“Which means,” Hailey continued, thinking it through, “they couldn’t have told whoever did this where to find her. These crates held paintings—maybe all of them—but maybe not. Even one of those paintings could be worth a fortune.”

Nick paused in the doorway. He looked back at the rigid bodies.

“You think Gail’s going to hand them over to us? After this?”

“You think she’s going to want to keep them. After this?”

Now Nick was thinking, too. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

*  *  *

The woman was short, heavy-set, with a mop of curly hair and square features, and she’d barely made it two steps into the warehouse before her face dropped and her skin went pale. Before she could back out the door, Nick was already talking, fast, filling in the details he’d neglected to add during the short call he’d made to get her there in the first place.

“Gail, I’m sorry you had to see this, but I couldn’t exactly tell you on the phone. Jimmy’s dead, the twins are dead, and whatever paintings were here are gone.”

Gail looked like she’d just been hit by a shovel. Her wide-set eyes were like saucers above her boxy jaw. Her shoulders were slumped—but Hailey couldn’t tell if that was a natural state, or had more to do with the two bodies in the warehouse. The woman was clearly upset. But the way she was now glancing at the open crates made Hailey think her sadness also carried a healthy component of self-interest.

Then Gail looked at Nick. “The down payment?”

Nick shook his head.

The woman’s shoulders slumped even farther. Hailey could imagine what she was thinking. All that stolen art, bouncing around South Boston for three decades, lost, almost forgotten. And now lost again.

“Cursed,” Gail finally grunted. “Those damn things are cursed.”

“It’s a lot of money,” Nick said. He seemed strangely resigned. “There’s nothing mystical about it. People die when there’s lots of money at stake. You know how they say some businesses are too big to fail? Well, some things are too big to steal.”

Gail shook her head.

“That’s the crazy thing about all of this,” she said. “Bobby wasn’t even supposed to take those goddamn paintings. He was no good at following orders. Probably why he ended up in the trunk of his car.”

Gail turned and headed for the door. Nick called after her.

“Gail, wait. What do you mean, he wasn’t supposed to take the paintings?”

Hailey was still digesting what the woman was saying. Bobby was the gangster who had supposedly robbed the Gardner. Gail’s father was his partner. Following orders? Then he really hadn’t planned the heist himself?

Gail reached the open door, then waved at Nick and Hailey to catch up to her.