The Collector (18 page)

“You take care, Mr. V.” She hugged him, one good, strong squeeze. “You take care.”

“I will. I'll see you Tuesday morning.”

Jai moved toward them as she tucked her phone back in her bag. “Excuse me. My husband is happy to come, but he is not close. It will take perhaps twenty minutes? But you are to close?”

“Our regular hours, but I'll stay and work with your husband.”

“A private negotiation? But this for you is much trouble.”

“A pleasure, I promise you. Why don't I make us some tea while we wait? Or pour us a glass of wine.”

“A glass of wine?” She sent him a sparkling smile. “A small celebration?”

“I'll just be a moment.”

“Your employer,” Jai said to Janis, taking care to note where Vinnie went, how he got there. “He is so knowledgeable, and so patient.”

“He's the best there is.”

“It must be happy for you, to work every day with such beauty and strong art.”

“I love my job, and my boss.”

“If it is not too ahead. No, not ahead . . . forward, may I ask? Up the stairs I found a bonbonniere for my mother—a gift. This is Fabergé?”

“The jade, yes. It's wonderful.”

“I think it is wonderful, and my mother will enjoy it. But I asked about this Fabergé, and if Mr. Tartelli had any of the famous eggs. He seemed sad when I asked this. Do you know if I said something to upset him?”

“I'm sure you didn't. He might have been sad to disappoint you as we don't have any of the important Fabergé eggs.”

“Ah.” Jai nodded. She knows nothing of it, Jai concluded, this hovering clerk. So she smiled. “If that is all, that is no thing. I am not disappointed.”

Vinnie came out with a tray holding wine, cheese and little crackers. “Here we are. A little celebration.”

“Thank you. How very kind. I feel friends here.”

“We think of our clients as our friends. Please, sit and enjoy. Janis, you go home now. You and Lou.”

“On our way. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Castle. I hope you come see us again.”

“You must have a good weekend.” Jai sat in a pretty little chair, lifted a glass of ruby red wine. “I am glad to be in New York. I enjoy New York very much. I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tartelli.”

“And I yours, Mrs. Castle.” He tapped his glass to hers. “How long have you been in New York?”

“Oh, only days, but not the first time. My husband has much business here now, so we will come and live here, and we will travel back to London, where he also has much business. And to Hong Kong. There is my family so it is good to go back, but it is good to be here.”

“What business is your husband's?”

“He does many things with finance and with property. It is more than I understand. When we have guests we must have the unique as you have here. Unique is important. And he must have what makes him happy so he is happy in his home and his work.”

“I think he's a very fortunate man.”

“I hope he feels the same. He is here!”

She jumped up, hurried over as Ivan came in. Her hand slipped into her bag in case Ivan didn't pull off the initial meeting. “My husband, this is the very kind Mr. Tartelli.”

“Mr. Castle.” Vinnie extended a hand. “It's a pleasure. I've enjoyed assisting your wife with her selections for your New York home. Mrs. Castle has an exceptional eye.”

“You could say that.”

“We are to have a private meeting,” Jai told him. “Mr. Tartelli is so kind to stay after his closing to work with us.”

“I'll just lock up so we're not disturbed.”

“There is wine.” When Vinnie's back was turned Jai motioned toward the back.

She moved with him, out of sight of the windows, while Vinnie locked them in.

“We have several pieces for your approval,” Vinnie began as he walked to them.

Jai sidestepped, pressed her gun to Vinnie's back. “We're going to take this into that back room.” Gone was the light accent and all the charm. “For our private negotiation.”

“There's no need for this.” Cold sweat slicked over him, a second skin. “You can take what you want.”

“We intend to.” Jai gave him a hard shove. “Into the back. Cooperate, this will be fast, smooth and easy on all of us. Otherwise, my associate will hurt you. He enjoys it.”

She forced Vinnie back, through the door. She'd only caught glimpses, but saw it was as she'd assumed. A storeroom that doubled as an office.

Quickly, efficiently, she used one of the ties in her bag to restrain his arms behind his back, then pushed him into a chair.

“One question, one answer, and we walk away. No harm. Where is the egg?”

He stared at her. “Egg? I don't know what you mean.”

She sighed. “One question. Wrong answer.”

She gestured to Ivan.

The first blow had blood exploding from Vinnie's nose and sent the chair flying back. Jai held up a finger before Ivan could strike again. “Same question. Where is the egg?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

Jai sat on the edge of the desk, crossed her legs. “Stop when I tell you to stop,” she told Ivan.

Ivan rolled his shoulders once, hauled up the chair and began the work he most enjoyed.

A
s she watched Ivan do his work, Jai felt a rise of admiration and respect. Not for Ivan—the man was nothing more than an ugly pair of fists with a shaved head. But the uncle, she thought, he was a gentleman and a gentleman with
ethics
. She admired ethics in the same way she might admire a clever juggling act. As an interesting skill she had no particular need for.

Because she felt this admiration, she would kill him quickly, and as painlessly as possible, once he gave them the information she wanted.

Every few blows, she stepped forward to stop Ivan, and to speak to Vinnie in a calm, quiet voice.

“The egg, Mr. Tartelli. It's a thing of beauty and great value, of course. But it isn't worth your pain, your life, your future. Only tell us where it is, and all this will stop.”

He rolled his right eye toward her voice. The left was purpled, swollen closed, leaking both blood and tears. But the bloodied right could still open a slit.

“Did you kill Oliver?”

She leaned down so he could see her more clearly. “Oliver was a fool. You know this because you're not. He was greedy, and now he's
dead. I don't think you're a greedy man, Mr. Tartelli. I think you want to live. Where is the egg?”

“Fabergé? Did Oliver have a Fabergé?”

“You know that he did. Don't try my patience.” She leaned closer. “There are worse things even than death. We can give them to you.”

“I don't have what you want.” He choked, coughed out blood, which Jai nimbly evaded. “You can look. You can look, take whatever you want. I can't give what I don't have.”

“What did the brother take from the bank if not the egg?”

“I don't have a brother.”

She nodded to Ivan, stepped aside to avoid more sprays of blood.

“Oliver's brother. Ashton Archer. You went to see him.”

“Ash.”

Vinnie's head lolled. Ivan backhanded him to bring him around.

“Give him a moment,” she snapped at Ivan. “Ashton Archer.” She spoke gently, encouragingly. “The brother of Oliver. Why did you go to see him Thursday?”

“Ash. Funeral. Oliver. Help Ash.”

“Yes, help Ash. You saw the egg? All the glittering gold. Where is it now? Tell me this one thing, Mr. Tartelli, and all the pain stops.”

He looked at her again through the puffy slit of his right eye, spoke slowly through broken teeth. “I didn't have any eggs.”

Ivan switched up, plowed a brutal fist into Vinnie's solar plexus. While Vinnie retched, Jai considered.

She'd seen something in that single bloodied eye. Fear, yes, but a steely determination with it. Not for himself, she realized.

For this brother? This part brother of a nephew? How odd, how interesting to find such loyalty. This was more than ethics, and perhaps it could be useful.

“I need to make a call. Give him a break,” she ordered Ivan. “Do you understand me? I'll get him some water. Let him recover a bit.”

She'd call her employer, she decided as she stepped out into the
shop. While he gave her autonomy, she wouldn't risk his wrath by implementing a shift in strategy without his approval.

And this uncle, this ethical, loyal, determined uncle, might be of more use as a bargaining chip. Would the brother trade the egg for the uncle's life?

Perhaps.

Yes, the brother might also have ethics, and loyalty.

T
hey would kill him. Even through his agony Vinnie understood that one unassailable fact. Whatever the woman said, they would never leave him alive.

He grieved for his wife, for his children, for the grandchildren he would never see grow. He would gladly trade the egg for his life, for more time with his family. But they would kill him either way. And if he told them Ash had the egg, they would kill Ash as well.

As they'd killed Oliver and the woman who might have loved him.

He had to be strong. Whatever they did to him, he had to be strong. He prayed for that strength, for acceptance, for the safety of his family.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Vinnie kept his head down, continued to pray in garbled mutters.

“I said shut the fuck up.” Ivan clamped a hand around Vinnie's throat, squeezed as he jerked Vinnie's head up. “You think this is bad? You think you're hurting now? Wait until I let loose on you. First I'll break all your fingers.”

Ivan released Vinnie's throat, grabbing the left pinky finger while Vinnie choked and gasped for air. He yanked it back, snapping the bone, then clamped Vinnie's throat again to block the shocked, high-pitched scream.

Chink bitch would hear and come in, stop him. Chink bitch thought
she
was better than he was. He imagined ramming his fist into her face, raping her, killing her by inches.

And broke another of Vinnie's fingers because he could.

“Then I'll cut them off, one at a time.”

The single eye bulged; Vinnie's body shook, convulsed.

“Tell us where the fucking egg is.”

Infuriated, thrilled, Ivan closed his other hand around Vinnie's throat. Squeezed. Imagined Jai's face. “I'm not fucking around. Tell me or I'll cut you to pieces. Then I'll kill your wife, your kids. I'll kill your fucking dog.”

But as Ivan raged, as he squeezed, as his breath came faster and faster with the thrill and the fury, the single eye only stared.

“Asshole.” Ivan released Vinnie, stepped back. He smelled his own sweat, the asshole's urine. Pissed himself, Vinnie thought. Asshole pussy pissed himself.

He'd talk. The bitch gave him a little more leeway, he'd make the asshole talk.

Jai stepped back in with a small bottle of water she'd found behind the counter. And she, too, smelled the sweat, the urine.

She smelled death, a particular scent she knew well. Saying nothing, she walked over to Vinnie, lifted his head.

“He's dead.”

“Bullshit. Just passed out.”

“He's dead,” she repeated in that same flat tone. “I told you to give him a break.” Not, she thought, break his fingers.

“I gave him a fucking break. He must've had a heart attack or something.”

“A heart attack.” She breathed in and out once. “This is unfortunate.”

“It's not my fault the asshole croaked.”

“Of course not.” She noted the raw bruising around Vinnie's throat. “But it's unfortunate.”

“He didn't know shit. If he'd've known anything, he'd've spilled it once I gave him a few slaps. Waste of time. We go after the brother, like I said before.”

“I'll need to make another call. We'll leave the body here. The shop is closed tomorrow, so this gives us a day.”

“We make it look like a robbery. Grab some shit, mess shit up.”

“We could. Or . .” She reached in her purse, but instead of taking out her phone, she drew out her gun. She shot Ivan neatly between the eyes before he had a chance to blink. “We could do that, which is a much better idea.”

She regretted Vinnie. She'd found him to be an interesting man, and potentially very useful. Dead, he was of no use at all, so she ignored him as she emptied Ivan's pockets of wallet, phone, weapons. And found, as she suspected she might, the bottle of amphetamines.

It was good, she calculated. Her employer disapproved of drugs, and would tolerate if not fully approve of her actions when she told him about the drugs. She went out in the shop, retrieved a shopping bag, some bubble wrap. She went upstairs, took the bonbonniere.

Her employer would like it very much—like it more than he might dislike the killing of Ivan.

She wrapped it carefully, brought it downstairs. It pleased her to find a nice box, very classy thin gold ribbon. She boxed the gift, tied the ribbon.

She put Ivan's phone, wallet, knife and gun in the bag, padded it, added the box, then tissue paper.

After a moment's consideration, she unlocked a display, chose what had been designed as a woman's cigarette case. She liked the mother-of-pearl sheen and the pattern of tiny flowers that made her think of a peacock.

She could use it as a card case, she decided, and dropped it into her purse.

She considered taking the security tapes, destroying the system, but
without some study couldn't be sure that wouldn't send an alarm. She'd rather have the head start. In any case the woman clerk, the male guard and several customers could certainly give a description of her. She didn't have the time or inclination to hunt them all down and kill them.

She would go back to the brownstone her employer provided as her base in New York. At least with Ivan dead, he wouldn't be there, lurking around, hoping to see her naked.

Best to walk several blocks before getting a cab. And the walk, the time to travel, would give her time to think how to outline her report for her employer.

L
ila arranged the vase of sunflowers—a cheerful welcome home in her opinion—then leaned the note she'd written against the base of the blue vase.

She'd done her room-by-room sweep—twice, as was her policy, consulting her checklist.

Fresh linens on the beds, fresh towels in the bath, fresh fruit in the bowl. A pitcher of lemonade in the fridge along with a chilled pasta salad.

Who wanted to think about cooking or ordering food when they'd just returned from vacation?

Food and water out for Thomas, plants watered, furniture dusted, floors vacuumed.

She said her goodbyes to the cat, giving him plenty of strokes and cuddles.

“They'll be home in a couple of hours,” she promised him. “So happy to see you. Be a good boy. Maybe I'll come back and stay with you again.”

With one last glance around, she shouldered her laptop case, her
purse. She pulled up the handles of her suitcases and, with the skill of experience, maneuvered all out the door.

Her adventure at the Kilderbrands' was over. A new adventure would soon begin.

But first, she had to go to a funeral.

The doorman spotted her as soon as she rolled out of the elevator. He bustled in and over. “Now, Ms. Emerson, you should've called me to come give you a hand.”

“I'm so used to doing it. I've got a system.”

“I bet you do. Your car just pulled up. You must've already been heading down when they called up to tell you.”

“Good timing.”

“Go on and get in. We'll get this loaded up for you.”

She felt a little odd when she spotted the limo. Not a flashy one, but still, long, dark and shiny.

“Thanks for everything, Ethan.”

“Don't mention it. You come back and see us.”

“I'll do that.”

She slid inside, looked at Julie, at Luke, as the driver shut the door behind her.

“This is weird. I'm sorry, Luke, you knew him, but it's weird.”

“I barely knew him. But . . .”

“We know Ash.” Lila laid her purse on the bench seat beside her. “At least it's a nice day. I always think rain when I think of funerals.”

“I bet you have an umbrella in your bag.”

Lila shrugged at Julie. “Just in case.”

“If you're ever on a desert island, in a war zone or an avalanche, you want Lila and her bag. If you sever a limb she's probably got something in there to reattach it. She once repaired my toaster with a screwdriver the length of my pinky and a pair of tweezers.”

“No duct tape?”

“It's in here,” Lila assured him. “A mini roll. So maybe you can give me—us—an overview of the playing field? Who'll be there?”

“They'll all be there.”

“The entire spreadsheet?”

“You can count on all or most.” Luke shifted, as if not quite at home in the dark suit and tie. “They come together for important events. Funerals, weddings, graduations, serious illness, childbirth. I wouldn't call the compound the demilitarized zone, but it's as close as they get to one.”

“Is war common?”

“It happens. Something like this? Some small, petty battles maybe, but no major conflict. At a wedding, anything goes. The last one I went to, the mother of the bride and the father of the bride's current lady got into a hair-pulling, face-scratching, clothes-ripping free-for-all that ended with them duking it out in a koi pond.”