Page 21 of Renegade

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Fine. So, why leave any of those paintings behind when taking one of those would be easier than getting to a ruby locked away in a safe?”

“Well, there’s the fact that the ruby is worth two million and also, think about this…maybe the thief stole the jewelry because it was portable,” I said. “Those paintings are huge. Getting one of them out of the house would be a lot harder than a pendant you can put into a pocket while you’re scaling the wall.”

“That’s true,” Miguel said. He got quiet, seeming to consider something as I got back on the freeway and headed for Westwood. “I guess it’s a good thing the security guy is off-site.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be able to talk to him without that Aston character around. I’ve decided he’s kinda shifty.”

I snorted, glancing over at him as I merged with the fast-moving cars in midmorning freeway traffic. “Why?”

“He’s a total snob.’This is Bel Air, Mr. Mathis, not the city,’”he said in an exaggerated upper-class drawl, making air quotes.

I laughed. “You’re right.” I reached over and took his hand, giving it a squeeze as I caught sight of the sign for Wilshire Boulevard at the same time my GPS announced it. “Well, in any case, I’ll be interested to find out if this McNulty guy can shed any light on how the thief—assuming there was one at all—breached their security and decided to steal a pendant which was locked away, rather than a stuffy old oil painting by some artist who no one with good taste ever heard of.”

It was Miguel’s turn to laugh.

Chapter Seven

MIGUEL

Henry McNulty’s office was in a two-story brick building in the heart of Westwood, right next to the UCLA campus. I could remember coming down here with my parents on Friday nights when the place was busy with nighttime revelers, mostly college students, out for a good time. That was back when vinyl records were still a big thing; if there was anything my parents loved more than each other, it was a nice piece of vinyl. I’d grown up listening to them sing and watching them dance to all the disco stars of the late 70s and early 80s on those records. They’d been played so much by the time I was a teenager, that the turntable’s needle tended to skip over the scratches, landing on a whole new track.

Even so, my mom hadn’t let my dad throw them away. She’d just laughed and started dancing to whatever song the needle landed on. She’d told me that those old records were better than a bag of M&M’S. You never knew what you were going to get. I’d just rolled my eyes at her, walked out of the room, and turned on my own favorite band at the time…The Spice Girls. I’d thought the band of five British girls was the hottest band ever, and decided right then, that my parents were crazy. The familiar pang of regret I felt every time I thought of how I’d treated them as a teen, made my heart hurt.

As luck would have it, we found a parking space right in front of the building and Raven fed quarters into the meter before we walked upstairs to the second floor. The look of theoffice building was average, which made me feel like perhaps Flores had hired a decent company to handle his security. If the building had seemed very high tech or extravagant on par with the mansion we’d just come from, I might not have trusted the security guy or his firm. When we walked into the modest office, Raven and I were greeted by a pleasant, older woman who asked if we had an appointment.

“Hi there. I’m Raven Mathis and this is my partner, Miguel Huerta. We’re here to talk to Mr. McNulty,” Raven said, smiling back at her. “We don’t have an appointment, but we just left Benedict Flores’ attorney who recommended we come and speak to him about the late man’s property.”

I let my better half schmooze with the secretary while I glanced around the room. There were shelves with several makes and models of security cameras on display as well as several photos of commercial buildings and high-end residences. None of them were quite as fancy as the one we’d just come from, but they were close. I could only assume the photos on display depicted buildings belonging to McNulty’s clients. If security were my business, I might do the same thing. What did I know about marketing? I left all that to Raven, my brilliant partner in business.

“Certainly, I’ll let Mr. McNulty know you’re here.”

I turned back in time to see her reach for her phone when the closed door to an office opened. A short man stood in the doorway. He wore a pleasant smile, looking well-groomed and friendly, dressed in casual khakis and a cream-colored Polo shirt. “I’ve got this, Augusta,” he said to the secretary. He came forward, holding out a hand. “I’m Henry McNulty. You must be Mr. Mathis and Mr. Huerta.” We took turns shaking his hand. “Gregory Aston just called to let me know you’d be stopping by. Won’t you please come in?”

“Thank you,” Raven said. The two of us walked into the office as McNulty leaned out. “Please hold my calls, Augusta.” He spun back, pointing between us. “Can I get you anything? I have soft drinks, water, and Augusta makes a mean cup of Joe.”

“No, thank you,” Raven replied pleasantly. I echoed the same. We waited in front of McNulty’s desk as he shut the door and walked around the desk, waving at two chairs in front of it.

“Please, have a seat. I understand you had some questions about the Flores jewelry heist?”

Heist?I coughed to cover up a laugh. Who was this guy?

“Yes, the pigeon’s blood ruby,” Raven said with a remarkably straight face. I envied him because I had to bite my lip to keep my composure. I could almost feel the prick of the daggers I was sure Raven was sending my way.

“You said heist. Was something besides the ruby stolen the night thieves broke in?” I managed to ask with newfound composure.

“Uh, no.” He seemed to hesitate before going on and then his words came out in a rush. “Are you convinced the pigeon’s blood ruby was stolen? Because if thatactuallyoccurred, it didn’t happen at a property whereIoutfitted a security system,” McNulty said, sounding slightly defensive.

“We’re not sure what happened to it so please consider this a fact-finding meeting, Mr. McNulty,” Raven said. He turned to glance at me before looking back at him. “Miguel and I have no idea what happened to the pendant…whether it was stolen, misplaced, or whether it’s in a location other than the house. We were hired to recover it,” Raven said, opening his hands in that,“what do we know?” gesture.

“So, you can understand we’re only here to learn about the security at the Flores estate the last time it was seen. Since Mr. Flores is no longer around to ask, we only have Mrs. Flores’ accounting of the last time she saw it. She says she witnessed her husband putting it into his safe in the bedroom closet along with a pair of diamond cufflinks.”

“Yes.” McNulty tented his fingers, resting them over his belly as he leaned back in his office chair. “That was the night she wore the pendant to an art gallery opening last summer.”

“Yes,” I said.

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