Steve was searching the shelves now, touching various vehicles or machines, scooting some along. “I can’t think why my wife would either, or the housekeeper.”
“Do you have any of this sort of thing elsewhere on the premises?” Eve asked him.
“Yes, a few pieces here and there, and the main collection upstairs in my office, but . . . ”
“Why don’t you take a look? Peabody, could you give Mr. Whittier a hand?”
“Sure. My brothers have a few model toys,” Peabody began as she led Steve out of the room. “Nothing like what you’ve got here.”
Eve waited until their voices had faded. “How much is this kind of deal worth?” She waved her thumb toward the shelves as she turned to Roarke.
“It’s a bit out of my milieu, but antique, nostalgic, novelty collections of any kind have value.” He picked up a small, beefy truck, spun the wheels. The quick smile confirmed Eve’s theory that such matters were indeed guy things. “And the condition of the pieces add to it. These are all prime, from what I can see. You’re thinking the toy’s been lifted.”
“Strong possibility.”
He set the truck down but didn’t release it until he’d pushed it gently back and forth. “If Trevor Whittier stole it from his father, if the diamonds were indeed hidden inside it—and that’s where you’re heading?”
“Past heading. I’m there. I don’t think you should be playing with those,” she added when he reached for the tractor.
He made a sound that might have been disappointment or mild embarrassment, then stuck his hands in his pockets. “Then why kill? Why break into Samantha’s house? Why not be toasting your good fortune in Belize?”
“Who says he knows they’re in there?” She watched Roarke lift a brow. “Look at his profile. He’s a lazy, self-centered opportunist. I’m betting if Whittier does a check of his collection, he’ll find several of the better pieces missing. Stupid bastard might just have sold them, and the diamonds along with them.”
She wandered up and down the shelves, scanning the toys. “Samantha Gannon’s ex has a collection.”
“Does he now?” Roarke nodded. “Does he, really?”
“Yeah. Not as extensive as this, at least not the collection I saw in his office. Put Trevor Whittier together with the ex.” She put the tips of her index fingers together. “Point of interest, antique toys and games. Gannon’s ex had an advance copy of the book, and might very well have talked about it.”
“Intersections,” Roarke said with a nod. “It really is a small little world, isn’t it? The ex buys pieces from Whittier’s son, or at least knows him, socializes perhaps, shares this interest. Because of that, he mentions the book, talks it up. Samantha’s grandmother owned an antique store. I believe she still does. Another sort of intersection, another common thread that might’ve prompted a conversation.”
“Worth checking. I want an all-points out on Trevor Whittier. I want to sweep him up and into Interview, and I want a damn warrant to search his place. All of that’s going to take some fast talking.” She frowned toward the doorway. “What do you think? Will Whittier keep quiet, or will he try to warn Trevor we’re looking for him?”
“I think he’ll try to cooperate. That would be his first instinct. Do the right thing. He won’t consider, or believe, his son’s a murderer. It won’t be in his scope. In trouble, yes, in need of help. But not a cold-blooded killer. If he begins to think in that direction, I don’t know what he might do.”
“Then let’s keep him busy as long as we can.”
She called Baxter and Trueheart in to handle Whittier. They’d accompany him to his downtown offices, where he kept a few pieces of his collection.
“I need you to wait for the wife,” Eve directed Baxter. “Keep her with you. I don’t want either of them to have the opportunity to contact the son. Let’s keep him out of this mix as long as we can. We get some luck, and we pick him up before he knows we’re looking for him.”
“How long do you want them wrapped up?”
“Try to get me a couple hours. I need to get a warrant for Whittier junior’s place, and I want to get to Chad Dix. I’m going to send a couple uniforms out to Long Island, where Whittier’s mother’s living. Just to be safe.”
“We’ll stall. Maybe he’ll let us play with the fire truck.”