be here in a minute.”

“Thank you very much.”

I backed away from the booth, stopping when I sensed a presence behind me.

“Are you sure about this?” Zeke asked, his lips so close to my ear that I shivered.

“Yes.” As sure as I could be of anything in my current state.

We waited together in silence until the tapping of heels on the hardwood floor told me somebody was coming. Patience entered the foyer. Her eyebrows knitted together as her gaze fell on me.

“Fiona,” she said as she came nearer. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“I heard you’ve had some problems,” I said .

“Erm, yes.” She pursed her lips. “That’s one way to put it.”

I reached for her hand, but she stepped back, her eyes widening as if the move shocked her as much as it had me. “I hope you know I didn’t do it.”

Patience looked uncomfortable. “If anyone has suggested that, it wasn’t me.”

I rubbed my jaw, frustrated. I wasn’t trying to say she had. I just wanted her to see the truth, and I’d been sure she would, but now I felt a hint of doubt. The way she side-eyed Zeke made me wonder if she thought I’d come here to intimidate her, and that he was my muscle.

“I didn’t steal those paintings four years ago, and I haven’t stolen anything now,” I said firmly. “That said, it probably was my fault the theft at the Black Swan Gallery happened. I believe my boyfriend, Bergen, was behind it and used my key card to get access to the gallery.”

She frowned. “Did the police look into that?”

“Yes.” I sighed. “They didn’t agree with me.”

“Oh.” She glanced at the door she’d come through, as though wondering whether she could make a swift retreat.

“I swear, Patience, I didn’t take the Monet. Even if I was a thief, I’d never do that to you. I’m sure it’s put your job in jeopardy to have lost such an important piece.”

Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t lose it. It was stolen.”

“But not by me. Don’t worry; I’ll find out who’s behind it.” I gestured to Zeke. “This is Zeke Watts, one of the directors of King’s Security, which is where I work now. He’s going to help me get to the bottom of this.”

Patience backed up a step. “I think you should leave that to the police.”

“We—” I cut off when Zeke laid a hand on my shoulder. I jerked in surprise. I hadn’t expected him to touch me.

“We’re just assisting the police as much as we can,” Zeke said with the kind of easy smile he turned on every unsuspecting woman. “The more we can do to help them, the better, right?”

Patience melted in the face of his charm, the stiffness fading from her posture. “I suppose so.”

“You’re the manager of this gallery?” he asked. I wanted to demand to know where he was going with this line of questioning. I’d already told him she was. But I kept my mouth shut because my approach wasn’t getting anywhere and much as I disliked the way he charmed everyone around him, it might be what we needed.

ZEKE

I ignored the indignant redhead at my side and focused on the pretty brunette we’d come here to talk to.

“Yes, I am,” Patience said. “For five years now.”

“That’s a challenging role. You must have started young.” I’d guess she was around the same age as me, so she’d have been in her early thirties when she became manager.

She smiled slightly. “I’ve worked at art galleries my whole life. My mother was an artist and I inherited her love of art but unfortunately not her aptitude for it.”

“I’m sure you’re better than you think.” Women like her often were. They were simply too critical of themselves to believe it. Fiona was the same way.

She laughed. “I’m really not, but thank you.” Her smile warmed a few degrees. “Are you interested in art yourself?”

“I appreciate it, but I can’t say I always understand it. I’m definitely not an artist personally. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. ”

Beside me, Fiona made a sound of disagreement. I nudged her with my elbow, indicating for her to be quiet. I was trying to build a rapport, and I hadn’t lied. I wasn’t artistic. I just had plenty of creativity in other ways.

“We don’t want to put you in a bad position,” I said, lowering my voice. “But is there anything you can tell us about the theft that might help us figure out who’s behind it?”

She shrugged. “You probably already know the basics. We were supposed to have an exhibition opening last night. My assistant, Glen, was checking the layout a couple of hours before opening when he noticed that something was wrong with the Monet. He called me, and I called the police. They sent a team down and took the forgery away for examination.”

Fiona’s quiet intake of breath made me think she’d picked up on the same thing I had. Patience’s assistant had noticed something wrong with the Monet, not that the Monet was missing. Combined with what I knew of the Black Swan Gallery theft, it sounded as though the Monet had been swapped for a forgery. That meant there was no way to know for sure exactly when it had happened.

“Had the Monet been at the gallery for long?” I asked, hoping to get a time frame for the crime without letting on what I was doing.

“It arrived on Tuesday.” Patience rubbed her temples. “It was the real deal. I’d know a legitimate Monet anywhere.”

So, someone must have made the exchange sometime between the delivery on Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. I wondered if the delivery company would have a record of what time they’d dropped it off.

“Where was it displayed?” I asked, glad Fiona had remained silent .

“In the special exhibit gallery.” She glanced around the mostly empty foyer. “Would you like to see?”

“That would be incredible.”

Patience’s eyes flicked to Fiona. “You’ll have to stay here. Sorry, Fi. You understand.”

“I do.” Fiona’s tone was light, but I could sense her growing frustration. She’d thought Patience would be on her side and, instead, she was being treated like a suspect. I could see where Patience was coming from though. It wouldn’t be good optics to allow an alleged thief into the gallery so soon after a theft had occurred—especially when that person was the police’s main suspect.

Patience gestured for me to follow her. She led me up a flight of wide marble stairs and turned left. The special exhibition gallery was the second room on the right side of the corridor. She glided in, her heels clacking on the wooden floor, and gestured to the empty wall at the end of the room. A plaque affixed to the wall presumably contained information about Daisies , but there was no other sign the painting had ever been there. I scanned the other walls. A series of paintings lined them, most of them flowers or floral arrangements, done in the impressionist style.

A hand curled around my arm and I looked over to find Patience looking up at me.

“It’s not a tiny painting,” I said. “It’s amazing anyone could get it out past security.”

Her fingers curled tighter. I hid a grimace. I wanted to dislodge her, but if I did, she might stop cooperating.

“We don’t have actual security guards.” She sounded embarrassed. “With the security system we have in place, we didn’t think we’d need them.”

“Even for a painting by an artist as famous as Monet?”

She winced. “It’s an oversight that won’t happen again.”

I felt a pang of sympathy. As Fiona had said, if the gallery owner decided Patience hadn’t done enough to protect the painting, she could lose her job. Hopefully we could resolve matters quickly and it would work out for everyone.

“Who designed your security system?” I asked.

Her lips curled in a wry smile. “King’s Security.”

“Ah.” The back of my neck prickled. I had no doubt she was telling the truth, and it would be easy to verify. The problem was, one of our systems should absolutely have sounded an alarm if someone had walked in here and tried to abscond with a painting that was too big to fit within a backpack or under someone’s shirt. I’d designed the tech for our electronic systems myself, and they were virtually unhackable, which meant that either the system had been turned off at the time of the theft or someone had tampered with it. Perhaps an inside person had been involved.

“How many are on the staff here?”

She tilted her head in thought, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. “Five full-time staff at the gallery itself. There are a few part-timers too. Then there are another handful who work at the café on the ground floor.”

That wasn’t too many. If we’d installed their system, we probably kept a list of their staff too, so we could cross-check anyone behaving suspiciously on the video feeds against their employee register. I could easily dig through a dozen or so backgrounds to see if any of them looked shady.

I paced the perimeter of the room, taking in every detail. Patience walked at my side, although she’d fortunately had to let go of my arm to avoid making things awkward.

“Thank you for showing me around,” I said as we completed the circuit. “I appreciate you being so willing to help.”

She gave me a little smile and withdrew a business card from her pocket. She tucked it into my jacket. “Take this in case you have any questions.”

“I’ll be in touch.” I moved toward the exit and she kept pace with me.

“I hope you will,” she said as we reached the top of the stairs.

I flashed a parting smile and hurried down. When I reached the bottom, Fiona glanced at the corner of the card protruding from my pocket.

“Super professional,” she snarked.

I placed my hand on the small of her back and guided her out. She could sass me all she liked. I’d gotten more useful information from her so-called old friend than she had.