Page 61 of Alex Cross Must Die

“Roger Gow, DA’s office,” said the new arrival. “Antiquities Trafficking Unit.”

“You’re an attorney?” asked East.

“JD, MFA, PhD. Take your pick.” Gow nodded toward the investigators. “Who are they?”

“Holmes, Marple, and Poe,” said Grey. “They’re private investigators.”

Gow cocked his head and repeated the names. “Holmes, Marple,Poe. Funny.” He wasn’t smiling. He nodded toward the interrogation room. “Shall we?”

Grey unlocked the door. Gow pushed through first.

Franke stared up at him. “Where the fuck is my lawyer?”

“Mr. Franke? I’m Roger Gow, assistant district attorney.” Gow held out his hand. Franke ignored it. Grey and East followed the lawyer into the room, just ahead of Holmes and Poe. When Marple walked through the door, she saw Franke’s face twitch.

“Hello, Luka,” she said.

“No wig today?” said Franke. “I should have known! You set me up!”

“Settle down now,” said Marple. “You just got greedy.”

“You were blinded by love,” said Poe.

Holmes looked admiringly at Marple. “Who could blame you?”

“Where’s my lawyer?” snarled Franke. “Nothing from me until he gets here.”

“Of course,” said Gow. “Don’t speak. That’s your prerogative. In the meantime, I highly recommend that youlisten. I’m actually here to help you.”

“I don’t need any help,” said Franke. “The Picasso is worthless. I took nothing of value. Your experts will tell you the same thing.”

“So they have,” said Gow. “A curiosity item. Petty larceny at best. Maybe throw in B and E for the alarm work. Still, minor charges.” Gow reached into his briefcase. “I’m far more interested inthis.”

Marple saw Franke’s eyes twitch.

Gow pulled out an iPad and tapped the screen. It filled with an image of Van Gogh’sPoppy Flowers.

“Can we agree thatthishas value?” asked Gow.

Franke stared at Marple, slowly clenching and unclenching his hands. Marple smiled back.

“We don’t have a final estimate yet,” said Gow. “Butconsiderablynorth of a million. As I’m sure you know, that’s a very significant threshold.”

“That’s grand larceny,” said Holmes.

“First degree,” added Poe.

“Class D felony,” said Marple.

Gow turned back to Franke. “You’ve kept your record clean so far, Mr. Franke. But even a first-time conviction could get you several years. That’s enough to significantly cloud your future. A lot of your clients might avoid doing business with a convicted felon. Am I right?”

Marple looked at Grey. She could tell the detective was holding her tongue, waiting to see where Gow was headed.

The attorney leaned in, inches from Franke’s ear. “You’re trapped, Mr. Franke. But—as they say in the movies—there’s atwist. It turns out the mayor of New York has a special interest in your case. A close friend and supporter of his also happens to be the victim of an art theft. Mr. Huntley Bain. Apparently, he lost a Gutenberg Bible and a Shakespeare First Folio. From an impregnable safe.”

East looked at Grey. Grey glared at Gow. “Hold on,” East said. “Exactly who are you speaking for?”

Gow kept his focus on Franke. “Now,ifthe Van Gogh were to mysteriously find its way back to its rightful owners,and ifyou were willing to plumb your sources to help us locate the perpetrator of the Bain heist, we might be willing to let this Picasso matter slip. On technicalities.”

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