“How is your little boy? He must be four now?”

“Almost. It’s been hardest of all for him.” I shifted gears quickly. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I was a student in Berlin twelve years ago. I wanted to reconnect with some people I knew then, people who worked here. I’m embarrassed to say I can’t remember their names. Could I see the personnel files?”

“Of course!” Pierre answered. He turned and spoke in rapid-fire German to the desk staff. I couldn’t follow what he was saying very well, except that some files were digitized and some were on paper. One of the desk staff headed to the back.

“Have you eaten?” Pierre asked me.

“No.” I’d forgotten about food. The last meal I’d had was the boxed breakfast on the plane. “But I’m in a hurry.”

“Of course you are. Americans are always in a hurry. It is the land of the White Rabbit—‘I’m late, I’m late, for an important date!’” Pierre shook his head. “The dining room is amazing. You have to eat here. The files will take a little bit of time. Let’s wait for them in style.”

The dining room was amazing, capped with a Byzantine dome that rivaled that of the Bode Museum’s entryway. The floor was inlaid blue mosaic tiles that shimmered like waves; as I gazed outside, directly onto the river, it felt as close to walking on water as I’d ever get.

“Your sister gets all the credit for this,” Pierre said when we were seated at a table by the window. “The renovation happened before I arrived, but I was told it was Juliet’s vision.”

I glanced around again, spotting her handiwork in the clean-lined, modern steel furniture paired with gilded mosaics. “Juliet takes every detail seriously.”

“She took over the global portfolio after you left,” Pierre said. “Frankly, I miss working with you. Why did you leave, Theo? I never understood.”

Pierre worked for my family—and only on the legitimate side of the business—so there was only so much I could say. Still, I wanted to be as truthful as I could. “When I was growing up, I would see these amazing works of art—Babylonian lions, Egyptian funeral art, great paintings—coming through my father’s hotels. Sometimes they’d go on display; sometimes they’d end up being sold. But I’d see them and think, ‘That belongs in a museum.’”

“I understand. When I was a kid, my family vacationed in the South of France,” Pierre said. “One time, we went to a museum that had been an artist’s house. There were a pair of ancient Egyptian statues there—tremendous things, taller than me.” He gestured with his hands. “I couldn’t believe they had ended up in a private home. They clearly belonged in a museum.”

“There’s always been a gray market for pieces like that,” I said. “A lot of institutions won’t take pieces anymore if they don’t know their provenance, but private collectors will. I told my father that if he wanted me to work with him in the hotel business, he had to stop taking part in it.”

“But he did, yes? Honestly, there’s nothing like that being moved through here. There wasn’t in Paris either.”

I took a breath. “My father is clever about technicalities. He feels like he’s honored our agreement, but he was skirting the edges of it. That’s why I quit.”

That was as much as I could tell Pierre. The truth was, as far as I knew, my father had stopped trafficking in stolen antiquities. However, he’d embarked on a different illegal venture with some new partners. That was it for me. I’d told Caroline exactly what he was up to. She hadn’t cared. What does it matter, when there’s so much good you can do with the money? she’d asked me. We were, from that moment on, an ocean apart, figuratively and literally.

“That is why you do what you do now?” Pierre said appraisingly. “Please do not tell me that you are here to take our Nefertiti away. Germany acquired it from Egypt legally.”

The bust he referred to was on permanent display at the Neues Museum, just north of where we were sitting. “The German team that found it had a license from Egypt, but Egypt was under Ottoman rule, and the British were dominating Egypt,” I said. “It’s all part of the legacy of colonialism.”

“Do you think, if all their artifacts were returned, they could care for all of them?” he asked. “You’ve been to Istanbul. Think of the national museum. They have so much Roman art they are drowning in it. It lies outdoors, getting rained on, with cats crawling all over it.”

We spent the next hour discussing art and politics, which was a welcome distraction. Afterward, we went to his office, where a series of files was laid out on his desk. Thraxton International had a photograph of every staff member, so if the man I remembered had worked at the hotel, I knew I’d find him. It didn’t take me long. The thirteenth file I picked up belonged to a man named Mehmet Badem. As I stared at his photo, time seemed to stop. That was the man who had carried me onto the plane.

“Does he still work for you?” I asked, holding up the photo.

“I don’t know him.” Pierre peered at the file. “He left work here on permanent disability five years ago. Some kind of accident, but it doesn’t say what happened. How odd.” He flipped through the pages, then went to his computer. “He does receive a pension.”

“You have his address?” It was hard to contain my eagerness.

While Pierre wrote it down for me, I flipped through the other files. There was no one else I recognized. But another curious idea was coursing through my brain with the insistent buzzing of a mosquito. Exactly how much of a coincidence was it that Juliet had been nearby the night Mirelle had died? She had still been a student that January, earning her Ivy League MBA. I could clearly picture her face, squeezed tight with anger. You ruined my week in Paris, you stupid piece of shit. I wish you were dead. It wasn’t the first time I wondered how far Juliet would go to take control of the business, but my blood had never run that cold when I’d considered the question.

CHAPTER 26

DEIRDRE

I didn’t know where to go or what to do after I spoke with Ben. I called Jude on her cell phone and then on her work line, getting voice mail both times. I didn’t leave a message, because I was afraid my voice would give me away. Jude had made it clear she was keeping some of my sister’s secrets from me. Even so, the idea that Caro had confided in her about criminal activity at the Thraxton business really hurt. That wasn’t personal, not like details about her unhappy marriage. It made me feel like Caro had decided she could only trust me so far.

Of course, there was the possibility that Ben was lying. He’d told me about the money laundering. Maybe he’d been the one who told Jude too. He was an evasive character who needed a kick to the head. Taking anything he said at face value felt like a mistake.

I was finishing my water and contemplating whether to take the subway south to city hall and ambush Jude when I got a call from the cops. “Deirdre, we’d really like you to come in to the precinct again. We have to talk to you about some new developments,” Villaverde told me.

I couldn’t believe it. The cops were calling me? I had the distinct impression that Villaverde thought I was a drama queen when I’d gone in. It was a huge relief to see he was actually following up on the tangled threads of my sister’s case.

“I can come over now,” I said, sounding like the eager beaver I was. “I’ll be right there.”

I practically flew to the precinct. I had a short wait when I got there, but a friendly officer took me to the interview room and offered me a soda. When Villaverde walked in, he introduced me to his partner, Detective Gorey, a short, round man with orange hair and freckles. Gorey squinted at me dubiously, staring at my arms as if cataloging my tattoos. When he shook his head, I knew we were off to a great start.

“We need to ask you a few questions, Deirdre,” Villaverde said.

“Sure. But first, I have one for you. Did you know that Theo is in Berlin right now?”

They glanced at each other. “No, we hadn’t heard,” Villaverde said.

“He’s free to go anywhere,” Gorey said.

“His wife just died, and he’s running away, leaving his son behind?” I put my hands out, palms up. “There’s something wrong with him. You know, I talked to his father this morning.”

“Did you?” It wasn’t really a question from Gorey. He sounded bored.

“He admitted that Theo’s first wife died. He said drugs were involved.” As I spoke, I realized I didn’t want to get the old man in trouble. I didn’t exactly trust him, but I also didn’t want to ruin his life. He needed to tell the cops his story his way. “He also told me Theo came home a day earlier than anyone realized from his last trip. He went to his house early the morning my sister died.”

“Look, Deirdre, that’s not why we wanted you to come in,” Villaverde said. “We want to help you out, but we need some information first.”