“Julian,” I said.

A low, dry chuckle came through the small speaker.

“You always did have an ear for voices,” Julian Maroni said.

I walked back to the kitchen window, watching the gray waves crash against the black rocks of the cove.

“How did you get this number?” I asked.

“I paid a boy in Gregory’s crew,” Julian said. “The same boy who watched Gregory panic when he realized the safe deposit keys were gone.”

“Gregory was never meant for logistics,” I said.

“Arthur is throwing glasses at the walls,” Julian said. “He broke a mahogany sideboard this morning.”

I pictured the study in the Costello estate, the expensive wood splintering under Arthur’s temper.

“That sideboard was an antique,” I said.

“He doesn’t care about antiques right now,” Julian said. “He cares about the port authority. The shipping manifests are locked in that box.”

“I know,” I said.

“The customs agents are asking questions, Clara. Arthur tried to pay them off, but he sent Gregory with a suitcase of cash to the wrong dock.”

I rubbed my temple, feeling the familiar headache starting at the base of my skull.