Page 104 of The Dead Come to Stay
“You think Sophie was keen and Burnhope wasn’t?”
“Or didn’t want to risk it. A wife like Ava and all those fancy connections would be a lot to jeopardize.”
“Yet, hehasjeopardized them,” MacAdams said. “If we can find evidence he was part of this mess, he stands to lose just about everything. Then again, what if this case isn’t about the artifacts at all?”
“Didn’t we seize a small museum’s worth of the stuff?”
“Yes. Technically,” MacAdams said. “But it hasn’t helped us make sense of Foley’s murder. What’s the motive?”
“Money, in’it? Makes problems go away. And trafficking anything makes money,” Green reminded him. MacAdams drankhis coffee. Obviously, following the money was just good policing. Then why did it feel wrongheaded?
“I know the gold is worth something on its own. The pottery, though. The bronze statue in Dmytro’s locker. Our going theory is that most of the objects that the kids trafficked didn’t ‘look’ expensive. They would be valuable for a select few.”
“It would to the right people, though,” Green said, looking at her screen again. “Standish, for instance.”
“Him and his nose rings. But even he’s not buying a whole warehouse full. That’s the sign of a big operation. Trafficking anything requires a network. It’s global. Hammersmith is global. And yet, this butty van business, the use of the kids, the Geordie driver—”
“With his lead pipe,” Green added, and MacAdams grimaced a smile.
“Ye-es, with that. It’s all small. Unprofessional.” Beside him, Green pushed her chair back and swiveled toward him.
“Ah.That’s why you still suspect Burnhope. And what, this other stuff was Foley cutting corners?”
“Maybe. He made a mess of the York property, too. As Burnhope himself told us, no head for business. But if Foley isn’t the trafficking mastermind, then we need to open up our motives again.” He set his mug down. “Leave the video for a minute. Let’s go to the whiteboard. What are our possible scenarios now?”
Green rolled up her sleeves and tapped her chin with one finger.
“Number one: Foley is running it all—dealing with trade and with the front end, in Syria. Gets in over his head. Tries to do a runner but doesn’t make it.”
“Meaning the murder is UNESCO and Interpol territory. Okay, next?”
“Two: Burnhope and Foley are in it together. Foley was his heavy, the dark horse to his golden boy, and the York propertywas a place to warehouse artifacts before distribution,” Green finished, but MacAdams wagged a finger.
“ExceptBurnhope knew that the York property was behind schedule and had been called by the Lord Mayor of all people. Ashok said they could have lost the property if the right strings were pulled; that’s no place to keep secrets.”
“Maybe he’s just that brash?” Green asked.
MacAdams stared at the photos pinned to the board. Burnhope, with his hooded eyes, smooth manners, important friends. Foley, with his faux black hair, his habit of bullying men and wooing women and his propensity to bug out when things got hot.
“No. Burnhope is bold. He’s cool under pressure. But not brash. I don’t think he knew the artifacts were in York. If he had, and he was part of the deal, he would have cleaned the place out immediately, not three days after Foley’s death. But that’s not all.” MacAdams drummed the table. “Burnhope said it himself, in a way. Foley did the dirty work, the hands-on business of dealing with contractors. If Burnhope is in on the trade, Foley is the middleman. And Burnhope himself doesn’t want that job.”
Green drew her brows together, thinking.
“Did you just clear Burnhope of murder?” she asked.
“No. But now you see why I don’t think the motive has to do with the artifact trade.”
“Okay, then what about Foley corrupting Dmytro?” Green suggested. “That’s a motive for Burnhope and Sophie. And what about Gerald Standish? He’s a sponsor or whatever, but isn’t he still a likely buyer for the butty van art?”
MacAdams set his coffee mug aside. “Okay, nowthatmakes sense. Small-time operation, that would be the sort of thing that works local. Granted, he still has plausible deniability. He could say he didn’tknowthe back-of-van objects were illegal.”
“Yes but only because Foley is dead. He can’t plea-bargain and spill it. But he can’t be our murderer, either,” Green said,returning to the computer terminal. “He’s right here on the tapes... and he never even leaves the bar.”
The alibis were really starting to gall. Green restarted the video and MacAdams peered over her shoulder. Ava had entered the frame. She wore a gown of shimmering silver, her platinum hair wound up in a complicated braid. The piano had been largely obscured by milling humans; now a spotlight shone upon it, and Ava took her place at the keys.
“You know, I may have had a mild crush on her,” she mused. “Back in Newcastle. She was a joy to watch, even if not exactly my type.”
There it was again:type.He found himself thinking of Arianna—and her taunts about leaving town.
