Christmas Male(30)

The woman had pulled the door nearly shut when she stopped and turned back to them. “There was something else odd that happened last night. I was letting one of my students out around six o’clock and there was a van parked across the street. It was dark, but they were parked near the streetlight. There were three of them in the vehicle.”

“Did you get a good look at any of them?” D.C. asked.

Claire Ridgeway shook her head. “No.”

“Do you know how long the van was there?” Fiona asked.

“I can’t say exactly. It was gone when I noticed the patrol car.”

Fiona thanked the woman again and they moved into the apartment. The moment the door closed behind Ridgeway, Fiona said, “They knew where she lived and they came here to wait for her. That strengthens the theory that Hemmings, her assailant and the other two in the van were working together.”

D.C. nodded. “Working together or not, the trio knew she still had the diamond—and they weren’t sure how badly she’d been hurt.”

“So they came here to cover their bases, hoping that she might still show up with it. Then they scattered when the police showed up.”

“That’s one theory. It’s an interesting case. Parts of the heist argue for a professional, and other parts indicate easily panicked amateurs.”

Fiona glanced around the apartment. It was a tiny, one-room space with a counter at one end. Behind it was a kitchen no bigger than an airplane galley. Halfway up one wall was a three-sided bay window that opened at ground level and offered a view of the street.

On another wall was a marble-framed fireplace with a raised hearth. The furnishings were sparse, but each piece looked as if it had been selected carefully. This would have been the first place that belonged to Amanda Hemmings after she left the foster care system. Fiona recalled how careful she’d been about furnishing her first place.

A Victorian-inspired sofa and a carved wooden coffee table filled most of the room. D.C. brushed up against the fireplace as he navigated around them toward the kitchen. She moved toward the desk. Its surface, like the mantle and coffee table, was clutter free. Not even a stray magazine marred the tidiness. In the first drawer she opened, she found a small stack of the brochures advertising the toy drive. Beneath them was a guide book to Washington and the surrounding areas and a Bible that looked as if it was read regularly. Amanda had used one of the brochures to bookmark the guide book at a map of the Smithsonian museums. In another drawer, there were files containing bills, monthly bank statements, a checkbook.

“There’s nothing in the freezer or the fridge but some leftover Chinese takeout,” D.C. said from behind her. “And her cupboards are nearly as bare as yours.”

“This is her first place, the first time she’s really been on her own. She probably eats at the base and picks up something on her way home.”

It was only as she shut the file drawer that she noticed the tab of a file folder tucked beneath the desk blotter. “Got something,” she said as she slipped it out. Carrying it with her, she moved to the sofa and opened it on the coffee table. “It’s a bunch of press clippings about the Rubinov.”

When D.C. joined her, the legs of the sofa creaked ominously. Ignoring the sound, he helped her arrange the clippings on the coffee table.

For a moment, neither one of them spoke. Something tightened around Fiona’s heart. “I’m no expert, but I’d say she was fascinated by the diamond.”

“I agree.” D.C. tapped a finger on one of the articles. “This one is from the original announcement in October.”

Fiona studied the picture and recognized one of the two women. “That’s Regina Meyers.” In the caption below the photo, the other woman was identified as Charity Watkins, the exhibit’s director at the National Gallery.

When her cell rang, Fiona checked the caller ID. “It’s Natalie.” Then she pressed the speaker phone button so that D.C. could hear.

“Chance has talked with the security people at the National Gallery. Turns out there was a slight problem with the security system yesterday afternoon at five, just as the exhibit closed down. There’s evidently a set routine. The guards get everyone out. Then at five, they lock the doors. That’s when the infrared security beams go on. Yesterday, at five, the surveillance screens in the security room went blank for about two to three minutes. No alarm sounded, and when they rebooted the system, everything was fine. The diamond was right there in its case. This morning, at Chance’s request, they checked the tapes from the cameras in the room and in the hallway that runs behind it, but there’s nothing but a blank screen during the crucial three minutes.”