Page 75 of These White Lies
“Burger,” I say gruffly.
Get your head in the game, asshole.
She calls in the order while I scroll through the burner phone.
“There aren’t many numbers.” I hold the screen toward her. “Recognize any?”
She leans in, the faint scent of her shampoo filling my nose, reminding me of the night before, causing my temperature to skyrocket. She shakes her head. “I don’t even recognize the country codes.”
Finn answers on the second ring. “I was expecting you. Vincent told me you found a burner.”
“I need you to trace some numbers.” I read them off.
“Gimme a sec.” After several minutes, he says, “A few are burners—it’ll take me a while to trace those—but I’ve got their batch numbers. Two are landlines in Monaco. No subscriber names though. Monaco is a lot like Switzerland or Cypress, for people who don’t want to be identified.”
“I’ll call them and see what I can find.” I hang up and dial the first landline.
A polished female voice answers in French.“Bonjour, Maison de Bijoux?—”
“Pardon, mauvais numéro,” I apologize for the wrong number, then hang up. “Jewelry store.”
Elizabeth tilts her head. “You speak French?”
“I’m a man of many talents.” I waggle my brows.
The second number answers in French-accented English. “Côte d’Azur Antiquités et Enchères,how may I help?—”
“Désolé, wrong number.” Ending the call, I look up at Elizabeth. “Auction house.”
“A jewelry store and an auction house. So, whatever he took… jewelry or jewels?”
“Seems that way,” I agree, already dialing Finn. When he answers I give him the two business names. “Check those names against Gowan’s emails and bank statements. Start six months before the divorce through to the present. Include any deleted data.”
“Got it, Boss” “
A knock at the door signals our food’s arrival. We keep the conversation light while we eat, an unspoken agreement to push pause on what’s happening. However, when the plates are cleared, I pull the stack of glossy magazines from my bag and drop them on the bed.
“Let’s see why he kept these.”
Elizabeth perches on the edge of the bed, robe tucked tight around her, while I spread the magazines out.
“Should we just flip through and make a list of rich people?” she asks, half-teasing.
“It’s as good a starting point as any. The Lapidarists didn’t limit themselves to one industry, so it could be anyone with money. We should take special note of anyone who is in more than one magazine.”
She nods, and we settle in shoulder to shoulder, flipping through the glossy pages. I stop on a two-page spread of a political fundraiser—the head of a hedge fund standing next to a U.S. senator. Both have wide smiles.
“Perfect example.” I tap the senator’s face. “This is the senator who died in theaccidentalexplosion on the lake last year. His aide was the one who was poisoned in police custody.And this one,” I tap on the other man’s picture. “His brother is one of the people I arrested. So that’s at least one Lapidarist connection.”
“Why would Keith keep the magazines though?”
“If we’re operating on the theory Natalya gave him something…” I lean back, thinking. “Calling an auction house and jewelry store implies he was trying to sell it. Maybe he couldn’t and brought it back to the States to sell. There’s no record, though, that he tried to sell it by any reputable means here.”
Elizabeth wrinkles her nose. “He wouldn’t have been dumb enough to try to sell it back to Carrow, would he?”
Grabbing my phone, I dial Finn again. “Find out if Carrow ever filed an insurance claim for missing jewelry or jewels.” He calls back less than twenty minutes later to tell us there is no insurance claim.
“He didn’t know it was gone.” Elizabeth purses her lips, deep in thought. “If he just found out, that might be why he killed Natalya.”
