The Thief

“I am here looking after my brothers’ interests, it is true.”

“You say that as if you expect them to return here. Yet it’s my understanding they’ve been gone from Caldwell for a while?”

“They have been.”

“Have you seen or had any sort of contact with either Ricardo or Eduardo lately?”

She assumed a sad expression. “No, I have not. I have been worried about them.”

“When was the last time you had contact?”

“It’s been months.”

“And you didn’t think to call the police?”

“I did back in Colombia. When they didn’t do anything, I came here. It has always been my intention to reach out to the authorities if I could not locate my brother.”

Abruptly, the image of Ricardo strung up and rotted in that cellar made her throat tight. But now was not the time for emotion. She was speaking to her enemy.

“Right. Of course.” The detective flipped open a little notebook. Scribbled something in it with a pen. “And you’ve been here since when? I mean, when did you arrive in Caldwell and from where?”

“I came from Colombia four days ago. Or is it five? With jet lag, I am confused.” She smiled at him. “Detective, would you mind talking to me upstairs? Privacy is best and I have clients here.”

To help him understand, she inclined her head toward two women across the way. The matched pair of avant-garde rich were inspecting a work of art that was made up of shredded bedsheets draped over a taxidermied cow standing with each hoof in a toilet.

“Yeah, sure. Lead the way.”

Vitoria took him through the unmarked door off to the side and up the stairs to Ricardo’s office. As she went along, she channeled her walk into her hips and her ass under the theory that all assets were to be brought to bear in this situation. However, it was hard to keep things smooth. Her thighs and her calves were screaming in pain from the trip up that mountain. The two Motrin she had taken four hours ago were losing their potency.

“Here we are,” she said as she opened the door at the top of the metal staircase.

“Wow.” The detective went in. “Fancy.”

“My brother likes things a certain way.”

“Clearly.” De la Cruz wandered around, even though there was little to see. “Where were we—oh, yeah. So you do expect your brothers back or not?”

She closed them in together. “I must confess I have begun to really worry. It is not like Ricardo especially to just up and leave for this long, but then again, they are men. They do what they want.”

Vitoria went across and turned the guest chair in front of the elevated desk around. Sitting in it, she crossed her legs such that the slit in her skirt fell open.

“Are you okay?” the detective asked. “You grimaced there as you sat down.”

“It’s nothing. Just a good workout.” She smiled. “I’m quite stiff from the gym.”

“I should work out more.” De la Cruz approached on a casual stride. “That’s quite a desk. Up on that platform.”

“My brother liked to make an impression.”

“Liked? Or likes.”

“Sorry, my English is not so good.” She touched her forehead. “And where are my manners? I should have offered you coffee or tea.”

“It’s okay. I hit the diner before I came over here.” He cleared his throat. “So you live in Colombia?”

“Yes, but we have homes in a number of places. São Paulo, Brazil, Santiago, Chile—oh, and Punta del Este, of course. My brother likes real estate, and I take care of his homes, overseeing his staffs and the estates.”

“Man, you left the equator to come to Caldwell, New York, in the middle of January. No offense, you must really be worried about Ricardo and Eduardo. My wife hates it here this time of year.”

“You should send her on a vacation.”

“She loves me, though.” He smiled and glanced down at his little pad. “Can you give me a general idea of when was the last time you spoke to either of your brothers?”

“As I said, it was months and months ago. Ricardo called me.”

“How did the conversation go?”

She shrugged. “Much as usual.”

“So nothing seemed odd to you?”

“Forgive me, but why are we talking about my brothers? I mean, I am happy to help the police in any way I am able, but I thought this was about the woman who was found dead?”

“Just trying to get the whole picture. Your brother Ricardo is a prominent businessman in this town, and everyone here says they haven’t seen him in about a year. Your other brother hasn’t been around, either, and then someone who works in this gallery was found dead last night. There just seem to be a lot of people going missing.” He looked at her pointedly. “You might want to be careful.”

“You are so right. I guess I never put all that together.”

“But about Margot Forest.”

“I’m sorry—I thought her name was Fortescue?”

“Her legal name is Forest. Did you have any interactions with her during the last couple of days since you’ve been here?”

Thank you, Streeter, she thought.

“As a matter of fact,” Vitoria murmured, “she came to my office last night—I mean, my brother Eduardo’s office—before she left. She wanted to talk about a new artist she was bringing in.”

“Do you recall the name of that artist?”

She pulled a random name out of the air, one that she had overheard in the gallery. “Daymar Locust—or Locasta?”

“Oh, yeah. Someone mentioned him.” Notation. Notation. “Anything else come up while you were talking with Ms. Fortescue?”

“No.” Vitoria smiled and played with the hem of her skirt. “I wish I could be more helpful.”

“What were you doing in your brother’s office?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why were you in there? If it was his office.”

Vitoria considered the various ways to play what was coming next. There were a number of different approaches she could take, and as she went over each in turn, it was rather like cards in a poker hand, she supposed.

Eventually, she made a show of sighing. “May I be honest.”

“I think you’d better be, if you don’t mind me saying. This is a homicide investigation.”

She moved her eyes off to the side, as if she were composing her thoughts. Then returned them to the detective. “I’ve been really worried about my brothers. As you must know, our culture is very different. As their sister, I am expected to wait patiently for news, rather than go find things out myself. But after a year…anyway, I went into Eduardo’s office to see if I could find anything to explain where he and Ricardo might be. I am in an awkward position, you see. They would never approve of me interfering, and if they are alive? They will be furious at me.”

“So things are traditional in your family, huh.”

“Very.” She deliberately hung her head, as if she were caught in a tangle. “It’s part of the reason I am scared to call the authorities. If my brothers are all right, they will be furious at me for meddling in the man’s world. And I truly don’t want to believe anything bad has happened, but…what else can I think? It has always been just the three of us, since our mother died. I am not a worldly woman in the sense that I am adventurous or familiar with travel. I was terrified to make the trip here on my own, but as they are my only family, I felt compelled to come find them—I am babbling, aren’t I. Listen to me.”

To ensure that the energy coming off of her was correct, she pictured once again Ricardo’s body, seeing his lolling head, the neck wound, the gray ribbons of flesh—and instantly, she felt genuine sadness, regret, fear.

“What do you think happened to your brothers?” de la Cruz asked quietly.

“I do not know.” Her eyes went to the floor. “I truly do not.”

“Are you aware that your brother Ricardo may have been involved with drug dealing?”