The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(82)

She pulled a random name out of the air, one that she had overheard in the gallery. “Daymar Locust—or Locasta?”

“Oh, yeah. Someone mentioned him.” Notation. Notation. “Anything else come up while you were talking with Ms. Fortescue?”

“No.” Vitoria smiled and played with the hem of her skirt. “I wish I could be more helpful.”

“What were you doing in your brother’s office?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why were you in there? If it was his office.”

Vitoria considered the various ways to play what was coming next. There were a number of different approaches she could take, and as she went over each in turn, it was rather like cards in a poker hand, she supposed.

Eventually, she made a show of sighing. “May I be honest.”

“I think you’d better be, if you don’t mind me saying. This is a homicide investigation.”

She moved her eyes off to the side, as if she were composing her thoughts. Then returned them to the detective. “I’ve been really worried about my brothers. As you must know, our culture is very different. As their sister, I am expected to wait patiently for news, rather than go find things out myself. But after a year…anyway, I went into Eduardo’s office to see if I could find anything to explain where he and Ricardo might be. I am in an awkward position, you see. They would never approve of me interfering, and if they are alive? They will be furious at me.”

“So things are traditional in your family, huh.”

“Very.” She deliberately hung her head, as if she were caught in a tangle. “It’s part of the reason I am scared to call the authorities. If my brothers are all right, they will be furious at me for meddling in the man’s world. And I truly don’t want to believe anything bad has happened, but…what else can I think? It has always been just the three of us, since our mother died. I am not a worldly woman in the sense that I am adventurous or familiar with travel. I was terrified to make the trip here on my own, but as they are my only family, I felt compelled to come find them—I am babbling, aren’t I. Listen to me.”

To ensure that the energy coming off of her was correct, she pictured once again Ricardo’s body, seeing his lolling head, the neck wound, the gray ribbons of flesh—and instantly, she felt genuine sadness, regret, fear.

“What do you think happened to your brothers?” de la Cruz asked quietly.

“I do not know.” Her eyes went to the floor. “I truly do not.”

“Are you aware that your brother Ricardo may have been involved with drug dealing?”

Vitoria whipped her head up. “I beg your pardon. He is a dealer in art. That is his business.”

“I don’t mean to offend you.” The man put his hand up. “But I’m not sure you’re aware of everything he did here.”

Vitoria went to get up, but her thigh muscles spasmed in an uncoordinated way. As she lurched to one side, de la Cruz ran over and caught her arm.

“My brothers were good men.” Or at least Ricardo was. Eduardo had always been a bit of a flake. “I won’t have their memories darkened with conjecture.”

“You’re speaking about them in the past tense again.”

She pushed herself away from the detective and stumbled as she went over to the windows. There was nothing to look out at particularly, no vista. Just the row of 1920s-era storefronts across the four lanes of Market Street.

“Listen, Ms. Benloise, I didn’t mean to upset you.” There was a pause. “I just think it’s time you know more, if only in case they get in touch with you. What you don’t want is to get sucked into this.”

“I know nothing of any other kind of business.” She pivoted back around and straightened her Escada jacket. “Is there anything else I may help you with?”

“Actually, yes. Since it appears as though you’ve taken over operations here on behalf of your brothers, I’d like your permission to view any and all security camera footage from the premises.”

Vitoria blinked. And kept the curse in her native tongue to herself.

This was the mistake she had made.

She hadn’t thought about any cameras. How in the hell could she not have thought about searching the security feeds? And what could be on them?

In rapid succession, her brain ran through the various angles. If she said no, they might force her to give them access by some kind of court order—although how they would get permission for that, she wasn’t sure, as Margot had worked here, but had not been murdered on the premises. More to the point, if de la Cruz was indeed aware of her brothers’ endeavors in the drug trade, the police might well use whatever was on the feeds as a way to…

To what? she wondered. Ricardo was dead. Eduardo had to be as well. And she had no official knowledge of the goings-on. Her only ties thus far were with the frustrated suppliers back in South America, and there was no way they would give her up: The American authorities couldn’t reach that far, for one thing, and anything that incriminated her would incriminate the suppliers.

But if she granted de la Cruz access, maybe he could do the work for her. She had no idea how to run computers or isolate footage—she wasn’t even sure where the feeds were kept. But both her brothers had been notoriously secretive. There wouldn’t be cameras in places there shouldn’t be.