One of the particularly unnerving aspects of working art-related cases for INTERPOL was that they often had Vivan visit the same kinds of museums and galleries she’d staked out during her time as a thief. Same playing field, different team. It was beyond odd at times, and it was no different when she and Sterling stepped into the gallery offices where Elena Rivera had been killed.
The biggest difference in the setting now that she was a law enforcement official was that, when she arrived on the scene, the crime had already been committed. As she walked into the building, she scanned the front lobby and the wide corridor beyond. She surveyed the sea of blue uniforms and forensic experts milling about, amazed at how quickly this was all starting to feel familiar. She needed to find Sterling and get caught up before anyone here realized she was somewhat behind—which she figured wasn’t likely to happen, actually. One thing she’d noticed was that whenever she and Sterling arrived on a scene, most of the cops there often seemed relieved to pass the task off to INTERPOL.
A detective began to approach her as she made her way down the corridor. She showed her badge and ID, and he gave her a small, almost apologetic smile.
“Have you seen Agent Sterling?” she asked.
“The other INTERPOL agent, right?” the detective said.
“That’s right.”
"Take a right at the end of the hall, and it's the last door on the left. It's the office where Ms. Rivera was killed."
“Thanks.”
She followed his instructions, heading down the hall and passing by two policemen. The walls along the corridor were decorated with large paintings, some of which looked vaguely familiar to her. You couldn't live five years of your life as a professional art thief and not pick up on a few artist names and details of certain periods.
When she came to the office in question, she found Sterling speaking with another detective and a woman she assumed was part of the forensics team. “Sterling,” she said in way of a greeting.
“Agent Fox, good to see you.” He gave her a small grin behind the back of the officer he’d been speaking to. “I’m so sorry to ask,” Sterling said, addressing the officer and the woman. “Could we have the room for about five minutes?”
“Of course,” the officer said. He and the forensics woman made their exit, leaving Vivian and Sterling alone in the office where a woman had been murdered the night before.
Sterling looked at his watch. “You made pretty good time.”
“Still…sorry I wasn’t here for the call.”
“No worries. Garnett is none the wiser. I assume you looked over the brief on the way here?”
“I did.”
“I’ll shut up and let you have a look then,” he said, smiling at her again.
She returned the smile briefly as he stepped aside, his hands folded in a very gentlemanly way behind his back. She noticed that his dark black hair was in a bit of disarray, making her assume he’d been quite rushed when the call came to him about this case. It again made her feel guilty for being a two-hour train ride away when he’d called on her.
She was also a bit surprised by how pleased she was to see him. She was beginning to form feelings for him that she knew were not quite romantic, but were borne more out of respect and a shared enthusiasm for their job. Still being quite new to INTERPOL, Vivian was often very impressed with how Sterling handled certain situations.
Vivian drifted further into Elena Rivera's workspace, an area cordoned off by yellow tape, the aura of tragedy still clinging to the air. She could feel it, a strange sort of negative energy. There was a large, comma-shaped bloodstain on the floor between the desk and a large, ornate shelf against the wall.
The workspace was pristine, almost clinically so. White walls adorned with high-resolution photographs of priceless artwork formed a stark contrast to the mahogany desk. It spoke of Elena's status—a high-end art appraiser, the local PD had confirmed, her reputation woven into the very fabric of her surroundings. But it was the subtleties that caught Vivian's eye: the way papers were stacked with geometric precision, the absence of personal effects save for a single, framed photo of a mountain range.
Some of the papers were knocked askew, and she took note that one of the large display cases along the wall was crooked. There were a few items on it, clearly having been slightly knocked off their original places: a display case containing a Roman coin, half of a burial mask that Vivian thought might be Mayan in nature.
“That shelf has been struck,” she pointed out. “Signs of a struggle.”
“Yeah, that’s the running theory. You saw the photographs, right? The things that fell from the shelves and onto the floor?”
“I did. I assume forensics moved them?”
“Yeah. The fragments made it hard to move around. It’s all in evidence. Now, I’m not the art connoisseur that you are, but there was one item…a jade figurine that I know must have been worth a small fortune.”
"Yeah, that Roman coin on the shelf has a hefty price tag, too. Maybe around a quarter of a million."
“And yet, nothing was stolen.”
“So then it was all about the murder,” Vivian pointed out. “Some of this stuff could have been lifted without much problem; just tuck it right in your pocket and off you go. But, this makes it seem almost personal, right?”
“Yeah, I’d agree with that.”
Vivian circled the desk, each step deliberate, her mind cataloging every detail. She paused, noting the lack of dust on the computer keyboard, the faintest scent of lemon oil on the wood—a workspace tended to with care.
"The preliminary files indicated just a single stab wound to the chest as the cause of death," Vivian said. "Though there was also a cut on her shoulder and bruises on her face. Has there been any change to that from the coroner since the files were sent out?"
“Not that I’ve heard of.”
“And no signs of a break in, right?”
"Nothing. Doors and windows intact. Whoever did this knew their way around the security system. And they probably also knew Elena would be alone at that particular time.”
Vivian’s mind whirred about what this could mean. Inside job or a skilled intruder? She considered the many scenarios as she turned back to Elena's desk. Situated roughly six inches from a closed laptop was a small display case that looked almost like a treasure chest in miniature. Inside it, nestled on black velvet, several well-polished gemstones glistened—a spectrum of colors winking up at her. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, each stone labeled with meticulous care. The collection was a trove any thief would covet; yet here it sat, untouched.
This murder was about just the killing, Vivian thought. So much left untouched that could be worth millions…what does that say about our killer?
Several seconds later, there was a knock at the opened office door. Vivian's gaze snapped from the glittering cache of gemstones to the woman framed in the doorway. The woman stood with a posture wilted by grief, shuffling into Elena Rivera's office. She was flanked by two uniformed officers.
“Officers?” one of the policemen said. “This is Lorraine Lavigne…Ms. Rivera’s assistant. She just got in and she thinks she can answer whatever questions you might have.”
“Excellent,” Sterling said. “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Lavigne. We understand this is difficult, but anything you can tell us about Elena could be crucial."
Vivian observed as Lorraine nodded, drawing a shaky breath before speaking. "Elena... she was meticulous, passionate about art. And so sweet; the woman wouldn’t hurt a fly. I can't imagine who would do this to her." Her words stumbled out, tripping over small sobs.
"Did Elena ever mention feeling unsafe in the workplace?" Vivian asked.
“No…not to me, at least. As far as I know, she loved it here. Some other people around the offices would often joke that Elena would look for reasons to stay late."
“What about you? Did you ever feel unsafe?"
“No, not at all.”
“Over the past few weeks,” Sterling said, “Did you notice anyone unfamiliar around Elena’s office?”
Lorraine thought about it for a moment but eventually shook her head, bewildered. "No, not that I can remember.”
“Can you think of any enemies she may have had?” Vivian asked.
“God, no. Not at all. Everyone here respected her. I mean, I can’t recall even a single person she’s crossed since I’ve been working for her, of course.”
“And how long have you been working for her?” Sterling asked.
"A little over three years.”
Vivian and Sterling exchanged a glance, both nodding to one another. “Thank you, Ms. Lavigne," Vivian said softly. “I think that’s all the questions we have for now.”
Lorraine offered a small, tear-stained smile before the officers escorted her out.
Alone again, Sterling turned to Vivian, the lines on his forehead deepened by concern. "That other murder in Paris last week…” he said, his voice low. "Cassandra Holt, also an art appraiser. Same M.O.—no signs of struggle, no stolen items."
"Two appraisers," Vivian mused, her mind racing. "That can't be a coincidence."
Sterling's eyes locked with hers, a grim agreement. "A serial killer targeting art appraisers," he said, the weight of the possibility settling like lead in the room. They’d been on cases similar to this, which wasn’t all that surprising given that their little duo had somehow become the go-to for all art-related crimes.
"Someone with a vendetta against the art world?” Vivian asked. “Or something the killer might be trying to cover up?"
"I guess that’s what we need to find out,” Sterling said with a thin grin.
With another quick glance around the office, they made their exit. Vivian stepped over the threshold of Elena Rivera's office, her leather boots silent against the polished floor. The sterile light of the hallway seemed almost offensive to the scene they’d left behind. Sterling followed, the door closing with a soft click that echoed their departure from the scene.
"You know,” she said softly to Sterling as they made their way back down the corridor, “we’ve seen something similar before. These deaths could be related to things the victims had recently appraised. Maybe something smuggled, on the black market, switched or faked?"
"Or someone trying to manipulate the market itself," Sterling suggested, his stride purposeful as they passed by a trio of officers and crime techs.
“Paris,” Vivian said. “If that’s where the first victim was killed, we should pay a visit.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking. Garnett already gave us the go-ahead if that’s where the case leads.”
“And did I come up at all?” she asked with a bit of guilt.
“She asked if I’d contacted you to come to the crime scene and I said yes. That was the end of it.” He smiled at her in a teasing sort of way and added, “Wow, Fox. From Brussels, to Lyon, to Paris all in one day. You’ve been a busy bee.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I just—”
“Shh,” he said, shaking his head. “Leave me alone. I need to book seats on the next train to Paris.”
He started doing exactly that on his phone as they exited the building. Vivian felt an odd warmth of friendship from the way he was handling all of it. He had every right to be pissed that she’d gone off to further the investigation about her sister without running it by him, especially during a time that she’d not asked for time off. Instead, he was treating her like a protective friend. And that was nice because she hadn’t had a true friend since…well, not since Olivia.
“Got ‘em,” Sterling said moments later as they stood outside of the building where a killer had struck the night before. “Train leaves in fifty minutes.”
“Then I guess we’d better get moving,” Vivian said.
She followed Sterling to his car, her mind already trying to fit the pieces of the case together. She was surprised to find that the bulk of her thoughts weren’t centered on the murder itself. Instead, she was more concerned with the valuable items that hadn’t been taken. It spoke of a killer with only one thing in mind: a bloodlust that wouldn’t be distracted by the possibility of riches.
This would only be her third official case with INTERPOL—fourth, if she counted the little test assignment Garnett had tapped her for. And so far, while art had indeed been at the center of each case, they hadn’t chased after a killer quite like this.