The Taming of the Thief (5 page)

 
   
“Something
like
that.” Pietr's bland tone offered nothing to the Detective.

 
   
“What did you see?”

 
   
“Three men, all in dark
slacks and shirts.
They could have been black or blue; the lighting
wasn't enough to tell the difference. They were Caucasian, tall and enough
alike to be related. They came in, glanced around. Two went to the bar and the
third headed towards us. I assumed to use the washroom.”

 
   
“You assumed?” The Detective's brows lifted.
Pietr wasn't winning friends with his careful description, despite the detail.

 
   
“The washrooms are back that way.” Pietr
jerked his head to indicate behind them. “But he didn't make it that far. He
pulled out a gun and pointed it at Sophie.”

 
   
“At me?”

 
   
“At Doctor Kingston?”

 
   
Sophie's squeak tripped over the Detective's
clarifying question. The hard stone of fear swelled. Why would anyone point a
gun at her?

 
   
“
Oui.
”
Pietr's voice hardened.
“At Sophie.
I grabbed her and pulled her towards me. His first shot struck the edge of the
photograph.” Pietr nodded to the picture of Kilarney that decorated the wall
right next to where they had been seated.
“The second and
third the table.
I didn't see where the fourth went.”

 
   
“And you're certain that he shot at Doctor
Kingston?”

 
   
“Positive.”

 
   
“Did you see where they went?”

 
   
Pietr shook his head. “No. They must have
left when the screaming started. I thought they would keep coming. It's why I
pushed Sophie into the floor and jerked the table down for some cover. But
after the first few shots, they were gone.”

 
   
Sophie gaped at Pietr. He'd saved her life.
More than that, he'd given the Detective details about the shooters and
confirmed that she was the target.

 
   
Her stomach dropped. The Detective's
concerned expression swam in front of her. She saw Royce's head as it bobbled,
his body dropping like a discarded sack. Gorge pressed up from her stomach and
she jerked away from Pietr, racing for the bathroom.

 
   
The stall door slammed open and she bent
over from the waist, vomiting up the small amount of tea she drank. Hands
caught her hair from behind, pulling it away from her face. Her stomach cramped
and she doubled over again, dry heaving.

 
   
“Shhh,” Pietr's soft voice wrapped around
her. He held her upright, flushing the toilet and smoothing away the prickles
of sweat on her brow. “Better?”

 
   
“No,” the word came out more a whimper than
she cared for. Who would shoot at her? She was
a nobody
.
She'd lived in this neighborhood for months, counted many of the shop owners
and residents among her friends.

 
   
Why her?

 
   
Pietr's voice switched to that lovely
French, soothing and comforting. When she felt certain she wouldn't vomit
again, she let him tug her out of the stall. At the sink, he took out a
handkerchief from his pocket and wet it with cool water. He washed her face,
wiping away the perspiration and what remained of her makeup.

 
   
The Detective filled the door to the
bathroom, shrinking the small space even further. “Doctor Kingston, I think you
should come back down to the station.”

 
   
“Is that really necessary?” She wanted to go
home, strip off her clothes and crawl under her covers and sleep off the rest
of this bad dream.

 
   
“A Mrs. Bruno and a Mrs. Delp just called in
a break-in at your apartment building. Apartment 608.”

 
   
Sophie's apartment.

 
   
“I don't think you should be staying in your
apartment tonight.”

 
   
“She won't be.” Pietr interjected. “I'll
take her back to my hotel.”

 
   
“I can't possibly …”

 
   
“You can. And you will. Those men were
shooting at you. The Detective just told us someone broke into your apartment.
And apparently you saw a shooting this morning.” Pietr's voice hardened on the
last.

 
   
“A shooting that just
gained a great deal more credibility, Doctor Kingston.
Mr. Sauvage is
right,
you need to come down to the station. I would like
him to come as well. I'm going to have one of the uniforms take you there now.”

 
   
“I have a car,” Pietr interrupted.

 
   
Sophie twisted to look at him. He had a car?
In New York?

 
   
Why?

 
   
“Can I go back to my apartment?”

 
   
“No.” Pietr responded.

 
   
“Not yet.” The Detective's words landed on
top of Pietr's denial. “We will need you to take a look, let us know what's
missing, if anything, but I'd rather you wait until we secured the area.”

 
   
The area.
Her apartment.

 
   
First the museum.

 
   
Then Big Mac's.

 
   
Now her apartment.

 
   
Sophie had never felt so violated in her
life. Anger roused beneath the suffocating fear.

 
   
“Doctor Kingston, are you sure you want to
go with Mr. Sauvage?” The Detective gave Pietr that hard, searching look now.
“You described the shooter this morning as having a French accent.”

 
   
 
Bryant offered her an escape hatch. After all,
Pietr was a stranger. Hadn't she just found him in her apartment a few hours
ago? Hadn't he invited her to the pub where someone took a shot at her?

 
   
 
Both
men waited silently for her answer. This was her chance. She wasn't sure who of
the three of them was more surprised when she said, “No, I'd rather stay with
Pietr. Thank you.”

 
   
 
P
ietr sat with her throughout the
questioning, never going farther than a few feet to retrieve coffee and hot
chocolate from his driver.
His driver.
No wonder he
had a car in New York. The ride to the precinct in a limousine was as surreal
as sitting in the police station, her damp t-shirt clinging clammily to her back.

 
   
 
Sophie sipped at the hot chocolate trying to
avoid the mental tally of how much she owed Pietr at this point. In the
limousine he'd offered to take her to his hotel for sleep, avoiding police
questioning all together.

 
   
 
She'd
refused.

 
   
 
At
the precinct, he'd offered coffee, but she didn't drink coffee. When she'd
asked for hot chocolate, he'd called his driver and sent him questing through
the city. Sometime during the first round of questioning another four thousand
dollar suited person arrived in the form of Mitchell Edgington III.

 
   
 
Mr.
Edgington chatted with Pietr. The attorney must have carried a lot of weight in
the precinct, because Detective Bryant's questioning became frighteningly
polite and far less hammered upon the lawyer's arrival.

 
   
 
“Doctor Kingston.” Detective Bryant returned,
sliding into the seat opposite her.
As one, Pietr and
Edgington swarmed back to the table, forming a vanguard at her flank.

 
   
 
“I'm
not really a doctor,” Sophie observed twisting the heavy paper cup with its hot
chocolate contents around in her hand, warming her chilled fingers. She
couldn't warm up, despite the humid air in the bullpen and the hot cocoa in her
hands. “I'm still completing my dissertation.”

 
   
 
“Ms. Kingston, then.”
Bryant's gentle tone was almost kind.
“I want to start at the beginning of your day and just walk us through it,
every step into the vaults and what happened.”

 
   
 
Sophie sagged, deflating at the idea. Hadn't
they just been over all of this?

 
   
 
“Ms.
Kingston signed the statement she made yesterday morning here at the precinct
with regards to the shooting of Doctor Hinkley.”

 
   
 
“Alleged.”
The Detective's mildness evaporated as his gaze
landed on the attorney.

 
   
 
“Alleged shooting.
You have her statement Detective. You
questioned her extensively, without the presence of an attorney. Now, Ms.
Kingston is the victim of a shooting, not a suspect.” The detective’s frosty
tones hardly dissuaded Mr. Edgington. “You have her statement from the
shooting. You have Mr. Sauvage's statement as well as …” The attorney consulted
his notes. “…the statements of a dozen other witnesses naming Ms. Kingston as
the target.”

 
   
 
“I'm
aware of that Mr. Edgington. I am looking for the cause. This was not a random
event. The shooters entered the bar. Someone broke into Ms. Kingston's
apartment. She stated she witnessed a shooting this morning.”

 
   
 
“Ms.
Kingston, do you have any reason to believe you are the target of a conspiracy
with regards to these events?” The shift of Mr. Edgington’s attention from the
Detective to Sophie left her floundering.

 
   
 
“Conspiracy?
Really?
Isn't it
possible this is just one of those crazy series of coincidences?” She twisted
in the chair to look up at Pietr, seeking an ally. He dropped into a squat,
meeting her gaze with a tenderness that seemed out of place in the bustling
police room.

 
   
 
“A series of unrelated crimes with you at the epicenter?”
His grimace spoke volumes. “While I cannot discard the possibility, Sophie, it
seems highly unlikely.”

 
   
 
“But
if they are related, then it has to be because I saw the shooter.” Sophie
jerked her gaze from Pietr's to look back at the Detective.

 
   
 
“That
is an avenue of investigation we are pursuing, which is why I want to go over
every step again, no matter how minute. You may have seen something or know
something.”

 
   
 
“When
can I go back to the apartment to check on it?”

 
   
 
“In
the morning, we'll release the scene. I can tell you it looks like whoever
broke in was in a hurry. They turned over your living room, but didn't make it
to the bedroom. I don't think they expected the police response to be as
swift.”

 
   
 
“I
have great neighbors.” She owed Mrs. Bruno and Valorie a huge thank you for
calling it in so quickly. “Are you sure they are okay? Val has five kids.” The
idea that they could be dragged into this mess terrified her.

 
   
 
“They're fine. We've still got uniforms at the
building and your superintendent is planning to stay in the ground floor for
the next couple of days.” The building's super was retired NYPD. Frank's word
would carry a lot of weight with the officers.

 
   
 
Sophie took a long drink of the hot cocoa, the
chocolately sweetness helping her nerves and her unsettled stomach.
“All right.
I want to do everything I can to help.” Sophie
shifted to look up at the attorney. “I know it's very late, but I am willing to
go over it all again.”