Drawn in Blood (Burbank and Parker 2)

It was time for Rich to get the information he needed to see what the Art Crime Team was up against.

Sloane spent a fair amount of time poking around, asking questions that she hoped would shed light on her suspicions that something was out of whack with regard to the burglary at her parents’ apartment.

Armed with few facts and lots of supposition, she went down to the FBI’s New York Field Office.

After going through security and being escorted up to the twenty-second floor, she made her way over to Derek’s desk.

“Well, hi.” He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “When they called from downstairs to say you were here to see me, I was surprised. You took off like a bullet this morning. I figured you didn’t want to shatter last night’s afterglow by announcing you were driving to Chinatown to take on Xiao Long single-handedly.”

“Very funny.” Sloane sank down in the chair beside his desk. “Derek, there’s a weird discrepancy in the break-in at my parents’ place—besides the obvious. I sat up all night, poring over the abridged case file you gave me, concentrating on the details of Xiao Long’s other burglaries. Something just didn’t sit right. Then it dawned on me. We know that Eric Hu’s employees were never in my parents’ apartment, so Hu had no way of giving Xiao Long a heads-up on the layout of the place or what items were kept where. That includes the location of my father’s office, and more particularly, his files.”

“Right.” Derek was no longer lounging in his chair. He was sitting up, listening intently to what Sloane had to say.

“According to the police report, the Red Dragons were inside the building for under twenty minutes—just three of which were before my mother showed up. That’s twenty minutes, soup to nuts, with no input from Eric Hu’s crew. No video surveillance. No electronic photos. Nothing. Let’s put aside the dubious fact that, in three minutes, they ducked the doorman, got upstairs, and somehow unlocked the door. There were no scratch marks, no signs of forced entry. The NYPD’s theory is that they found a way, other than through Eric Hu, to make duplicate keys. How? Which of those kids is sophisticated enough to copy keys? And, if they didn’t do it, who made the copies?”

Sloane stopped just long enough to catch her breath. “Like I said, let’s put that part on hold. The reason I raced out this morning was to meet my mother at the apartment.”

“How is she?”

“Stubborn and difficult about accepting help, as usual. But physically on the mend. Anyway, I had her relive exactly what happened to her on the night of the robbery, from the moment she walked through the front door. Based on what she said, it’s clear that all three Red Dragons were already in my father’s office and in full swing when she got home.”

“All that in three minutes—yeah, I’d say that timing’s pretty tight,” Derek agreed. “But we can’t state for sure that it’s impossible.”

“That’s because you haven’t heard everything. Derek, I’ve seen my father’s filing system. First of all, he has over a dozen file cabinets. They’re all putty-colored, all unlabeled on the outside, and all organized in a unique way that works for him—grouped by art genre and project status, not alphabetical or chronological order. Finding the cabinet with the Rothberg files in it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Yet Xiao’s thugs zeroed right in on it—again, with no photos or video surveillance from Eric Hu. For all we know, they’d already emptied the contents of the Rothberg file, left that threatening fortune cookie, and were

trashing the place for good measure when my mother interrupted them.”

“What makes you so sure they zeroed in on the right file cabinet?”

“The timing. When my mother got home, they had to be finishing up in the office. There’s no other way they could have pulled off everything else they did and been out of the apartment seventeen minutes later. It’s virtually impossible. According to my mother, no other visible part of the apartment had been disturbed when she arrived. The living room, with the entertainment system and my dad’s paintings and artifacts, was intact. The kitchen and breakfast nook looked perfectly normal, too—not even the silverware drawer had been overturned. Also, my mother’s diamond stud wasn’t on the foyer floor where my father found it, which suggests that the bedroom hadn’t been rifled yet either.”

“That’s conjecture,” Derek pointed out. “The Dragons could have dropped the earring when they fled.”

“Maybe. But even if they’d already ransacked the bedroom, that doesn’t explain how they took care of the kitchen and living room—yanking apart an entire entertainment unit, and making off with its contents and the rest of their haul—in under seventeen minutes. Not unless the office was a done deal.” Sloane gave an emphatic shake of her head. “And let’s not forget that those seventeen minutes also included an unexpected battle with my mother. She fought them like a tigress. They had to drag her into my father’s office and tie her up, then knock her out. Add that to the mix, and there’s no way. Not even the Flash could have pulled it off in such record time. The only explanation is that those guys knew exactly where every room and every thing was—including the Rothberg file. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“And you’d be right,” Derek replied, his brows knit in concentration. “Because you’re timing it only to the end of the robbery when they reached your parents’ front door. After that, they still had to haul out a flat-screen TV, a painting, and a bunch of bulky art pieces, and get them downstairs and out the delivery entrance. I agree. Something here is off.”

“They had help.” Sloane met Derek’s gaze. “It’s the only answer that makes sense. Someone scoped out the place for them. Whoever it was gave them the same access and the same information that Eric Hu provided for the other robberies, and then some. The question is, who?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cindy’s debut was a smashing success.

Nearly everyone Wallace invited dropped by and ended up staying for a while. Many of them brought guests—dates, friends, or colleagues—who were interested in meeting this rising architectural star who could transform their homes into unique residences that would be the talk of the town.

All the attendees had one thing in common—they had considerable wealth to spare.

When the party first began, Wallace stood beside Cindy near the doorway, welcoming his guests and introducing them to Ms. Liu. It took about twenty minutes for Cindy to take over her own introductions, and about twenty more before she was swarmed by interested patrons scrutinizing her portfolio of completed projects, while she gave out her business cards hand over fist.

Wallace’s initial work was done.

With that knowledge, he turned his attention to his own situation. He began mingling among the guests, and was both relieved and gratified to see how many of them were clustered around and admiring the more valuable paintings he’d displayed. A number of guests stopped him to ask detailed questions, frankly informing him that they were in the process of deciding which painting or paintings to buy.

Considering how successful the evening was turning out to be—and how busy—Wallace was glad he’d asked both of his handpicked assistants to help out. The front desk was filled with the welcome sight of American Express cards and leather-bound checkbooks. Fine art sold well even in tough economic times, especially when there were bargains to be had.

“You’ve done a wonderful job of introducing Cindy to prospective clients. I’m very appreciative. I’m sure Mr. Liu will be, too.”

Wallace turned to see Peggy Sun standing beside him. He’d met the attractive fortyish woman just before tonight’s party and was impressed by her knowledge of art and her loyalty to Cindy. Having spent a fair amount of time in China, plus having done business with Johnny Liu for years, Wallace understood his culturally established values, including Peggy’s role in Cindy’s life, even now that Cindy was an adult. After all these years, and given the Lius’ commitment to honor and tradition, Peggy was still looking out for Cindy, acting as her friend and constant companion. So it was only natural that she’d be by Cindy’s side at an important event such as this.