in cut diamonds, his share for the Fabergé egg he’d stolen in New York. Much easier to move than cash and, if you knew who to ask, accepted in more places than American Express. He tipped the diamonds back into the pouch.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed the egg and placed it in the second box. He’d wrapped it in his ski mask, a small symbolic act that he knew wouldn’t be lost on Archie when he came to collect it. He slid the box back into the wall and locked the door. He then dropped the pouch and the key to the second box into the first box, returned it to the wall, and again locked it shut.
He passed through the security gates again, nodded at the guards and then stepped out onto the street just in time to see the streetlights buzz on.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LOUISVILLE COUNTY MORTUARY, LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY
23 July—11:37 A.M.
J ennifer had always believed that there were no such things as coincidences, just different perspectives. From one perspective, a series of individual events could appear totally random with nothing binding them together other than their actual existence. A coincidence.
From another, however, events could evolve, become more complex, deepen in significance until they ultimately emerged as constituent parts of an overall pattern of cause and effect that could never have been dreamed of originally, let alone guessed at.
These were the facts as far as she could tell: Short had worked at Fort Knox. He was young and healthy. He was happily married with three children he adored. He was a regular churchgoer. And he was liked and respected at work. All in all, he was certainly not your average suicide material. So from one perspective, the fact that he had committed suicide just a few days before the discovery that five gold coins had been stolen from Fort Knox was just a terrible coincidence.
And yet, when viewed from another, more cynical perspective it was no coincidence at all. It was downright suspicious.
Corbett had agreed when she had finally managed to track him down the previous afternoon on his way to another internal meeting, a look of grim-faced resignation stamped across his face. He had greeted her with a tired smile.
“Five minutes, Browne, that’s all I got. So you’d better make it quick. Let’s talk and walk.”
She had rapidly explained what she had found out about Short, choosing to omit Viggiano’s mistake, although she knew he wouldn’t have done the same for her. Corbett had clearly been impressed, even pausing to give her a pat on the side of the shoulder that had made her swell with pride.
“So he didn’t leave a note?”
“No.” She had given a firm shake of her head. “All the witness statements say it was totally out of character. He was happily married and doing well at work. He just doesn’t fit the profile.”
“I agree.” A brief pause. “And you say he was one of the guards down at Fort Knox?”
“Yeah. One of their star performers, apparently. Whatever that means.”
“And tell me again when this happened?”
“Four days ago. That’s just two days after Ranieri was murdered in Paris.”
“Hmmm.” Corbett’s forehead had creased in thought.
“The autopsy hasn’t happened yet. I spoke to the Louisville coroner’s office earlier and they’ve agreed to delay the procedure until tomorrow so I can observe. I’ve booked a flight.”
“Good.” Corbett had nodded as he reached the meeting room door he’d been heading for. “You’re right, it doesn’t add up. Let me know what you find. Oh, and Browne…” he had said as she turned away. “Nice work.” She could almost have kissed him.
The mortuary was an anonymous white slab of a building on the outskirts of town, only a short drive from Louisville International Airport and screened from the road by a wall of cedar trees. Jennifer stepped gratefully out of the humidity’s dank embrace into the building’s refrigerated reception
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed the egg and placed it in the second box. He’d wrapped it in his ski mask, a small symbolic act that he knew wouldn’t be lost on Archie when he came to collect it. He slid the box back into the wall and locked the door. He then dropped the pouch and the key to the second box into the first box, returned it to the wall, and again locked it shut.
He passed through the security gates again, nodded at the guards and then stepped out onto the street just in time to see the streetlights buzz on.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LOUISVILLE COUNTY MORTUARY, LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY
23 July—11:37 A.M.
J ennifer had always believed that there were no such things as coincidences, just different perspectives. From one perspective, a series of individual events could appear totally random with nothing binding them together other than their actual existence. A coincidence.
From another, however, events could evolve, become more complex, deepen in significance until they ultimately emerged as constituent parts of an overall pattern of cause and effect that could never have been dreamed of originally, let alone guessed at.
These were the facts as far as she could tell: Short had worked at Fort Knox. He was young and healthy. He was happily married with three children he adored. He was a regular churchgoer. And he was liked and respected at work. All in all, he was certainly not your average suicide material. So from one perspective, the fact that he had committed suicide just a few days before the discovery that five gold coins had been stolen from Fort Knox was just a terrible coincidence.
And yet, when viewed from another, more cynical perspective it was no coincidence at all. It was downright suspicious.
Corbett had agreed when she had finally managed to track him down the previous afternoon on his way to another internal meeting, a look of grim-faced resignation stamped across his face. He had greeted her with a tired smile.
“Five minutes, Browne, that’s all I got. So you’d better make it quick. Let’s talk and walk.”
She had rapidly explained what she had found out about Short, choosing to omit Viggiano’s mistake, although she knew he wouldn’t have done the same for her. Corbett had clearly been impressed, even pausing to give her a pat on the side of the shoulder that had made her swell with pride.
“So he didn’t leave a note?”
“No.” She had given a firm shake of her head. “All the witness statements say it was totally out of character. He was happily married and doing well at work. He just doesn’t fit the profile.”
“I agree.” A brief pause. “And you say he was one of the guards down at Fort Knox?”
“Yeah. One of their star performers, apparently. Whatever that means.”
“And tell me again when this happened?”
“Four days ago. That’s just two days after Ranieri was murdered in Paris.”
“Hmmm.” Corbett’s forehead had creased in thought.
“The autopsy hasn’t happened yet. I spoke to the Louisville coroner’s office earlier and they’ve agreed to delay the procedure until tomorrow so I can observe. I’ve booked a flight.”
“Good.” Corbett had nodded as he reached the meeting room door he’d been heading for. “You’re right, it doesn’t add up. Let me know what you find. Oh, and Browne…” he had said as she turned away. “Nice work.” She could almost have kissed him.
The mortuary was an anonymous white slab of a building on the outskirts of town, only a short drive from Louisville International Airport and screened from the road by a wall of cedar trees. Jennifer stepped gratefully out of the humidity’s dank embrace into the building’s refrigerated reception
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