The Lost Key (A Brit in the FBI 2)

“Like anyone not wearing a suit, and hanging around,” Nicholas said. “Find out about Mr. Pearce’s family as fast as you can. That threat Mr. Olympic made, we’re taking that seriously. Call me as soon as you know.”

“Got it.” Louisa smiled and disappeared into the mobile command unit. Nicholas watched the ME, half a block away, move Mr. Pearce’s body into a black bag for transport.

He said slowly, “I don’t think murdering Mr. Pearce was part of the plan. At least he wasn’t meant to be killed before Mr. Olympic got what he came for. Whoever he was, he wanted information about what EP had found, and Mr. Pearce wasn’t about to tell him.”

Mike shook her head. “We’ll back-trace the cell phone number. Speaking of which, dropping Mr. Pearce’s cell phone sure wasn’t part of the plan. Thank heavens he got rattled when people started coming at him and dropped it.”

“Good luck for us. Clearly this was a trap, but we need more information. Mr. Pearce wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but we know he has a family. Let’s go to his home.”

Mike nodded. “I hate this, but we have to do it. Hopefully, someone knows what this was all about. What Mr. Pearce said—The key is in the lock—don’t you wish just one time things would be straightforward?”

“That wouldn’t be much fun, now, would it?”

9

Jonathan Pearce’s Apartment

117 East 57th Street

10:30 a.m.

The doorman was too upset by Mr. Pearce’s murder to give more than a token protest about letting them in without a warrant. He took them in the lovely 1920s elevator to the twenty-third floor and unlocked Mr. Pearce’s apartment.

Mike and Nicholas first saw the walls of windows on three sides overlooking Manhattan, the clear blue skies, the warm sun spilling through the glass.

Mike whistled. “This is breathtaking.”

Nicholas joined her, pointed. “You can see the George Washington Bridge.”

She nodded, then turned to study the long, narrow living room. “It doesn’t seem to be disturbed—nothing seems out of place. I want to get it fingerprinted before we go poking around too much. But we can have a look.” She tossed him a pair of gloves.

He snapped them on and cocked an eyebrow at her, hands raised like a freshly scrubbed surgeon. “Where’s my patient?”

“Idiot.”

The apartment was large, well furnished in a mix of modern and traditional, with neutral colors and exquisite paintings and sculptures. “This is the sanctuary of a Renaissance man,” Nicholas said.

“And a very neat man who slept alone,” Mike said. “There are no female signs anywhere. Only a single toothbrush, shaving kit, and brush were in the bathroom. The five bedrooms have been redone so there was one large master with a huge walk-in closet with built-in cabinets, plus a private library, an office, and a massive theater room.”

Nicholas stepped into the library. It was darker than the rest of the apartment because the windows were tinted, all the shelves behind locked glass. He saw books ranging from antiquity to what he bet was a first-edition Hemingway. His fingers itched to open the cabinet and touch the beautiful leather. The books were not only special, they were very valuable.

He called to Mike, “What does Mr. Pearce do?”

She stuck her head into the library, looked around for a second. “It looks like he’s in the rare-book business. Would you look at this, he has letterhead on his desk.”

Made sense, for a Renaissance man. “What’s the name of the company?”

“The letterhead says Ariston’s, Second Avenue, between Fifty-fifth and Fifty-sixth. I wonder where he got that name, Ariston’s?”

Nicholas said, “From whom sprang all rational thought. Ariston was Plato’s father, a fitting name, considering. The business must be successful. See all the books in here? They’re very old, very rare. And very valuable.”

Mike looked around. “Maybe this explains the locks in the master bedroom closet, which is, I might add, bigger than my whole apartment.”

“It seems like overkill. Let’s take a look. Was there a key in his desk?”

“Better.” Mike reached into her pocket and pulled out the key chain Louisa had given her at the crime scene. “Let’s go see what he keeps under lock and key in his bedroom closet.” She looked first at the lock, then studied the keys, picked a small silver key on the ring. Sure enough, it went in, and the lock clicked free.

“More books,” Nicholas said. “Old, very valuable. Let’s see what’s in this second locked cabinet.”