Page 37 of Alex Cross Must Die

For a few seconds, all three stood like kids in a museum, running their hands over the smooth, beautifully whorled surface.

“All ethically harvested, of course,” Huntley Bain claimed as he appeared around the side of the tall partition and slapped one of the thick vertical panels. “If you care about that tree-hugger shit.” He turned to the impeccably groomed young man behind the lobby desk. “I’ll be with these three in my office, David. No interruptions.”

The young man nodded. “Of course, Mr. Bain.”

Holmes followed his partners into the executive’s sanctum, which carried through on the spare, elegant design of the lobby. No desk. Just a long glass table cantilevered from a side wall so it seemed to hover in space. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows covered almost the whole length of the Hudson. The décor was sparse. A few terra cotta figurines on the table. A large fluted vase on a pedestal. Nothing on the walls.

Bain planted himself in the center of the room, arms folded high across his chest, Mussolini style.

“So …” he said. “What’ve you got?”

“Well, Mr. Bain,” said Holmes, “you’ll be relieved to know that we no longer consider you a suspect.”

Bain’s expression darkened. “That’s it? Your update is that I’m not going to jail for stealing my own stuff? How about finding out how some creep got past the most expensive security system this side of the Louvre!”

“We’ve spoken to experts,” Marple said.

“I thoughtyouwere the experts,” said Bain.

“Think of us asconduitsto expertise,” said Holmes. He knew the circumlocution would drive Bain nuts. Which was his main reason for using it.

“One call to City Hall,” Bain said coldly, “and you’ll all be looking for other employment.”

Poe looked at Marple with a wry expression. “Maybe we could get jobs in the mayor’s office.”

“Heisshort an assistant,” Marple said with a mischievous twinkle.

“How’s your typing?” asked Poe.

“Abominable,” said Marple.

“Mine too.”

Holmes kept his eyes on Bain. He sensed that the banter was pushing him close to his limit but decided to taunt him just a bit more. “Progress is often painfully slow on these matters,” he said. “Nothing substantive to report at the moment.”

That did it. Bain exploded.

“All right, dammit! I’ve had enough of this clown show! I shouldfireyou phony overpriced asswipes!”

Holmes smiled serenely. “We completely agree. Unless you don’t care about actually getting your books back.”

“Also,” said Marple, “as we emphasized in our first meeting, we have an airtight no-refund policy.”

Bain backed toward the pedestal. “That’s it. Get the hellout!” As he jerked his arm abruptly toward the door, his wrist brushed the lip of the tall vase. The vase rocked precariously, then fell to the floor, shattering with a loud crash. There was a brief moment of silence, before Bain’s enraged shout. “Good Christ!Do you know what that thing isworth?”

“Wasworth,” Poe said solemnly.

Holmes bent down and picked up a small ceramic shard. He turned it over carefully in his hand, then held it up to the light.“Chinese,” he said. “Fourteenth century. I’d say about half a million. Assuming it wasn’t a fake, of course.”

“Of course it’s not a fake, you moron!” shouted Bain. “I brought it back from Beijing myself.”

“In that case,” said Holmes, “you should really be more careful with your things.”

Bain stiffened, red-faced and speechless, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“We’ll let ourselves out,” said Marple.

As the investigators walked briskly past the reception area, an angry cry came from the office.“Fuuuuuuckk!”Holmes turned to the young man behind the desk.

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