Page 120 of The Picasso Heist
According to Joyce, I don’t have a speaking role. Not that she actually says that. She just tells me everything she’s going to do and asks that I stand behind her at the podium, well within the frame of all the news cameras so everyone can see me looking forlorn and heartbroken. I’m a prop. Exhibit A.
Exhibit B is the large photo of Skip in uniform projected on a screen withMALCOLM GREER, US ARMY SPECIAL FORCESin boldface type at the bottom.
Exhibit C,cas in thecoup de grâce,is her cell phone video of Skip’s murder in the alley. Joyce absolutely, positively can’t wait to show it.
She’s so excited that she rushes through her opening statement, confirming the rumor that, yes, Anton Nikolov has been arrested for Malcolm Greer’s murder. Nikolov might not have pulled the trigger, she declares, but he for sure pulled all the strings. And she can prove it.
“But that’s for the courtroom,” she says. “I’m not blind to the court of public opinion, however, which is why it’s so important to show you the following video, no matter how graphic and disturbing it might be.”
She looks over at one of her aides, and the woman immediately hits a button on a remote. The video plays. Even in a roomful of jaded reporters who have seen it all in their careers, there are still a few audible gasps when Skip gets shot.
Hands rocket up once the video ends but Joyce has one more thing to say before taking questions.
“I just want everyone to know that I had every intention of editing this video, blacking out Captain Greer’s image, but his sister,” she says, pointing at me, “insisted that it be shown as is. She’s more committed to the whole truth and nothing but than I am.”
You have no idea, Counselor.
Joyce takes questions, answering each one directly or deftly pivoting as she sees fit. She has a set narrative that this was all part of a sting operation, which gives her the cover to say that certain facts and details can’t be revealed at this time. Q and As with the US attorney are always a cat-and-mouse game, and the press are used to it. Reporters rarely ask pointed follow-ups for fear they’ll get shut out in the future. Those who have the podium have the leverage.
“Yes, you in the back,” says Joyce, pointing.
The young man in his mid-twenties stands, clears his throat. “Ifyou’re not willing to reveal how the video was obtained or who shot it, why should we assume it’s real?”
Joyce blinks.“Real?”
“Yes,” he says. “What guarantee do we have that it’s legitimate?”
“What more of a guarantee would you like? I don’t know if you’ve heard but I am a US attorney and chief of the criminal division.”
That elicits a few smirking chuckles from the room. Joyce calls for the next question.
The reporter remains standing. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t an answer,” he says loudly. “That was just your résumé.”
“Excuse me?”asks Joyce.
The entire press corps turns to look at the reporter. So do all the cameras, swiveling on their stands.
The balls on this young guy,everyone’s thinking.Who the hell is he? What paper or network is he from? And what’s up with those muttonchops?
I suppress a smile, thinking of Wolfgang’s response when I called him.Halston, if I can fake a one-hundred-forty-nine-million-dollar Picasso, I’m pretty sure I can swing a media badge.
I was pretty sure as well.
“You’ve arrested Anton Nikolov for ordering a hit on Malcolm Greer,” Wolfgang continues. “The video purports to show him being shot—”
“Purports?”Joyce’s face flashes red.
“I’m just saying that murder cases usually require a dead body for evidence, and you don’t have that.”
“No, what I have—what you all have—is my word that we possess all the evidence we need to convict Mr. Nikolov.”
“But if you’re wrong, you’ve destroyed a man’s reputation.”
“Which is why I’m willing to stake mine that I’m not wrong,” says Joyce.
“Are you sure about that?” asks Wolfgang.
The wordyesis only one syllable but Joyce can barely get it outof her mouth before every jaw in the room drops. She turns around from the podium to see what everyone’s staring at. It’s her entire career going down in flames.
