It Started With a Heist

Chapter 9

JAKE

I was sitting at my desk, my gaze fixed on the computer screen. The office was quiet because most of the other agents had already gone home. The only sounds I could hear were the gentle tapping of the keyboard as I searched through the database for any updates and Luke's occasional humming.

Luke was sitting across my desk, reading through a cold case, hoping he could crack it. We had an entire cabinet full of them. When we were between major investigations or in any kind of a lull during a case, we usually resorted to them to fill the time or sometimes just to clear our brains.

Dealing with a tough case and being unable to find new leads for months could be quite frustrating. Everybody could use a small victory, a glimpse of hope to assure them that they still got it.

Unfortunately, I didn't have that luxury. The Met's case had long since consumed my mind, leaving no room for anything else.

My brow was furrowed in concentration as my fingers tapped restlessly against the desk. I have been looking at the last reports we received from Interpol and other international law enforcement agencies, comparing them and analyzing the data for any clues we might have missed. But it was futile.

Weeks had gone by without any new leads. Things were starting to look as if a huge ship had sunk entirely beneath the surface, and now the water was eerily still.

It was natural to assume that the thieves were biding their time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to sell or smuggle the painting out of the country. But my gut was telling me that this wasn't the case. I just couldn't shake the feeling that we weren't dealing with typical criminals.

Wait... maybe that was it. Perhaps the fact that there were no leads was a lead in itself.

Suddenly, I sat up straight, a determined look on my face. "It's been sold," I exclaimed, my voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Luke looked up from the file he was reading; confusion etched on his face. "What?"

"I think they have already sold the painting."

"What makes you say that?"

"Think about it. No new professional forgeries have surfaced for weeks. And only the local, a dime a dozen forgers are still attempting to profit from the stolen painting." I leaned forward, my eyes slightly narrowed. "Everything before that was meticulously planned and meant to throw us off track."

Luke closed the file in his hand and fixed his gray eyes on me, gesturing for me to continue.

"I think the thieves knew if they waited too long, the heat would eventually die down, and they'd have to settle for a lower price than what they wanted. They needed to get rid of the painting sooner rather than later. That's why they created all those distractions, to keep us off their trail."

Steepling my fingers under my chin, I leaned back in the chair again, my mind racing with dozens of possibilities. "I bet they managed to find a buyer who was willing to pay top dollar for the painting, someone they think we won't be able to track."

Luke nodded slowly, a look of understanding dawning on his face. "You might be right," he said, his tone thoughtful. "I think we need to go back to our street contacts and see if anyone's heard anything. If we find the buyer, we find the thieves."

I nodded absentmindedly as my thoughts had already spiraled into chaos, like a computer running a scan through its database, searching for something very specific. Then, finally, it came to a halt, and a certain image popped up in my mind.

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as a plan started to form in my brain, piece by piece.

"Do you remember Simon Macklin?"