Christmas Male(37)

Bobby considered the question for a minute. “We had several busloads of school kids on field trips. But we were briefed about them. Kids get antsy, touch things. You have to be alert.”

“Anything else?”

“We had some viewers who were dressed in Santa hats and red scarves. I might have spotted four of them. All of them were young, two were women. I thought at first they might be chaperones with one of the school groups. One of the women wore thick-soled black boots that laced all the way up to the knees. The other was a small blonde passing out brochures about a toy drive.”

Not much got by Bobby, D.C. figured. He inclined his head to where Fiona was now standing with Charity Watkins. “If I were going to rob the place, I’d come in through the service doors right after lockup, then exit through those same doors and find a way to disappear into the group visitors still on their way out.”

Bobby gave the doors a thoughtful glance. “Not a bad plan. But only high-level employees can get in through there. They don’t even give the code out to the guards. And then infrared security beams are turned on once the doors are locked.”

“They could have been switched off,” D.C. murmured.

“All that is handled in the main security room. We have to have the room cleared and locked down by five sharp.”

D.C. pictured it in his mind. Once the alarms were jammed, you could nip in the service doors, unlock the case and switch the necklaces. He figured sixty to eighty seconds—two minutes if you had to deactivate the lock with a recording of Shalnokov’s voice.

Once the alarms were up and the cameras back on, everything would look totally in order. The fake necklace would be right there in the display case.

“You’re thinking it had to be an inside job by someone who knew the security inside out,” Bobby said.

Yes, Bobby was a sharp one. “Possibly.” He slipped a card out of his pocket and handed it to the guard. “Do me a favor and give me a call if you think of anything else.”

Bobby shot D.C. a curious glance. “Is the army investigating the attempted theft, too?”

“Not officially. I’m curious. Things are a little slow over at Fort McNair.”

Bobby smiled at him. “I imagine anything would be slow after being in Iraq.”

With a final nod to the guard, D.C. turned.

“One other thing, Captain.”

When he turned back, Bobby motioned him closer. “One of those people wearing Santa hats—the woman handing out brochures—was among the last to leave. I remember seeing her run down the front steps just as we were closing the doors. It must have been close to five-thirty.”

“Thanks. I owe you.” Then, turning away from the guard, D.C. made his way against the flow of traffic headed toward the display case. He wanted a closer look at the service door. Chance would no doubt have the particulars, but he couldn’t help wondering how long it would take to crack the code. Probably too long. It would be much easier if someone had the code already.

The two women were standing in the open doorway now. Fiona’s questions were brief and to the point. Charity Watkins stood there, her arms crossed. The fingers of one hand tapped impatiently against her arm. It was the same stance she’d taken with the group of children yesterday. Was it anger? Or nerves?

He watched Fiona raise one of her hands to press it briefly against her temple. A headache, he guessed and frowned. Little wonder—she hadn’t eaten more than two bites of that blueberry scone all day.

He was close enough now to see that the hallway beyond the door was narrow and a nearby window looked out on the sculpture garden one story below. How far was it to an exit?

“Does the public have access to this area?” Fiona was asking.

“No. Only staff,” Charity Watkins replied. “It’s rarely used. On opening nights, exhibitors often throw preview parties, and servers will use these doors.”

“Who caters these parties?”

Charity waved an impatient hand. “The staff at our café handles it. But someone from security would be in charge of letting them in.”

As they stepped back into the exhibition room, Charity glanced pointedly at her watch. “If that’s all—”

“Did you personally visit the exhibition yesterday?”

“Yes.” Annoyance flickered over her face. “It’s part of my job to see that everything runs smoothly.”

“How many times did you come in here?”

Charity’s eyes narrowed. “Three or four.”

“And the last time?”

“Shortly before the room closed. I’m sure all of my visits were recorded on the security tapes. Now, if we’re through here…”