Vivian stared out the passenger window, her eyes tracing the blur of Lyon as the city passed by. She was quiet, trying her best to sift through the storm of emotions broiling within her: anger at missing the trip Garnett had approved, relief from the reason to postpone the trip, and a strange and buzzing excitement about another case. Beside her, Sterling gripped the steering wheel and remained silent; she could tell that it was only to match her own behavior, though.
But she knew that Sterling hated long silences. She fully expected him to break it before they arrived at the crime scene, and he didn’t disappoint.
"So am I allowed to address the elephant in the room?” he asked. “Or rather…car?”
“I see no elephant,” she replied coldly.
"I know this case threw a wrench in your personal plans. I'm sorry about that."
She turned to glance at him, affording him a brief nod but nothing more. Her mind was a maelstrom of frustration and duty. “Garnett told you, huh?”
“Yeah, she did. She let me know you might be a bit upset going into this. It was your sister, right? Going to see her?”
“Yes.”
It was odd to hear someone else mention Olivia, even if not by name. She was glad she'd told Sterling the entire story several days ago. It had been freeing in a way. But now—as he mentioned this tidbit from her past—it was a reminder that sharing such a story also opened her up to vulnerability.
"So, are you pissed about it?"
“I am. But it can’t be helped. It is what it is. I’ll make the trip some other time.”
Sterling took a breath, perhaps to say more, but then thought better of it. They rode on, the engine's low hum a soundtrack to their shared silence. She appreciated that he seemed to be garnering a good understanding of when she needed space and silence and when she needed to vent.
Sterling drove them through the veins of the city, navigating toward the upscale neighborhood where Nina Caldwell had lived. As they approached her penthouse apartment, Vivian realized that she was starting to sense a strange sort of alertness taking over. During her first two cases with Sterling and as a part of Interpol, she’d often wondered when (if at all) she’d start to feel like an actual Interpol officer. This heightened sense of awareness as they closed in on the crime scene seemed to suggest she might be farther along than she thought.
Sterling parked as close to the building as he could, and Vivian took note of the two police cars nearby. Their presence was a reminder that the scene was still fresh.
“The coroner would have already removed the body, right?” she asked Sterling as they headed for the building’s front doors.
“Yeah. According to the reports, it’s speculated that she was killed almost twelve hours ago.”
They entered through the tall, glass doors and Vivian found herself standing in a wide lobby. The place was designed with a minimalist aesthetic, the sort of building that was just a few angles away from crossing the line between awe-inspiring and pretentious, as far as Vivian was concerned.
“Sixth floor,” Sterling said.
“I know. I did read the files.”
Sterling shrugged and looked slightly taken aback by the steeliness in her voice. Vivian regretted it right away. After all, Sterling had nothing to do with the trip being canceled.
They took the elevator—made with a well-polished steel foundation—up to the sixth floor. It was a smooth ride. Vivian barely even felt the elevator move at all, only lurching to a subtle stop when they arrived at the sixth floor. The doors slid open and they stepped into a hallway that had the exact same design as the lobby. Vivian's mind reeled as she tried to imagine how much it must cost to live in such a place. However, she also recalled that the file, as brief as it was so early in the case, had mentioned that Nina Caldwell was a very successful app developer.
They came to Nina’s door, which was closed. Sterling tried to open it but found it locked. Irritated, he knocked. “Interpol,” he announced.
It took only a few moments before the door was answered. A detective stood on the other side. A single cop moved across a large, expansive den behind him.
“Sterling and Fox,” Sterling said. “Got room for two more?”
“Sure thing. I’m Detective Ray Lombard.”
“Just you and the officer back there right now?” Sterling asked.
“Yeah, for now. Forensics wrapped up before dawn. Anything I can help you with?”
“Not sure yet,” Sterling said, stepping inside. “You mind hanging around a bit?”
“No, that’s fine.”
As Vivian stepped in behind him, her gaze swept over the penthouse’s stunning interior. The air felt heavy, laden with the scent of polished wood and fresh food. As she peered to her right, she saw why: plated food sat on the counter and no one had bothered to cover it yet. Some sort of fresh salad, sushi, and little cakes. She could almost hear the echo of laughter and conversation that should have filled the space, now replaced by silence as she stepped out of the foyer.
“Any idea why the food is out?” she asked.
Lombard nodded, following close behind them as they made their way into the den. Right away, Vivian saw blood on the floor. "Ms. Caldwell was hosting a small gathering to celebrate a new acquisition."
“An acquisition?” Sterling asked.
“A painting. Only, it appears it was stolen,” Lombard explained, gesturing to an empty space on the wall where faint outlines suggested a once-present artwork. “The first guest on the scene found her body, laying pretty much directly under the empty space on the wall."
“You’re confident there was a painting there?” Sterling asked.
“Caldwell’s friends seem to agree on it. They say she had been trying to buy this painting forever. And if it meant that much to her, it seems obvious she’d want it right in the center…a position of prominence.”
“The police report said she was stabbed,” Vivian said. “Do we know what sort of knife was used?”
"Not a knife," Lombard said. "A fork. It's been bagged and taken out, but it was taken from the catering set-up. Stabbed right in the throat three times. On the third one, the killer left the fork sticking in."
"Seems grisly," Sterling murmured, his gaze lingering on the bloodstained floor.
Vivian agreed, her mind racing through scenarios. Was the killer especially warped and demented, or had he simply taken advantage of the moment and the scene?
“Was the food always in the kitchen?” Sterling asked.
“Nope. It was originally right here in the den, against that front wall, closer to the hall. We carefully moved it just to clear the space.
“What about the painting?” Vivian asked. “Do you know what it was called?”
“Sorry to say I don’t. The friends who were invited to the little shindig had no idea, either. One of them thought it might have had the word gold in the title. What I do know, though, is that it was worth a fortune. Two and a half million dollars, to be precise. And I'm hoping that little nugget will help us figure out what it was called. Something that big, we should be able to trace the transaction and get more information. That particular paper trail is already being looked into by the feds."
“So someone came into the apartment, killed her, and took the painting?” Sterling asked. “And there’s no security footage?”
"Oh, there’s footage." Lombard confirmed. "It’s just sort of useless. Here, have a look."
He fished out his phone, tapping a few times before turning the screen toward them. The grainy video showed the lobby of the high-rise, timestamped the previous night. The grainy footage flickered on the screen of the cop's phone. The timestamp in the corner read 9:13 p.m. as a figure emerged from the luxury elevator, a square package tucked under his arm. Sterling leaned in, squinting at the man's obscured face.
"Can't make out much," Sterling muttered, frustration edging his voice.
Vivian's eyes followed the man as he moved with purpose, aware of the cameras but not enough to hide his identity completely. As the figure approached the edge of the building, he glanced back once—a haunting silhouette against the backdrop of city lights—before vanishing into the night.
"Damn," Vivian exhaled softly. "He knew where the cameras were blind."
"Any luck identifying him?" Sterling asked, his tone suggesting he expected the answer already.
"None so far," Lombard admitted. "He was careful. Hood up, face never clear, always turned at an angle. Professional, I'd say."
“Also makes it seem like he knew the building,” Vivian said. “He knew where the security cameras would be.”
Vivian's mind raced. The theft was no amateur job; the killer moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were after. She could appreciate the skill it took, a former master of such heists herself, but now those talents twisted into something sinister, and it only fueled her resolve.
"Would you happen to have the guest list for tonight?" she asked.
"Right here," the cop replied, producing a small notebook. He flipped through a few pages before handing it to her. "Four names. All close friends of Nina Caldwell."
Sterling peered over Vivian's shoulder as she scanned the list. Four names, four potential suspects—or witnesses. Each one a piece of the puzzle, each one carrying a secret that might unlock the truth behind what happened to Nina and the painting. Sterling had taken out his phone, snapping a picture of the list, which was complete with phone numbers for each invitee.
"Have you spoken to any of them yet?" Sterling inquired, his gaze still fixed on the list.
"Two so far. They're shaken up but cooperative. Both have alibis that have been checked out by the team. We'll get statements from the other two ASAP."
"Anything else we should know about these friends?" Sterling pressed..
"Nothing remarkable. They're all part of the same social circle; they attend events together. No known disputes or financial desperation that would lead to...this." The cop gestured vaguely around the penthouse, encompassing the crime scene within his sweep.
"Alright," Sterling concluded with a nod, "we'll take it from here."
“Thanks, Detective,” Vivian added.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything else,” Lombard said. “Waiting on some last-minute stuff from forensics, just in case.”
With Lombard gone, Vivian made her way slowly through the apartment. The ghostly remnants of the soirée that never happened whispered around her. Sterling kept close, his presence both reassuring and frustrating in equal measure. The pang of her postponed mission to find her sister gnawed at her, but the detective within wouldn't let her dwell on it. And she had to remind herself that she was still new to this. Sterling would likely shadow her in this way for quite a while.
"Seems like our killer wanted the painting bad enough to kill for it," Sterling mused, eyes scanning the den.
"Or the murder was meant to cover the theft," Vivian proposed, her analytical mind piecing together the fragments of information. "Making us look down two different paths rather than focusing on just one…the murder or the theft."
"So let’s see if we can figure out which path to take.”
They checked the rest of the apartment, but it became quickly apparent that the den had been the only place where any sort of crime had been committed. Vivian assumed this meant the killer had come in quickly, murdered Nina in the den, took the painting, and left. He’d been on a mission and hadn’t been interested in wasting time.
We need to find the name of the painting, she thought as she made her way out of Nina Caldwell’s elaborate bedroom and back into the den. And we need to talk to those friends as soon as possible, too.
Coming back into the den, Vivian thought she was beginning to feel another of those little pangs she expected to get as investigations became more of a second nature to her. Even though she and Sterling were moving through the space—and Detective Lombard and the cop were in the kitchen—there was a very obvious staleness to the apartment. Not even a stale feeling really, but an empty vibe now, an echo of life abruptly snuffed out.
Her mind was already reaching ahead to the interviews, dissecting alibis and sniffing out lies. She knew it may not be smart to get too far ahead of things but it had simply always been the way her mind worked. It had paid off as a thief, the ability to look forward and anticipate the moves of the police and the feds; it had come to her aid in multiple ways.
But now, she had to stymie that. She had to focus on the here and now in order to be an effective officer. Sure, trying to predict the movements and schedule of a killer could be useful, but right now, they knew nothing other than the fact that he had killed Nina Caldwell with a fork and then stolen a very expensive painting.
“Fox, you good?”
She turned to see Sterling in the doorway between the den and the hall. He didn’t necessarily look impatient, but it was clear that he thought their time in Nina’s apartment was over.
“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s see if we can get a word or two with her friends.”
Yet, just as she was turning to join Sterling, Vivian couldn’t help but look at the wall of paintings one last time. They’d been so focused on what wasn’t there, that she hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the paintings that were there.
Despite the chaos of the investigation, the ordered passion of a collector still whispered from the walls. A particular painting caught her eye—a vibrant piece that resembled something from the Renaissance era, its colors defiant against the backdrop of tragedy. It showed a waifish woman looking into a mirror with a very glum expression on her face. Even as a thief, she'd come to appreciate the skill and passion that went into art. She was no stranger to how a particular piece could bring people to tears.
“You sure you’re okay?” Fox asked.
“Yeah, just caught up in it for a second.” She sighed and shook the cobwebs out of her head. “Let’s go.”
They walked out into the hallway, with Sterling already looking at the photo he’d taken of the guest list for the little get-together Nina Caldwell had planned but ultimately never had.
"Start at the top of the list?"
“Sounds good.”
“You want to do the honors?” he asked, handing her his phone with the list pulled up.
She honestly didn’t care and rather resented that he was trying to use this as some sort of teaching moment. But she also didn’t want to come across as an uncooperative bitch. So she nodded and typed in the first number on the list, belonging to a Julia Martin. She almost argued that if the person spoke French, she’d have to hand the phone back to him, but they could cross that bridge if and when they arrived at it.
"Remember, charm them first," Sterling advised, catching her eye. "We need them talking."
"Since when do I need a reminder to be charming?" Vivian shot back with a wry smile, though her heart wasn't in it. The art of persuasion was another facet of her old life she'd adapted to her new role, but it never quite sat right. Necessary but invasive.
"Hello?" a woman’s voice answered on the second ring. The voice on the other end sounded hesitant, unsure.
"Hi, is this Julia?”
“It is. Who’s asking?”
“This is Vivian Fox with Interpol. My partner and I have been tasked with looking into the death of Nina Caldwell. We understand you’ve already spoken to the police, but we’d appreciate it if you could make a bit of time for us as well."
There was a pause, a hitch of breath, then, "Of course. Anything to help."
Vivian moved toward the elevator, her mind shifting gears. The voice had been calm, but there was something beneath it—an undercurrent of tension. Was it grief? Guilt? Fear? She would find out.
"How soon are you available?”
“I’m free now, actually,” Julia said. She sounded very sad but also determined. Vivian could practically hear her wrestling with the effort of it all—deciding to help figure out who killed her friend rather than succumbing to the grief. “Nothing to do for the next few hours.”
"That’s perfect,” Vivian said. “Are you close to Nina’s apartment?”
“Close enough. There’s a coffee shop two blocks down the street from where she lives…where she lived. Want to meet me there in half an hour?”
"That would be fantastic. Thank you, Julia. Do you think anyone else who was invited to Nina’s last night would be able to make it?”
“Regina can, I’m sure.”
“Great. If you could bring her along, that would be helpful.”
“Shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll see you there."
Though the call itself netted nothing of substance, Vivian felt that it was something of a mile-marker. If the visit to the murder scene hadn’t made it feel official, the calls to potential witnesses, suspects, and friends sure as hell did.
Somehow, despite her past and the fact that she still felt ill-equipped for the job, Vivian had just made a huge step in what was her third case—her second official one. It still felt strange to her, but the determination to stop a killer before he could strike again was starting to become more powerful than the most alluring heist.
That sensation carried her down the elevator and back out into the streets of Lyon, where the morning went on as usual, unaffected by the loss of life in a sixth-floor penthouse apartment.