Page 91 of The Dead Come to Stay
“You haven’t explained what you know about Ronan Foley. You said he wasn’t involved in the charity, but here we are.”
Sophie stopped and took a breath. “He wasn’t.Anymore. He came round, early on, offered to help out. But he took too much interest in my young women.” She grimaced. “I didn’t know healsothreatened my young men.”
She opened the nearest locker. Inside were shoes, a hoodie, what looked like an iPad and a bundle of dirty shirts.
“This is Dmytro’s locker. I provide these for the staff.” She reached in and folded over the edge of a T-shirt. Something vaguely metallic shone from beneath. It was some sort of antique figurine. MacAdams followed her lead, pulling back fabric without touching the object itself. It was made of bronze, about the size of his hand and human shaped, a seated woman with a tambourine. As the others, it wasn’t especially ostentatious, no gold or jewels. But it had all the hallmarks of being a Syrian artifact, and therefore priceless. He turned to face Sophie Wagner.
“Start talking,” he said.
“On Friday, before the charity event, Dmytro missed an all-staff meeting. Hehadbeen missing them, but this wasimportant; I went looking for him myself. And I found him here, trying to hide this in the bottom of the locker.”
“And you didn’t think to tell the police?”
“I didn’t know what itwas,” she explained. “It could be a hood ornament for all I know.”
MacAdams took a second look at the figurine. A deity, perhaps. A muse, but rendered in bronze. Behind him, Sophie continued.
“It was his behavior after being caught that made me suspicious. He just broke down entirely, and everything came tumbling out—some of it in Ukrainian.” Sophie leaned against the locker. “When I... encouraged... Foley to stop coming round the clubhouse, he gave his number to Dmytro. Said he had a job for him. Could he carry a package for him across town?”
“Here in Newcastle.”
“The first time, yes. Then a few just a train ride away. Regional.”
MacAdams dug out the notepad. “Who did he deliver to?”
“Ah. No one. He dropped them at various places. Hotels, pubs. Like a courier service, but always to a place where someone was supposed to pick up later.”
Of course, MacAdams thought grimly. They would try to get the locations out of Dmytro, but chances were good no one who held the packages knew what they were. If they could ID someone...
“He got paid a bit of money, and for a while that was it. Then he was asked too often, and Dmytro didn’t want to miss work.”
“Let me guess. Dmytro recruited other people,” MacAdams asked.
Sophie pursed her lips. “There is a job placement agency that sometimes helps find work for our asylum seekers. He met people there. But it was Foley who asked him! He didn’t mean to get anyone into trouble.”
“Let’s talk about the day you found it,” MacAdams said. “It’s Friday. You are having a gala—and you have just uncovered a crime. But you don’t call police. Did you callFoley?”
“Why would I?”
“Because you just found out he’d coerced a kid into stealing for him. Come on, Ms. Wagner. You know that’s no hood ornament.” He stood up to face her, and she struggled to meet him eye for eye.
“It’s... not,” she admitted, “It’s the Syrian goddess Anat.”
“Ms. Wagner, I’m arresting you on suspicion of artifact trafficking—”
“Wait! I didn’t know that when I first saw it!” She’d thrown her hands up as though MacAdams meant to tackle her the way Green had tackled Dmytro. “I swear to you, Detective! I—I just took a photograph and did a reverse image search.”
“Meaning you knew Foley was smuggling,” MacAdams said, still menacing her with arrest. “So, did you call him? Did you demand he meet you somewhere?”
“Who? Foley?” Sophie shook her head in evident confusion. “No. I told Dmytro to leave it, and I locked it up with my own key. He’s a good boy, Detective. I knew he didn’t realize it was wrong. I meant to deal with it—but not Friday. I had an event to run.”
“So you catch Dmytro stealing, and Foley trafficking, and you decide to do... nothing.” MacAdams might not have the fullest range of facial expressions, but there would be no hiding his complete disbelief.
Sophie looked at him, full of pleading. “Getting into thiscountry is hard; getting kicked out is easy. I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize Dmytro. I thought I could handle it myself, one way or another, without alerting anyone.”
“Not even Stanley Burnhope?” MacAdams asked.
Sophie looked horrified. “Especially not! I couldn’t do any of this without him—his donations, Ava’s connections.” She’d said it with feeling. But the picture it painted wasnotan exonerating one.
