The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(94)

Matteo rocks back on his heels like I’ve slammed him bodily. “What?”

“Lawrence and I saw him in the warehouse.”

“Officer James has been doing patrols. That does not mean he’s dealing drugs.”

My head shakes back and forth before he’s finished speaking. “We heard him say that he’d helped make it look like Yee hung himself in his cell.”

Matteo’s eyes widen, a hint I’m breaking through the natural detective skepticism. I get the sense that not many people know the details about that, certainly not the public.

Feeling faint hope he’ll believe me, I continue, “Look, all I can tell you is what I heard. I know it’s my word against his, but—no, wait. I heard something else. Something you can use to check it out. He asked that money be wired to his offshore account. Matteo, that would be proof, right?”

Matteo’s expression is still shuttered. He is silent for a count of five, in which I don’t move or breathe. Then he turns to his partner and says, “Rideout, call the captain. Apprise her of the situation. Have Officer James put into custody pending investigation as well. We can cite two eyewitnesses until we get a look at his financials. Better yet, ask her to confiscate his phone also.”

Rideout studies me, and I’m expecting some sort of remark, but he just looks . . . rattled. Ashen-faced, he turns and lifts his cell to his ear, presumably to make a call to the captain.

Sosa has apparently been able to hear some of what we said because she struggles against the officers holding her, cheeks a bright red. “Kildaire, this is ludicrous. This whole fairy tale about a White Rabbit is stupid. I’m just out here trying to chase down a guy who stole a painting. Look, let me go. I am a fellow officer, and we are letting our true perpetrator get away.”

Matteo hesitates again.

It’s zero hour. And she’s about to talk her way out of this because I have no proof. I snap my fingers, startling everyone beside me. Proof.

“It’s not a fairy tale, and I can prove it. Matteo, if she’s who we were chasing, she hasn’t had time to ditch the journals. She’s got them on her somewhere. I swear.” I’ve never been so sure of anything in my entire life. I will Matteo to believe me.

Matteo reaches forward and unzips her jacket. A manila envelope falls out, along with a journal.

Bazinga.

Agent Sosa screeches, face beet red now. “That’s not mine. Someone planted those there. Why would I have some journal? That huge sea beast put it in my jacket when I fell! You’re arresting the wrong person!”

She’s right. We can’t prove she took them. Another thought occurs to me as I eye her open coat. The painting. The ripped canvas. “Look for a knife,” I tell Matteo as he pulls on a glove and scoops up the envelope. “Do officers carry knives? Anything sharp that could, say, slice through a canvas?”

Silence stretches as he pats her pockets and produces a small folding utility knife, black in color. It looks like military issue, and I’d be willing to believe it’s Sosa’s personal knife. He drops it into a baggie while Sosa glares at me.

The yelling has gathered a crowd, and though the officers are doing their best to keep people out, I see a multitude of cell-phone cameras pointed in our direction. For better or for worse, the Golden Arrow and the White Rabbit—and me and my crew—are evening news fodder. A familiar face pushing through the crowd draws my attention.

Ryan’s face is white. He’s sans coat and bag of freebies, and he all but launches himself to land near Matteo. “MG, what the hell is going on?”

I cut a glance at Latifah, cuffs placed on her beefy arms. “Minor misunderstanding. It seems we happened upon a bad guy—er—girl and got in the way of her escape. Ry, you’re going to have to feed Trog for me until this is cleared up, okay?”

Ryan looks around, sees the rest of his party being handcuffed, and swings his gaze back to me. “No, I’m coming with you guys. I’ll witness to . . . whatever.”

“Actually, that’s a great idea,” Matteo cuts in. He turns to Ryan. “Were you involved in this chase too?”

Ryan raises his eyebrows. “Chase? No. I was in the auction room. Everyone was panicking, and I got stuck in the crowd. Didn’t see where anyone went.”

I squint my eyes. That’s not exactly how I remember it.

“I want you to come give a statement. Sit for questioning anyhow.” Matteo says this like a challenge.

Ryan shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Sure. I’ll meet you at the station.” He turns to me. “And I’ll call the neighbor to let Trog out.”

Matteo rolls his shoulders back, rocks his head side to side, and faces Agent Sosa. “Okay. Back to you. I think this notebook is enough to hold you until we take a look at this evidence. Book her.”

“Kildaire, are you sure about this?” It’s Rideout. But he’s not being an ass. He sounds nervous. I mean, we’re accusing two people on his team—and his idol’s daughter—of drug dealing, murder, and smuggling. Big stuff.

Matteo searches my face, and I nod, pointing to the journal. “Read it. Open the manila envelope. Everything you need is in there.”

He nods and rips open the manila paper, which almost disintegrates. A VHS tape falls out, along with some photography prints and another journal.