Page 34 of Smoke Screen
“For God’s sake,” Cilla tilted her head up, looking around the room. “Is there a sound problem in here?”
“It’s okay,” Maddy said. “I have nothing to hide. Yes. I knew that. When the opportunity arose to have the queen’s collection in-house for a limited time, we—”
“Who’s we?”
“Upper management, board members, the Pierres, Derek Vanmaster, the head of security. Anyone who’d be involved with the exhibit attended logistics meetings. I don’t remember which meeting it was, but Derek raised the concern about the windows and placement of the exhibit. They didn’t expect someone to put a ladder up to the building and smash a window.”
“Why would they?” Walker shrugged. “They had security measures in place. Except, of course, if someone on staff shared the details of those security measures.”
Maddy fought the blood rush destroying her focus. Were they implying …
“Maddy,” Cilla said, keeping her gaze on Walker, “I didn’t hear a question, so no need to respond. Speaking of, are there any other questions, Special Agents? Or can we all get back to something meaningful?”
“Oh, there’s more,” Walker said.
Special Agent Blackwell slid the tablet he’d placed in front of him to Maddy. A video was cued up.
“Hit play,” he said.
She did as she was told, rolling the video. Cilla angled sideways for a better view.
On screen, a man—was that the neck tattoo guy?—climbed a set of exterior stairs that looked like the ones leading to Maddy’s apartment.
No way. Not again. Could it …
Oh, God.Gaze fixed on the screen, Maddy drew a silent breath, taking in the stale, antiseptic air that suddenly burned her throat. Her eyes teared up and she blinked. The smell. That’s all it was. The nasty, dank smell of a room where hundreds of criminals had sat.
The man climbed and climbed and climbed.Step, step, step.
Deliberate.
Please don’t stop at my condo. Please.
He stopped—of course he did—and pulled something out of his front pocket.
Keys.
What?
Beside her, Cilla sat stock-still, all that lack of movement sending a giant warning flare because the woman struck her as someone rarely still.
Cilla created activity. Controlled chaos that disrupted peace.
All this stillness made Maddy’s skin itch.
She focused on the tablet, where the man shoved a key in her door. Her gut twisted. A wave of nausea assailed her and panic blurred her vision. She pointed to the screen. “If that’s my condo, I have no idea how he has a key.”
Cilla touched her arm. The not-so-subtle message to close her mouth.
“Special Agents,” Cilla said, her tone syrupy sweet, “please tell me you hauled us down here for more than this little screening? The least you could have done was provide popcorn.”
Special Agent Walker gave Cilla a smug smile and leaned in. “Thislittle screening,Ms. Randolph, is of your client’s apartment. The man with the key, if you don’t recognize him from the neck tattoo, is the same one on the Thompson Center security video the night of the heist.”
“I’m aware.”
Maddy checked the date and time stamp. “This is the Monday after the robbery. And it’s the middle of the afternoon. I was at work. You can check that.”
Special Agent Blackwell jotted a note. “We’ve already confirmed that. Why does he have a key to your apartment?”
