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And Katrina was more alone than she’d ever been.
CHAPTER
33
Frank Delgado stood beside the bed, looking down at the man lying there. His hands were behind his head and his leg was elevated and he was far too chipper for a man who had been shot only three days ago. He looked like he was lying in a hammock on a warm beach instead of the infirmary in a city jail.
He hadn’t said much so far, but his fingerprints had come back from Interpol and they said enough. His name was Oliver Sneed, a British national who was skilled at parkour, and he had used those skills in a series of daring robberies—not all of them successful, since he had a record longer than his wounded leg.
Delgado had been halfway back to his home in Virginia when Special Agent in Charge Macklin had called and asked him to head back to New York, to question Sneed. Delgado didn’t mind. And when he got a look at Sneed’s history, he was glad he had returned.
Sneed had given smart-ass replies to the first few questions. That was okay with Delgado. The questions were pretty standard, just setting a tone and a rhythm for the interview. Delgado was using them to make Sneed relax, to set him up for one question in particular, one that Delgado really wanted to ask.
“I told you, mate,” Sneed said breezily. “It was all a lark. Just a bit of fun on a lovely evening.”
“Pretty cold evening,” Delgado said.
“The parkour, mate,” Sneed said. “Warms the blood like a tonic.”
“And at midnight, too,” Delgado said.
“Aw, I couldn’t sleep, that’s all,” Sneed said. He shook his head slightly, as much as he could lying down, and his face took on an expression of innocence that would have done Shirley Temple proud. “How was I to know there was all those Ay-rab lads up there, automatic weapons and that?”
“You had no idea what was in the museum?” Delgado asked.
“Not a fucking clue,” Sneed said with a shrug. “Never was much for museums.”
Delgado nodded. “All right,” he said reasonably. “Just a coincidence, then?”
“That’s the word,” Sneed said happily. “Co-fucking-incidence.”
“Quite an amazing fluke, considering your record,” Delgado said. He pulled a metal folding chair close to the bed and sat. “Seven counts of grand larceny, mostly jewels.”
“Done my time, haven’t I?” Sneed said with an air of injured innocence. “Changed man, I am.”
“So you had no idea the crown jewels were at the Eberhardt?”
“Not a fucking clue.”
“And you weren’t there because you paid somebody on the dark web to turn off the alarm system?”
“The dark what?” Sneed asked.
“Somebody,” Delgado went on, “who apparently double-crossed you, set you up to get shot?”
“Aw, now, who would do such an awful thing?” Sneed asked with great innocence.
Delgado smiled. This was what he’d been waiting for. “Riley Wolfe,” he said.
Sneed’s reaction was better than he could have hoped for. His mouth opened wide, but nothing came out, and then he closed his eyes and seemed to sink down into his pillow. “Bloody fucking hell,” he whispered, and again, “Bloody fucking hell.”
Delgado said nothing, and after a moment Sneed opened his eyes again. “Should have known,” he said. “Riley fucking Wolfe.” He sighed and shook his head slowly. “Bugger has it in for me.”
“Why?” Delgado asked.
Sneed waved a hand dismissively. “Aw, I done him dirty a few years back. The old double-cross, jobbed him out o
f a right nice score.” He closed his eyes again. “Should’ve known he wouldn’t let that go. Not Riley. Not ever.” He opened one eye and pointed it at Delgado. “What did he get away with?”
