He’d known how badly I would be hurt, yet he’d done it anyway.
So yeah, I now sit crouched in the trees surrounding Julian Mercier’s estate, carefully watching the house. It’s nearing four. As far as I can tell, everything is completely deserted and has been so for a handful of hours.
It wasn’t like that when I first arrived. I left Brussels in a rental vehicle, then drove straight back to Seine-et-Marne, parking three miles away from Mercier’s chateau and hiking in as close as I could get without revealing myself.
The police were already here when I arrived.
Dozens of vehicles. Multiple French law enforcement agencies and some international ones as well.
If Saint had known I’d come back here, he would have cheerfully killed me even though he has no right to be offended at anything I do now. The risk I’m taking by hiding in the trees to watch what’s going on is immense. It would not have been unheard of for the enforcement agencies to search the entire grounds. If they’d looked, I could have easily been found, which would have raised a lot of awkward questions.
I can only deduce the reason no one has ventured my way is they quickly found Julian Mercier in his château with the four hundred million euro worth of gemstones Saint and I had stolen. I’m assuming they must have figured there wasn’t much else they needed to do once they found the loot.
I’d watched as they led Mercier out in handcuffs—his guards, too. Other house staff came out as well, not secured in restraints but put into police vehicles and driven away, presumably for questioning.
Officers came out carrying large evidence bags, which, if I had to guess, held the diamonds and our nylon bags, which would have to be processed. They’d find the GPS chip on the necklace and wonder how stupid Mercier must have been not to spot it.
And yes, they’d speculate if Mercier had pulled the heist off alone and why, especially given his reputation as a legitimate businessman, but they’d also pound him hard to see if he’d give up any potential accomplices.
Bottom line, Saint and I didn’t think they’d get any solid information out of him any time soon. He’s going to clam up and hire an attorney. If he finds it beneficial to himself to name his co-conspirators, he won’t play those cards so early on in the process. We were fairly certain of that.
It took hours and hours for them to process Mercier’s house. Finally, by midnight, the last of the police cars had left and the house was dark. I continued to watch in case someone else would come back, but now I feel secure enough to make my move. There are a few hours until daybreak which should give me more than enough time to do what I need to do.
With a set of manual lock picks I always carry with me, a pair of cheaply purchased gloves and my own gumption, I enter Mercier’s house. The police were not worried about engaging his alarm system when they left, and it’s eerily quiet when I walk in.
This could end up being the easiest heist I’ve ever attempted.
I make my way down to the basement level to Mercier’s office. The police have tossed it, pulling open every cabinet and drawer. Black fingerprint dust is everywhere.
It would be so easy to alleviate Mercier of all of his legitimately purchased art he keeps down here. Millions of dollars’ worth of the stuff—all mine for the taking if I want. I’m sure he’ll be allowed to return home pending a trial, and it would give me immense satisfaction knowing he would walk into his basement to find his treasures cleaned out.
But I’m not here for that.
I’m here for one thing only.
The Renoir I’d stolen from Lord Dennison’s apartment.
I’m not sure why it’s bothering me so much. I’ve not had attacks of conscience over any other robberies I’ve pulled off. The only difference I can point to is Saint coming back into my life. Perhaps I’d already been dreaming of a new future—away from this—when I’d willingly gone into Dennison’s apartment and poisoned him.
Whatever the reason, I have an opportunity to make this right.
I’m convinced it’s here somewhere, hidden carefully for Mercier’s own personal enjoyment. He’s a true collector. He hadn’t made us take that Renoir to sell it on the black market because it would only get a pittance of a profit compared to its true worth.
He had us steal that Renoir because he found it to be beautiful… and he wanted to possess it.
I intend to find it.
I leave the office and go into the cavernous interior of the basement, moving around the perimeter. After I check for any hidden doors or seams in the wall that could indicate a secret room, I pull every legitimate painting off the walls and turn them over to see if he reverse-framed the Renoir on the back of one.