“Fine.”
Reo stepped over, programmed. “I’m walking over to see the new house.”
“You’re walking over there in those shoes?”
Reo hitched the strap of her briefcase more securely on her shoulder. Took the go-cup in one hand, tried a nibble of the half a brownie with the other.
“You’ve got your superpowers, I’ve got mine. Tag me when you’ve got a name and location.”
Eve added, eliminated, cross-checked. Little by little, as time ticked by, the list whittled down.
When her desk ’link signaled, she saw Carter Morganstern on the display and snatched it up.
“Mr. Morganstern, this is Lieutenant Dallas, thanks for getting back to me.”
“I just got in. Jesus Christ, somebody put a dead woman in my front yard with my wife and kids alone in the house!”
“Yes, sir. I need—”
“I wasn’t here, then I couldn’t get home. We have security. I don’t know how this could happen.”
“I’ll have answers for you. Mr. Morganstern—”
“Nat says you’re married to her boss.”
“That’s correct. I’m also the primary investigator in this incident.”
“Why would somebody kill somebody and leave her at my house?”
“I believe you were targeted because of your gallery. Mr. Morganstern, please,” she said as he started to interrupt again, “I understand this is very stressful.”
“That doesn’t begin to cover the day I’ve had so far. I’m sorry.” She heard him take a breath. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Our gallery? My God, did she work for us? I haven’t checked all the—”
“No, sir. If you’d come into Central, I can explain. We could use your help. We believe the person responsible hoped your gallery would take his art, and was refused.”
“Well, Christ, that happens several times a week. I don’t see how… I’m apologizing again. Yes, I’ll come in.”
“As soon as possible, please. Cop Central, Homicide level, Lieutenant Dallas. I’ll arrange for a visitor’s pass.”
“I’ll come in now. I need those answers.”
“Thank you.”
She heard Peabody coming.
“Carter Morganstern’s coming in now. Get him a visitor’s pass.”
“Okay. Dallas, I think I’ve got something on the brushes. The owner—it’s a shop in Paris—isn’t in. He’s at a party. He and his wife’s fiftieth anniversary party. But the woman who answered the ’link—I caught her right before they closed—said she thinks she remembers Monsieur Cabot working on the brushes. She remembers he had a print of the painting in his workshop because it’s one of her favorites.”
“Did she see the guy who ordered, picked them up?”
“She thinks so, but she’s vague. It was, she thinks, months ago. But an American artist. She checked the records for the last six months. It’s as far as she could go back. The owner needs to access anything prior. She didn’t find the order, or a payment. But!”
Peabody held up two fingers, one on each hand and shook them. “She’s seen the vid! She’s in France and she saw the vid! She got invested because of that, I think. She’s going to contact the owner, tell him it’s vitally important. She’ll give him my contact.
“It’s him, Dallas. It has to be.”
“It’s going to be. Good work. Get the visitor’s pass. Help Trueheart tug on fabric until Morganstern gets here.”
