Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(64)
“Impressive, huh?” Tessa remained standing next to the door. He noticed she had a thing for personal space. And she wore her dark hair pulled back a tad too tight, as if she cared less for hairstyle and more for control.
“Holy shit,” he observed politely.
She smiled, her shoulders coming down a fraction. “By all accounts, Libby Denbe was the hostess with the mostest. Had a degree in creative arts, something like that, which you can see in some of the color choices. At least, they seem very creative to me, given that my own house is mostly white, white and, well, white.”
“Where do you live?”
“Just bought a little bungalow in Arlington. Small probably by New Hampshire standards, but works for me.”
“You got a family?”
“A daughter.” She eyed him thoughtfully, as if slightly surprised. “My husband died two years ago.” Another expectant pause. Wyatt looked around the foyer. Kevin was already busy examining the evidence placards, his brow furrowed in concentration, which meant that Wyatt was on his own.
“Sorry to hear that,” he drawled politely.
She smiled again, but it was ironic now. “It’s because you’re from New Hampshire,” she murmured. “I forget, sometimes, that not everyone cares about Boston news. Would you like the nickel tour? The feebies have yet to leave their mobile command center, meaning for the moment, the place is ours.”
Wyatt drew up short. “Mobile command center? Where?”
“The back alley that runs behind the townhomes. That’s where everyone has garage access, parking spaces, the less glamorous stuff. That’s how Back Bay works. You get these beautiful scenic streets, say, Marlborough, where you behold the front facade of each town house. Then you get a narrow back alley that runs behind it, featuring the much less glamorous rear of each building. Boston FBI pulled in last night. Big white mobile command center, very pretty on the outside, I’m betting lots of cool toys on the inside. Now, my turn: Is it just me, or do you have a history with the blond agent?”
“Nicole?” Wyatt fell in step beside Tessa and she led him away from the foyer toward what appeared to be the kitchen. “History is the operative word.”
“She good?”
“I’d say so. Smart, resourceful, ambitious. If I were missing, I wouldn’t mind her handling my case.”
“Good to know.”
Arriving in the state-of-the-art kitchen, first thing Wyatt spotted was the pile of personal possessions topping the granite island. The FBI had left the items intact, Tessa informed him, as they had some behavioral expert returning today to further study the scene. Not to mention, it wasn’t necessary to remove the mobile phones to analyze them; the cellular provider had already faxed over transcripts of messages, texts and call histories.
There was something about the cache of personal possessions that bothered Wyatt. It was more than simply removing items that could be used to call for help or potentially aid in a victim’s escape; it was dehumanizing. Divesting the fifteen-year-old of her metallic orange cell phone with her Swarovski crystal initials stickered on the back. Stripping off the wife’s engagement ring and wedding band. Taking the husband’s obviously well-used, well-loved, battered red Swiss Army knife.
It also invoked a sense of déjà vu. He had to think about it, circle the pile for a moment, consider multiple angles. Then, it came to him:
“Prison intake,” he said.
Tessa glanced up from her own inspection.
“When you’re first admitted into jail, they take all your personal possessions,” he continued. “Jewelry, wallets, money, keys, phone, cash, everything. You place it in a pile, slide it over. That’s what this looks like. Prison intake.”
Tessa nodded thoughtfully. “So possibly one or more of our offenders has a history.”
“Unfortunately, that doesn’t limit the suspect pool much,” Wyatt said dryly. “We were already thinking professionals, and many of them have logged time. You know, that way they can continue their education with even more experienced felons, while forming new alliances to assist with fresh criminal activities upon release.”
“But never call you cynical.”
Wyatt looked at her. “Versus your natural well of optimism?”
That smile again. Larger, more genuine. Made her look, for a second, like a woman still in her twenties. It occurred to him that Tessa Leoni’s natural state seemed to be almost wary, as if on guard against some danger he hadn’t identified yet. A story there. Definitely a story there.
“Pessimism is an occupational hazard,” she granted. “So, one of our suspects has probably served time. Most likely, the FBI is already on it, but I’ll mention it when they next emerge from their cocoon. Anything else?”
“For a crime we keep saying is financially motivated, there’s a lot of financial motive right here. I mean, as long as you’re grabbing a family for ransom, why leave behind the gold and diamonds? The kidnappers don’t want a bonus for their efforts?”
“Disciplined,” Tessa stated. “That’s my theory. The kidnappers had a plan, and they stuck to it. Which scares me a little as Libby’s diamond alone must be worth an easy hundred grand. If you think about it, when the other guys aren’t looking, you could simply slide it in your pocket…”