To Steal a Weeping Widow

Chapter Forty-Two: Speak Now or...

"Agreement?" I was incredulous at her choice of words. "That's an interesting—if not misleading—choice of words. If you require agreement from me, then you've wasted your time."

"Ma'am, please." The FBI agent beside Gallick raised a condescending hand, already flexing a falsely-tepid expression of so-called power. Leaning back in his chair, he looked like a vulture that'd preened a little too much; a buzzard sitting snobbish at the top of a tree. The man—whose name I couldn't remember—was a sniffle of an agent compared to the effortless command of his partner. Yet, he didn't seem to know that unflinching fact. "Let's be reasonable here," he rumbled.

"Reasonable?" A customer-service laugh ricocheted from Ms. Filbright in the stiff space. She clicked the pen held between her folded hands and set her sights on the sham of an agent.

Meanwhile, Mr. Worton looked around in feigned surprise. He was known for his dramatics, wearing out the patience of the opposing counsel until their aggravation yielded results. All within the bounds of the law, of course.

"Oh, he wants to be reasonable!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea, what have we been doing all this time?"

"I believe our client has been perfectly reasonable, agents," Ms. Filbright snipped. "Above and beyond, in fact. Let's recount the facts, shall we? First, she's touted a suspect for a devastating theft, with suspicion entirely built on the basis of her presence at a museum she works at—a location covering roughly four acres of ground, if I'm not mistaken."

"Well—"

"Despite the camera showing Ms. Vaycker in her office before and after the time of the crime, with hardly enough time to pluck a highly secured painting off a wall, let alone hide it—if enough time at all—she's believed to have done so with apparent ease," Ms. Filbright said, viciously calm. "Because of that, she's been dragged through the mud and left with a reputation that is... unpleasant, shall we say? Or do you prefer unsavory?"

"Whatever you prefer, ma'am."

"And even so, despite those allegations, she's been nothing but cooperative with the investigation. Let's drop the pleasantries. You're looking for a scapegoat to cover your team's incompetence. The evidence against her is circumstantial at best, biased at worst, and ridiculous either way."

Mr. Worton nodded. "And, of course, it was followed by a ludicrous investigation of her finances, during which time an unprecedented move was made to freeze her assets and leave her with no direct means of covering her expenses."

"A move Judge Holspear allowed given the highly unusual set of circumstances," Gallick reminded. "And which revealed some questionable financial activity."

"Well, we look forward to hearing it, agent, as the FBI has provided nothing but shaky basis for the continued harassment of our client."

Gallick was unbothered. Her smile was still piercing. "A priceless work of art was stolen. It remains missing. We are under no obligation to share the sensitive progress of our investigation with you or your client, unless the next step is to pursue prosecution, at which time the federal attorneys become involved. "

"And is it?" I asked. "The next step?"

My voice was low, a sharp contrast to the bouncing tones of Mr. Worton and the cold pitch of Ms. Filbright. My throat had tightened. My heart had shriveled.

Agent Gallick was evaluating me again. I'd always seen her as a predator, and predators took time for strategy, evaluating the best way to fell their prey. So I did the same. I met the headstrong gaze of the woman before me. She was as impressive as ever. The dark flowery blouse beneath her suit offered a look of sweetness her eyes did not agree with, but she was polished and perfect. Framed by the tired beiges of a formal room, or more accurately a dressed down interrogation closet, she was a shiny button on a linen coat.