The Violin Conspiracy(8)

He didn’t even hear her return, but eventually became aware that she was standing in the doorway. Almost two hours had disappeared inside the Mozart.

“Wow,” she said. “You’re doing Mozart proud.”

“You’re right about the second movement,” he said. “Ben Amundsen could take a tip from you.”

“I’m really feeling it. Sounds like you are, too. Don’t get too cocky, son.” She disappeared into the living room, and he lifted the bow again to the Lehman’s strings.



* * *



—

An hour later Bill Soames brought them news. “We checked out one of the people who didn’t show up to work yesterday. The woman who brought you breakfast the morning you left.”

Hope leaped blindly, like a fish jumping out of a lake. “Where is she?” Ray asked.

“We’re checking her residence now. Her name is—allegedly—Pilar Jiménez.” A bloom of razor burn coated Soames’s neck, and he scratched at it.

“What do you mean, ‘allegedly’?” Nicole said. “Don’t you know her name?”

“There is a possibility that she didn’t provide her real name.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t the hotel have to get passports, visas, something?” Ray said.

“Yes, we’re reviewing her documents now,” Bill said. “But there are red flags. It looks like a fake passport. False social security number.”

“Fake? You’re fucking kidding me,” Ray said. He wasn’t sure if he was furious or elated.

“How long has she been with them?” Nicole asked.

“Almost two months.”

Ray said, “And you went to her house?”

“We went to the apartment she listed as her residence, yes. She wasn’t there. Nobody would say where she was, only that she left yesterday.”

“So what are you doing?”

“We’re talking to everyone. Checking everywhere she might have gone,” Soames said. “Buses, cars, planes, trains. Door to door to the neighbors. Her church. We’ll find her.”

They hashed out various possibilities: that someone had bribed Pilar Jiménez to swap the violin for the Chuck Taylor shoe. That Pilar was maybe a violin aficionado and had targeted the violin herself. That she’d infiltrated the hotel for the express purpose of stealing the violin, since Ray regularly stayed there. “Ten million dollars is a very good motive,” Bill said.

Bill Soames drilled Nicole again for her version of the breakfast delivery that morning. Ray had heard the story several times by now—each time she seemed slightly more broken, her voice even shakier, as if she were reliving the part she may have played in the violin’s loss: the fatal mistake of letting the housekeeper out of her sight, if only for a moment.

Nicole was sitting in the armchair next to the window when the knock came: “Room service.” She let the small, dark-haired woman in. Nicole didn’t really get a good look at her behind the breakfast cart. The woman kept her head down. Her hair was smooth, with straight bangs, caught in a bun at the nape of her neck. She pushed the breakfast cart past the bathroom on the left where Ray was showering; past the kitchenette, also on the left; into the living room. She’d stopped the cart in front of the small dining-room table and started transferring the plates.

“I should have stayed right there,” Nicole said. “I never should have tipped her.”

“Why didn’t you have the tip ready?” Bill asked. “You knew she was coming. Don’t you normally give a tip?”

“Ray usually does it,” Nicole said, looking at him.

“Yeah,” Ray said, “I do.”

But Nicole’s purse was in the bedroom, so she went in to retrieve it. “I could still see the cart,” she said.

“Could you see the woman?”

A long pause. She stared at the FBI agent, then down at her hands. “No,” she said finally. “I guess I couldn’t.”

“Could you hear anything?”

“I heard her moving plates and glasses.” Her voice cracked. “But I wasn’t really paying attention. I only had a twenty so I had to find Ray’s wallet.”

“How many plates did you hear her move? Did you hear the violin case open?”

“No!” she said. “I was looking for Ray’s wallet. I just heard him taking a shower.” Tears gleamed in her eyes, and she looked at her hands in her lap. Ray wanted to reach out, grab hers. Hug her tight.

“So what happened next?” Bill said. “Did you get his wallet?”

“Yeah. I found it and got five bucks.”

“Where was the wallet? Could you see the cart when you found it?”

“No,” she said, and now Ray could hear the panic in her voice. “His wallet—it was on the floor. It fell on the floor. Between the nightstand and the bed. I had to look for it. It was maybe thirty seconds, but I found it and gave it to her. Gave her the money.”

“Five dollars, you said before?”

“Yeah,” Nicole said. “It was only thirty seconds.”

“How did you know where his wallet was?”

“He always has it on the nightstand. Don’t you?” she appealed to Ray.