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Nicholas said, “Bo, I need everything you know about Victoria Browning.”
Bo handed him a manila folder. “Here’s her file. She hired on at the Met last spring when they had an open call for security-guards-cum-docents. They handle the tours, plus keep an eye on the artwork. It’s a growing trend to hire overqualified people for these positions—kills two birds with one stone. You need a master’s or a Ph.D. in art to even be considered. So in addition to being a docent, she was well versed with everything security-related in this museum. She moved up the ladder quickly, was made a curator right before the holidays. When the original curator for the crown jewels exhibit fell ill, Browning was the number-one choice to replace him. She took over every aspect of the exhibit, worked with Inspector Elaine York directly.”
Mike said, “Wait, she wasn’t the original curator?”
“No.”
“I assumed she was the curator from the start. Remember, Nicholas, she told us she named the exhibit? Jewel of the Lion. She thought it was catchy.”
“How convenient for her, moving up the ladder so quickly,” Sherlock said. “What sort of illness did the original curator contract?”
Bo said, “Vertigo. I remember hearing it was a terrible case, too. He ended up taking an early retirement package.”
Mike said, “I bet she Hitchcocked him with the vertigo. Were there any rumblings when Browning got the position? Scuttlebutt? Surely there were more experienced curators who would have been more likely replacements than a newbie.”
Bo shook his head. “Before my time. I’ve only been here six weeks, remember, and Victoria was already the lead dog when my company came on board. I’ll have to discuss it with the director and the personnel director. My staff liked her, though. She was easy to work with, tough but nice. She worked hard, like everyone else, but I don’t know anything more personal about her than her choice of drink—Diet Coke. We’ll have to talk to her coworkers for more.”
Nicholas said, “I spent the plane ride over brushing up on the details of the exhibit. My briefing said Browning was chosen because of her extensive knowledge of the crown jewels.”
Bo nodded and shook the file. “I have it here, too. A ‘preeminent authority,’ it states.”
Mike said, “An authority? She must have faked her bio.”
Nicholas raised his eyebrows. “Faked? Yes, I suppose she could have faked any and all of it, though it would take a bit of doing. The palace vetted her, so she must check out, even with a pretty deep check.” He turned to Bo. “I’m sure the Met did as well, correct?”
“We do a thorough background check on every employee, from janitors to the board members.” Bo read from Browning’s file. “Her employment record, her transcripts checked out, nothing to set off any alarm bells.”
“Then we need to go deeper. Ten pounds says her name isn’t Victoria Browning.”
Savich called out, “Got it. The video feed from the attack is up and running. You’re going to want to see this.”
32
They watched the grainy video.
Bo said, “Oh, she’s very, very good. She programmed the computer in the comm center to create a timed power surge which forced the fifth-floor generators to kick in. Only the fifth floor, mind you. So when she threw the gas canisters and the alarms picked it up, only the fifth-floor alarm went off, not the rest of the building. It gave her exactly the cushion of time she needed to grab the diamond and get away.”
Nicholas said, “Savich, rewind it again, to the moment before it all goes black. See, right here. The second Paulie releases the diamond from the setting, Browning takes out what looks like a perfume bottle, squirts it at him, and then Louisa. They’re effectively blinded, start rubbing their eyes, and she hits each of them with a police baton, then pockets the diamond. Look at how fast she moves. If I wasn’t looking for it, I wouldn’t see it.”
Savich froze the frame, then advanced it at quarter-speed.
“See, right there.” Nicholas pointed at the screen. “Spray, and now the ASP baton is out and she’s spinning. She’s had martial-arts training, without a doubt.” He whistled in what could almost be called admiration. He had to hand it to her, Browning was quick.
Sherlock said, “Those expandable batons hurt, and a blow with one to the head will do some damage. Paulie and Louisa are lucky they weren’t hurt worse.”
Savich nodded. “So they’re down, she scoops up the diamond. She runs to the comm center, throws in the canister. It doesn’t take more than ten seconds before everyone is down. She slams the doors closed to contain the gas and heads back to the stairwell. I pick her up again two minutes later, when the fire alarm goes off. Bo, I’m sure you’ll find the museum alarms were triggered when she pulled the alarm as she exited the stairwell on the main floor.”
Nicholas said, “Then she waltzes right out the front door.”
Mike said, “We have to get in contact with the NYPD, get their camera feeds to track her.”
Bo shook his head. “We need a warrant for that, and it’ll eat up valuable time.”
Savich started typing. A few minutes later, the screen split into five squares, each showing intersections and stoplights. He toggled the switch in front of him, and the cameras attached to the feeds turned in unison.
Bo said, “You’re slipping. Thought it would only take you a second.” He snapped his fingers.
