I like him, she thought. I’ll have to watch that.
When Jean finally spoke, it was slowly, as if he were thinking aloud, piecing things together as he went along.
“The problem is, I didn’t believe it was Elizabeth. I thought it was you.”
“You thought I ran around the world killing prostitutes?”
“No no no. Of course not. Our killer’s a man.”
“Okay, good. Glad we got that straightened out.”
“But I thought you were the link between the robberies and the murders.”
“Because of the nine-year thing?”
“Because of the nine years. Because of London. Because you’re a woman. Because these robberies were so close to your old MO—clever but simple, well planned, geographically spread out, always at a worthwhile price point.”
Tracy smiled. “You’re making me feel quite nostalgic.”
“Because you did do the Brookstein job,” he continued, counting the reasons off on his fingers. “Because I don’t believe in coincidences. At least, not twelve in a row. And because there wasn’t another viable suspect.”
“Until now,” said Tracy.
Jean nodded. “Until now. I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess? Now you have Elizabeth Kennedy. Right?”
“Hmm.”
“Really? We’re back to ‘hmm’?”
Jean looked up at her. “I still think you’re the link.”
Tracy put her head in her hands.
“Think about it,” said Jean. “These jobs are exactly like yours.”
“There are some similarities, on the surface,” Tracy conceded. “But I wasn’t there, Jean.”
“It’s more than similarities. If you didn’t do the robberies yourself—”
“No ‘if.’ I didn’t. I can prove it.”
“Then whoever did them is mimicking your techniques. That means they know you. Intimately. They know how you worked.”
No one knows how I worked, Tracy thought. No one except Jeff. And Gunther. But I hardly think Gunther’s running around the world pulling off jewel heists.
Aloud, she asked Jean, “Do you think someone’s trying to frame me?”
“It’s a possibility. Do you have any enemies that you know of?”
Tracy laughed loudly. “Hundreds!”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I! Let me think. There’s a man named Maximilian Pierpont who probably doesn’t have me at the top of his Christmas-card list. Then there’s Lois Bellamy, Gregory Halston, Alberto Fornati . . .” She listed some of her more prominent former victims. “Quite a number of people at the Prado museum in Madrid . . . Luckily most of them think I’m dead. Just like your friends at the FBI. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like it to stay that way.”
“Of course, we may not be looking for an enemy at all,” said Jean. “There may be other motives in play. Possibly this person admired your work and wants to follow in your footsteps.”