With Sloane and Rich peering over his shoulder, Derek tore it open. Inside were spreadsheet printouts detailing specific assets that Wallace had liquidated and their selling price, and matching receipts documenting monetary deposits made to a numbered bank account in the Cayman Islands.
A copy of the original account application confirmed that the numbered account, along with all transactions connected to it, belonged to Wallace.
“Bribery goes a long way,” Sloane commented, trying to keep her tone light.
“It sure does. All it takes is one greedy bank employee to bypass the veil of secrecy. Or a bank manager desperate to keep his biggest customer—a customer who’s threatening to withdraw all his money to force the bank manager’s hand.” Rich reached across the desk to grab Derek’s phone and used it to notify the assistant U.S. attorney that they were armed with the grounds they needed and on their way to secure their search warrant. “Did someone from the Nineteenth Precinct drop off the key to Johnson’s place?” he asked Sloane.
Sloane held it up.
“Good. Then let’s pick up the warrant and get on the road. As it is, we’ll be fighting rush-hour traffic.”
“We’ll have to take two cars,” Derek informed him. “My SWAT gear fills my entire trunk, and my backseat is loaded with boxes of personal stuff I’ve been meaning to clean out.”
“Not a problem. My trunk’s jammed, too, between my firearms bag, vest, shotgun, and MP5, plus all the changes of clothes I keep in there for und
ercover work.”
Derek’s brows shot up. “You still carry a Remington and MP5?”
Rich’s lips twitched. “I may be a decade older than you, and no longer on SWAT, but I’m in better shape than you are,” he retorted. “I was doing Major Theft and Enhanced SWAT when you were still in high school using Clearasil. Oh, and remember, I’m a former marine. You’re just a former Army Ranger—what we call a marine wannabe.”
“My mistake.” Derek snapped off a mock salute. “Didn’t mean to insult your abilities. Although when we have more time, I plan to challenge you over that snide remark. Loser buys dinner, drinks, and cigars.”
“Make that two steak dinners, drinks, and cigars. You already owe me one. I’ll be glad to relieve you of another. So bring your wallet and you’re on.” Humor faded as Rich’s mind returned to the matter at hand. “Time to head out. I’ll follow you and Sloane.”
“That’s a given.” Derek couldn’t help it. Rich had set himself up for this one. “Rangers lead the way.”
A half hour later, with the sun setting behind them, the two cars were en route to East Hampton, search warrant in hand.
As Derek drove, Sloane contemplated the intriguing pattern that had emerged during her research. There was a distinct correlation between the dates of Cindy’s recent cocktail party appearances and the equally recent burglaries carried out by the Albanian art-theft team. In addition, every one of the burglary victims had been a guest at the cocktail party Cindy had attended just before their homes were burglarized, and, from the specifics Sloane had acquired from the follow-up calls she’d just made, they had spent time chatting with Cindy about potential renovations to their homes and the existing layouts.
Interestingly, not one of the hosts and hostesses’ apartments had been robbed, even though there was a wealth of valuable paintings in each of their homes. Cindy was far too smart to be so obvious.
Timetables were lining up. Sequences of events were making more and more sense. And ultimate connections, and conclusions, were being drawn.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Derek commented. “Are you concentrating on your notes, or worrying about what we’ll find at Wallace’s place?”
Sloane looked up. “Honestly? I’ve laid out what I think is an ingenious addition to Johnny Liu’s plan. I’ll give you the details later, and the bottom line now. Short and sweet—Cindy is scoping out homes to rob, the Black Eagles are carrying out the crimes, and Peggy is forging copies of the stolen paintings. It’s all being shipped to China, and Johnny Liu is selling them and making a huge profit. My guess from what I’ve learned hearing my dad talk about the art dealing world? Liu is selling the forgeries on the open market, and the originals to private collectors—quietly and secretly.”
“Getting paid twice, along with the security of knowing that the valuable original will never see the light of day. And even if it does, and it’s identified, there’ll be no trail leading back to him.” Derek let out an admiring whistle. “Smart plan. Smarter analysis. Great work.”
A half smile. “I aim to please.” The smile vanished. “The one thing I’m missing, which is the most important part, is how to turn this theory into enough probable cause to get our warrant to search Cindy’s place. But I’m working on it.”
She glanced around, tensing as she realized they were nearing their destination. “As for your question about Wallace, I’m not looking forward to what we might find at his house. But I’ll deal with it. There’s no choice. Although I still can’t figure out his motive. Liquidating his assets to buy stolen paintings? It just doesn’t fit.”
“I can’t disagree with you.” Derek turned onto Wallace’s street. “I’m hoping we’ll find answers.”
They maneuvered down the long winding driveway, Rich directly behind them. As Sloane had predicted, Wallace’s BMW wasn’t in the driveway or the garage.
Still, they gave a procedural knock on the front door.
“FBI,” Derek called out. “We have a warrant to search your house.” A pause, then a second knock, this one louder than the first. “Johnson, it’s Agent Derek Parker of the FBI. If you’re in there, open the door.”
No movement or reply.
Derek gave Sloane a terse nod.
She took out her parents’ key and opened the door. The rhythmic, warning beeps of the burglar alarm sounded, and Sloane punched in the code her mother had given her. The beeping stopped, telling them that there’d be no tripping the alarm.