She shrugged. “Could be.”
“Could be what?” Harriet asked.
“That description matches a suspect on our list.”
“Well, great. You want Stéphane to pick him out of a line-up?”
“Unfortunately, we can’t find him. Did anyone notice what vehicle he arrived in?”
“Sorry.” Hegler shook his head again. “I don’t recall seeing a vehicle at all, which is odd now that I think about it. But I could have missed a car, or possibly he came in a cab? Irvine called me into the sunroom right after the gentleman left, and as I said, he was in better spirits than he had been for weeks. We drank tea together, and Irvine told me the future was brighter. I assumed he meant politically.”
“So really, we’re no farther forward than we were before.” Harriet rose to her feet and moved to the window. A mare and foal had come into view, waiting at the fence, ears pricked. “Dammit, this is their home. This is our home. I’ll hand the painting back, of course, but even if they give me the reward rather than throwing me in prison, that’s still only half of the amount I need to save the ranch.”
Alaric got up to join her. “There’s another fifty thousand on offer for Emerald.”
“But I keep telling you, we know nothing about that.”
Emmy took another sip of tea. Secretly, Alaric had always been envious of the way she stayed so calm under pressure. It seemed effortless to her, whereas he’d constantly had to fight to maintain a cool facade.
“Let’s go through the chain of events again,” she said. “A man came to visit the senator. Your belief is at that point, he negotiated an endorsement for Kyla in exchange for a stolen painting. If we apply Occam’s razor, that probably isn’t a bad assumption. The senator then dispatched Stéphane here to pick up Red from London, and at the same time, he released a video praising Devane. And that’s where the theory falls apart. Why would the two sides trust each other? What would have stopped the senator from simply picking up the painting and keeping his mouth shut? The other party could hardly go to the police.”
Good point. “What if he recorded the speech in advance?”
“A possibility. But if that was the case, then what incentive did the other side have to deliver Red? There’s no honour among thieves.”
“Dyson always had a reputation for keeping his word until…you know.”
And the outcome of that day hadn’t been entirely Dyson’s fault. One of Alaric’s “team” had shot first, and then events just spiralled out of control.
“He’s still a bloody criminal.”
“Who’s Dyson?” Harriet asked.
“Our suspect. Have you got any more cookies? I skipped breakfast.”
Hegler headed for the nearest cupboard while Emmy continued.
“So, as I was saying, there had to be a safeguard in place. Stéphane, you mentioned that you called Irvine from the plane?”
“I did. Chocolate chip?”
“Perfect. I bet that your call was the senator’s cue to hand over the recording. Do you know when it was filmed?”
“Neither of us heard a thing, did we, Harry? Frankly, I’m amazed he managed to record it at all. Before he got sick, he used to film his own sound bites for Twitter, but I still had to edit out the pauses and the mumbling.”
“Daddy always was determined. When he set his mind on something…”
“I’ve seen the video,” Emmy said. “Watched the whole thing half a dozen times last night on a big-screen TV. How long was it? Two minutes? And the quality was on point. That thing was made for broadcast. Even if your father managed to film it on his phone, the file must have been two gigabytes, which meant he couldn’t simply email it. He’d have needed to use a file transfer site. Or…”
Alaric saw where she was going with this. “Or our culprit picked it up on a flash drive. You were both away on that day, but someone must have let the visitor in if your father wasn’t able to. Who? Maybe they saw a car? Or something else that could help us?”
For the first time, Alaric glimpsed hope in Harriet’s eyes. “I can ask. We’ve still got two ranch hands, and there would have been a nurse here from the agency. But I still don’t understand—who are you people, and why would you help if it’s not for the money?”
Emmy finished the last of her tea. She’d also managed to hoover up three more cookies in the blink of an eye. “As my friend here said, it’s a long story. And not everybody is motivated by money. He wants to return Emerald in order to right an old wrong.”
“And you? What do you want?” Harriet asked her.
Uh-oh. Alaric knew that smile. He hated that smile. That cold, cunning, malevolent smile.
“Me? I want Kyla Devane back where she belongs. In a spa or on a yacht or gracing some mid-morning chat show, not wandering the halls of the Capitol Building. Help us to bring her down, and when we find Emerald, the reward’s yours.”
“Emmy…” Alaric warned.
“Do we have a deal?”
“I… Well…” Harriet turned goldfish. “Obviously I’ll do anything I can to help with the Kyla situation, but we only have a month and…and nine days before the bank forecloses. I don’t—”
“Great. We’d better get started, then. Don’t you have a TV interview to do?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll have an associate stop by. Her name’s Daniela, and she’ll speak to your ranch hands and the nurse. Any idea where I can find Kyla?”
“You’re going to talk to her?”
“Know thine enemy.”
Ah, shit. Now Emmy was paraphrasing Sun Tzu. The Art of War was Black’s favourite book, and if he was pulling the strings from behind the scenes, then things had the potential to turn ugly. Uglier. Was it too late to go back
