Christmas Male(19)

“So all the thieves would have needed was a good digital recording of Shalnokov’s voice to unlock the display case?” Fiona asked.

“Correct,” Chance said. “I didn’t see the point of arguing about it since there was very little likelihood that the other layers of security surrounding the Rubinov would be compromised. As far as Shalnokov being the prime suspect, there are some things you should know. One—he’s in a wheelchair and never leaves his home. It’s built like a fortress on about a hundred acres of land in Virginia. All the arrangements for the exhibition, including the negotiation for extra insurance, were handled by Regina Meyers. I checked into her. She has Ph.D. in clinical psychology and Shalnokov hired her ten years ago.”

“So Shalnokov’s right-hand man is also his personal therapist,” D.C. said.

“Perhaps,” Chance said.

“Lack of mobility doesn’t have to be an issue. Again, he wouldn’t be working alone—someone inside the museum has to be involved,” Fiona said. “Perhaps one or more of the people who escaped in that van. And if he hired the job done, Shalnokov could have provided a recording of his voice.”

“But if you’re planning on stealing your own necklace, why add a particular bit of security that could come back to bite you?” D.C. asked.

“Good point,” Fiona said.

After licking his thumb, D.C. took out his notebook and began to write. “We’ll need to find out if Shalnokov has any connection to Amanda Hemmings.”

“I’ll give you our file on Shalnokov,” Chance offered. “And I’ll try to arrange a time for you to meet with him. You may have to settle for Regina Meyers.”

Fiona glanced at D.C. “Just before Nat and I joined you, I checked with the hospital again. Amanda Hemmings is suffering from a skull fracture and a possible concussion. We won’t be able to talk to her until first thing in the morning.”

“Afterward, we should talk to General Eddinger,” D.C. said. “She’ll be able to fill us in on what she knows. Hemmings has been working with her for the past year. I’ll set that up.”

A cell phone rang, and all four reached for theirs.

“It’s my brother.” D.C. raised his cell to his ear. “What did you find?” While he listened, he scribbled more notes.

Fiona could see it, the moment that he got something. Everything about him went absolutely still. She felt her pulse give a skip.

“Got it. Thanks.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Private Amanda Hemmings is the great-niece of Arthur Franks.”

Chance gave a long, low whistle.

“Good heavens,” Natalie said.

“His name was mentioned in the Washington Post article about the diamond,” Fiona murmured. “Wasn’t he rumored to have had something to do with the Rubinov’s reappearance ten years ago?”

“Yes,” D.C. said. “Nothing was ever proven. According to my brother, Arthur Franks is currently serving ten years at a minimum security prison about an hour away from here in Cumberland, Maryland. And there’s more. He has a twenty-year-old grandson who is currently a freshman at American University. Billy Franks’s major is Information Technology Studies and he’s reputed to be something of a boy genius.”

“Looks like our prime suspect list has just lengthened,” Fiona said.

D.C. pocketed his notebook and pen and met Fiona’s eyes. “Since there’s not much we can do about interviewing any of them until the morning, I vote we stay and enjoy the party.”

Fiona stared at him. He looked perfectly serious.

“That’s a great idea,” Natalie said. “There’s a live band playing on the patio off the lobby. Chance and I would be dancing if I could move.”

D.C. met Fiona’s eyes. “Would you care to dance?”

Fiona frowned at D.C. “No.”

Natalie beamed a smile at him. “Chance told me I was going to like you.”

“C’mon.” D.C. held out his hand.

“We can’t.”

“Speak for yourself. My mother saw to it that both of her sons could find their way around a dance floor. You never learned?”

“Of course. I can dance. But I want to—”

“Go back to your office and work.”

Natalie patted D.C.’s arm. “Fiona’s an all work and no play kind of girl. It’s the way she escapes from an overabundance of Christmas cheer.”

Fiona shot Natalie a glare. “I don’t think I have to justify wanting to work. Just because we can’t talk to suspects tonight doesn’t mean that—”