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I open an article on the history of the Heart of Dark Desires, but it’s really nothing I don’t know. I pause as the name of a photo studio, very run of the mill, pops up under the last photo of a some beautiful, flaxen-haired pregnant woman wearing the necklace. Oh shit, it’s Jac’s mother. It just says Mrs. George Miller because whoever did this is some kind of old-fashioned misogynist.
There’s another photo of a gorgeous dark-haired woman, Maria Agnossio, wearing it. There’s no context for the photos. Of when they were taken. There’s just the fact Mrs. George Miller’s heavily pregnant, and Maria has a very small, happy little boy at her side who’s got to be Hendrick.
I don’t know who had it first, or when these pictures date back to. It’s just the same studio, Lacey Photography, listed.
There are more photos here and there with the Heart of Dark Desires, by itself, held in a hand, on a neck, and they all have Lacey Photography under them.
I frown, pulling up some pictures of the gala. And then some of other Quinate events.
Candid or posed. Studio shot or party snaps, all things seem to be linked to the same photography studio.
I open another tab. “Harry, have you heard of Lacey Photography?”
“Why?”
“They seem to be the only ones who have a name to any photo of the Heart of Dark Desires or anything Quinate oriented.”
She types away. “A lot of people do that. I don’t. I do my own photos—jewels, not parties. Got no time for parties.”
“Focus, Harry.”
She sighs. “You can’t stop people taking photos, but you can control what’s released. And if you’re Quinate, you can control it all.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, my innocent little friend—”
“I’m taller than you.”
“—that most organized crime syndicates or outfits, or you know, geniuses like us, do that. Control what goes out. Like one seemingly run of the mill studio that probably also uses their business as a way to store photographic history and launder money. It also means that the Quinate can do shit in the open and then control what’s seen by the regular Joes.” She grins. “It’s pretty fucking cool.”
“I never knew of this.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course not. This kinda thing isn’t what you should be wasting your time with.”
I glance at her. “Harry? Want to do some B and E?”
* * *
The studio’s small, but their alarm system is sophisticated and tricky as fuck. It takes me a while to get in. Longer than usual.
It’s not going to matter what we find, they’ll know someone was in here because I have to knock out cameras. I’ll have to make it look like a smash and grab when we’re done.
Harry’s up for this. She’s already picked out and packed up the expensive cameras with serial numbers that are marked if they get sold. The store won’t lose out and it’ll look like the place was hit by thugs looking for quick cash.
She’s at the filing cabinet and then on one of the offline computers, copying all she can find on the necklace.
I’m searching for Jac and Hendrick things.
There’s a file, and I hover, because it’s calledL.M/AgSr.There are others similar, different combinations, and I don’t know the people in it, but I’m guessing for each one someone paid a lot of money to keep their photos. Or it’s for blackmail.
I press and open the file.
Lili and Agnossio Senior. She’s on his lap, his hand’s up her skirt, and she’s sprawled open, arm up and back in his hair. She looks so fucking young, it hurts. I look through a few and feel sick and copy them on the drive.
Hendrick’s father was definitely fucking the girl—underage girl, the bastard—and she looks into it. The word groomed comes to mind.
I shift over to other photos, files of parties, and these I can stomach.
