Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(19)

The Ivy League gang that operated the levers of power had concluded that if spies were once again required, they would be recruited from the established East Coast families, men who had graduated from the best schools. One could only trust a true gentleman, born and bred, after all. The agents in the next war—and war was coming—would probably come from Yale.

At the start of the Ares project the desire for a truly fitting act of vengeance had been a Siren’s call. Now it was an obsession.





Chapter 12


“What makes you think that the intruder might have been heading for Pickwell’s room?” Matthias asked.

Amalie widened her eyes. “Gosh, I don’t know, Mr. Jones. Maybe I leaped to that crazy conclusion because after Pickwell died last night you demanded a tour of that room. You went through Dr. Pickwell’s belongings. When you left, you hinted that other people might show up wanting to do the same thing. When I woke up to find an intruder in my home, it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to take a look at Pickwell’s room, too.”

Matthias winced. “Okay, it was a logical assumption. Tell me exactly what happened.”

They were standing at the foot of the villa’s grand staircase. As far as he could tell, every light in the place was on.

He had been in bed when he’d been awakened by Amalie’s phone call but he had not been asleep. He never slept well when he was working an investigation, and that went double for this case.

Amalie had delivered the news of the intruder in short, terse phrases and then hung up. He had thrown on some clothes, climbed behind the wheel of the Packard convertible, fired up the powerful engine, and driven to the mansion on Ocean View Lane at a high rate of speed. It was nearly three in the morning. The streets of Burning Cove were empty.

Amalie had met him at the front door with a pistol in her hand. After he had recovered from the shock, he had noticed that she was dressed in a pair of flowing, wide-legged women’s trousers and a cream-colored sweater. Her hair was brushed back off her face and anchored with a couple of combs. She had not bothered with makeup. The lack of lipstick and mascara made her seem less cool and remote but it also underscored her vulnerability. She was a woman who had awakened to discover an intruder in her home. She had to have been terrified. She would probably have nightmares for a long time.

She did not look terrified, however. She looked resolute and quite fierce. She had a very tight grip on the pistol. That worried him.

“I told you pretty much everything when I spoke to you on the phone,” Amalie said. “I heard my aunt scream and then I heard a thud. I got my gun out of the drawer and went upstairs. The balcony doors at the end of the hall on that floor were open. I knew then that there was someone in the house. He must have been hiding in one of the rooms, because the next thing I knew he was running toward the balcony. I went after him but he managed to get away. I got off a few shots but I’m sure I didn’t hit him.”

“How long have you owned that gun?” Matthias asked.

“About six months. Why? Does it matter?”

“No. I was just curious.”

She gave him a cold look. “How long have you carried a gun?”

So much for getting her to open up about her past.

“Never mind,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs. I want to have a look around.”

Without a word she turned and went up the stairs. He followed. When they reached the third level, he glanced at the wall sconce. It was illuminated.

“You said it was dark up here?” he asked.

“Yes. The bulb in that fixture had been partially unscrewed. I tightened it while I waited for the police and the ambulance.” Amalie pointed toward an open door. “That’s my aunt’s room. I found her in the hallway. I think she must have heard him and got up to see what was going on. He hit her with a vase that was on the console.”

Matthias studied the French doors at the end of the hallway.

“You said he went over the balcony?”

“Yes.”

“Long way down.”

“He used a rope,” Amalie said. “It’s still hanging from the railing.”

“He was obviously prepared for a quick exit. I wonder if he used the rope to enter the villa.”

Amalie frowned. “Good question. I hadn’t thought about that. He must have climbed up the side of the house, moving from balcony to balcony.”

“That would take a lot of strength and agility,” Matthias said. He went through the French doors, stepped out onto the balcony, and looked down. “He would have to be in very good shape. A skilled cat burglar could probably manage it, but there are other possibilities. I want to take a look at the conservatory.”

“Why?”

“Because you probably wouldn’t have heard him break in if he came from that end of the house. Why would he take the risk of climbing the wall if he could simply let himself in through a door?”

Amalie sighed. “You’re right.”



* * *





One of the small panes of glass in the conservatory door had been shattered.

“That answers that question,” Matthias said. “The intruder broke the glass, reached inside, and unlocked the door. But it’s interesting that he brought the rope along. It indicates he anticipated that he might have to leave from one of the higher floors.”