“This is a hell of a thing,” said her boss Milo Zachery, the brand-new SAC of the New York Field Office Criminal Division. He looked miserable, and she couldn’t blame him. He was right, this was a humongous mess, which was why she’d called to alert him as soon as she’d gotten a firm confirmation on the ID, and now he was here to assess the situation. Zachery was in his late forties, trim and fit, the quintessential FBI SAC. Looking at him made Mike stand up straighter.
“Everyone’s going to be bloodied before this is over,” he said. “Our Brit counterparts will go on the warpath if we don’t handle this perfectly.” He waved his hand toward the medical examiner’s van. “York came over from Scotland Yard as a special attaché for the Jewel of the Lion exhibit at the Met before I was made SAC, so I’m not familiar with everything she was doing. An inspector with Scotland Yard, killed on our turf? Our butts are going to be shining in the spotlight. Run me through it; I’ll need to be prepared when the wolves descend, and descend they will, big-time.”
Mike said, “She was partnered up with Ben Houston, from Art Crimes; I called him right after I called you. He should be here any minute. He can give us all the details. He was really upset. He liked her, said she was sharper than his daddy’s stiletto, and pretty as a Viking sunset, whatever that means.” But she’s not pretty now, and for a moment, Mike was so pissed she couldn’t speak.
She continued, her voice steady. “We don’t have much, sir. She was shot in the upper-left chest, small caliber, no exit. Might not be the actual cause of death. Outside of her badge clipped to her skirt, no personal effects have been found. I’d say she hasn’t been in the water long, but with the temperatures, the water preserves the body, so it could be longer. We’re going to have to wait for the autopsy to get the full story. We’ll have to see who saw her last, figure up a timeline from there.”
“Who found her?”
“Two kids sneaking some pot. They saw her tangled in garbage near the shore and called it in. We’ve got impressions of the footprints around the water’s edge, but I’m willing to bet this week’s salary they belong to the kids who found the body. I’ve seen no other viable impressions outside of theirs.”
Special Agent Ben Houston appeared at her right elbow and shook hands with both Mike and Zachery. He looked shocked and angry, and hurting, she thought, and Mike wondered how close he’d been to Inspector York.
Zachery said, “Ben, give me your input on her, anything that could help us figure this out.”
Mike saw he was trying to get it together, trying to clamp down on his anger, his grief. “Ben, yes, please,” Mike said, “can you tell me about her? I need everything so I can start looking into her world.”
Ben swallowed hard. “She’s been with the Metropolitan Police in London her whole career. The people she was working with at the Met will have her personal details. I do know she thought her people were absolutely crazy for bringing the jewels out of the Tower of London.”
Zachery said, “Was she doing anything hinky, anything to draw unwanted attention or make herself a victim? Any affairs? Pissed-off lovers?”
Ben shook his head. “She liked her job, did it to the best of her ability. Lovers, no, none I’ve heard about. She is—was—a really pretty girl, but very focused, very determined. She’s a runner; she ran the upstate marathon with me last November when the New York Marathon was canceled. I got a calf cramp, and she insisted on staying with me. I ruined her time.” He swallowed, turning to see the proof of her death in the medical examiner’s van, idling quietly ten yards away. “She didn’t drink, smoke, nothing to harm her innards, although she loved our American coffee. We had lunch and dinner a few times. She was a vegetarian. She was—well, fun to be with, and kind. Yes, she was kind. I can’t imagine why anyone would kill her, it doesn’t make sense. I mean, why? This—this is bad.”