Sandra Marton - Ring Of Deception

“But?”

“But a lady called last week, all upset. Said she’d just come from there and swore she spotted a necklace that was the duplicate of one stolen from her. It was lying in a corner of a display case.”

“And?”

“Let’s put it this way. The lady in question is ninety-three, wears a hearing aid in each ear and glasses thick as Coke bottles. During the original interview, she told the detective who took the squeal that she’s being pestered by aliens from outer space who talk to her through her Persian cat.”

Luke grinned. “Uh-huh.”

“The detective paid her another visit, chatted with a maid who said the old girl’s okay most of the time but, well, every now and then she has a little trouble with reality.”

“Not the world’s most reliable complainant,” Luke said with a nod.

“On the other hand, the maid was with her that day. She says when the old woman gasped and pointed at the corner of the case, she looked, too, and she thinks maybe it really was the necklace.”

“Maybe?”

McDowell shrugged. “‘Maybe’s’ about it.”

“Did they say anything to anybody in the store?”

“No, not a word. They went straight outside and phoned us.”

“So, what we’ve got is an old lady with a screw loose, and a maid who thinks maybe she saw something . . . and maybe she didn’t.”

“Exactly. That’s why we have to move carefully on this.”

“I assume somebody checked the display case in the store.”

“Sure. The detective went in, she took a look, didn’t see a thing.”

“And she interviewed the people who work at the exchange?”

McDowell shifted uncomfortably in his swivel chair. “The place is owned by Julian Black. Name ring any bells? No? Well, Black’s at the top of the food chain. Good-looking guy, rich, supposed to be as honest as George Washington . . . and he’s active in civic affairs.”

Luke folded his arms. “You mean, he knows all the right people.”

“You say that like it’s an obscenity, Sloan, but that’s how things work. Black’s on a first-name basis with the governor, he served on the mayor’s recent ad hoc arts commission, and I’d be a fool to drag this department into a swamp until I know how deep the mud’s going to get.”

“Simply interviewing his clerks wouldn’t be . . . ”

“It would,” McDowell said firmly. “Seattle’s best families buy their toys at Emerald City. The last thing people like that want is cops swarming over the place, giving it a bad name.”

“Yeah. Okay. I can see that.”

“I thought you would. That’s why you’re going to set up a surveillance.”

Luke nodded. He hated doing surveillance. It was almost as dull as watching grass grow, but that was where he’d figured this was going.

“Okay.”

“You’ll have a camcorder so you can get tape of anything that looks interesting.”

“Where am I doing this? In a van on the street or is there a parking lot?”

For the first time since their meeting had started, McDowell looked uncomfortable.

“We’ve arranged for you to set up the camera and equipment across the street, at a place where you can have an unimpeded view of the exchange, where you can hang around for hours and nobody will figure you for a cop.”

Luke frowned, thought about the street the exchange was on, and came up with what he assumed was the place he’d be setting up shop.

“I’ve got it. That caf;aae—what’s it called? Caffeine something.” He snapped his fingers. “Caffeine Hy’s. Yeah, I guess that’ll work.” He grinned as he began to rise from his chair. “Although I’ll probably swear off coffee by the time I—”

“Not the coffee shop.”

“No?” Luke sank into the seat again. “Maybe I’m thinking of the wrong street.”

“You’ve got the right street, Sloan, just the wrong spot for the stakeout.” McDowell picked up a pencil and tapped it on the edge of his desk. “You’re going into the Forrester Square Day Care Center.”

Luke blinked. “What?”

“I said, we’re setting you up in—”

“A day care center?”

“Right.”

“Day care for what?” Luke said slowly. “Dogs? Cats? Canaries?”

“Very funny.” McDowell’s voice was flat. “Kids. Babies through kindergarten. You’re going to be a teacher’s aide.”

Luke stared at the lieutenant. He thought about what he knew about kids, which was exactly zero. He thought about what he wanted to know about kids, which was even less than that.

“Is this a joke?”

“The center is directly across from the exchange. It has a window in a fairly quiet location that looks out on the street.” McDowell tugged a file toward him, opened it and quickly scanned the top page. “There are three owners—Hannah Richards, Alexandra Webber and Katherine Kinard. Our people have spoken with them—well, more specifically, with the Kinard woman and her attorney. She’s agreed to cooperate.”

“Lieutenant, whoever came up with this plan is crazy. Excuse me, sir, for being blunt, but setting up a surveillance in a day care center, asking me to deal with babies is—”

“I came up with it,” McDowell said, his eyes riveted to Luke’s. “And I’m not asking you, Sloan. I’m telling you.”

“I don’t know the first thing about kids.”

“You’ll learn.”

“I don’t like kids.”

“Ever spent any time around them?”

“No!”

“Well, that’s why you think you don’t like them. You’re a quick study, Sloan. Just pay attention to what Ms. Kinard tells you, you’ll be fine.”

“Lieutenant,” Luke said desperately, “a female detective would—”

“The place is open Mondays through Fridays, so you won’t be able to use it for surveillance of the jewelry exchange on Saturdays. Dan Shayne will take Saturdays. He’ll set up in a van on the street. Other times, he’ll do whatever legwork, paper stuff you might need.”

“Lieutenant. Really, a woman would—”

“Here’s what little we have on the Emerald City Jewelry Exchange, its employees and Julian Black.”

McDowell got to his feet and held out the folder, indicating the meeting was over. Luke stared at him for two or three seconds. Then he stood up, too.

“Susan. Susan Wu,” he said desperately. “She’s one hell of a good detective, she has grandchildren, she likes kids.”

“An excellent choice.”

Luke let out his breath. “Well, then, sir . . . ”

“Unfortunately, Wu is in the hospital with appendicitis.” McDowell shoved the folder at Luke and fixed him with the sort of look he remembered from his days in the corps. “Anything else, Detective Sloan?”

Luke had taken on men twice his size, fought battles he’d never expected to win, but he wasn’t a fool. There was no way to win a war with McDowell unless he wanted to find himself in uniform again.

“No, sir,” he said, took the folder and went to meet his fate.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, LUKE SAT in a chair, staring at a woman seated behind the business side of a desk so neat and uncluttered it made him nervous.

Katherine Kinard wasn’t making him nervous, however. What she was doing was pissing him off. From the look on her face when he’d walked into her office and introduced himself as the detective who’d be working undercover at her day care center, he might as well have been Ivan the Terrible.

“You?” she’d said, her eyes round with shock. “ You’re the undercover police officer? But my attorney—Daniel Adler—said you’d be . . . He spoke with someone in your department, and they promised him you’d be a woman.”

Luke lifted one dark eyebrow. “Trust me, Ms. Kinard. I’m not.”