“Did you?” Eve countered. “An employee, an artist, a neighbor?”
“Certainly not! Not in any way that would drive someone to do this.”
“Do you teach this kind of art? What would it be, classical?”
“The featured artist selects the style and medium. I myself teach once or twice a year, depending. But I focus on still lifes and watercolor. The Vermeer’s an oil painting. I’m a watercolorist.”
“We’d like the names and contacts of those featured artists for the last year, and the same from employees. What about artists you turn down?”
“I—” Opal looked helplessly at her husband.
“Opal and I co-manage the gallery and the shop. I’m going to say for every artist whose work we accept, there are easily half a dozen we feel don’t meet our standards or needs.”
“Everybody thinks they’re the next Matisse or whoever,” Trent commented. “But mostly?” Face mockingly stern, he did an exaggerated thumbs-down.
For the first time Opal smiled. “Rude, but not wrong. Why would anyone murder that poor young woman because I made them angry?”
“It could be they chose your location because it just worked. The quiet street, the below-street-level area. But we’ll look at every possibility.”
“Clone Cops. It was a pretty mag vid” was Trent’s opinion. “I heard they’re going to make another one about when people started going crazy and slicing and dicing each other.”
He slid a glance toward his parents. “Mom and Dad freaked, so Fi and I were on house arrest for like a week because of all that. But like I told them, I don’t need some weird-ass virus or whatever to want to slice and dice Fiona.”
His sister sneered, but this time with a touch of amusement in her eyes. “Yeah? Smothering you in your sleep’s my lifelong dream.”
Before the parents could speak, Eve rose.
“Well, if you end up sliced and diced, or you end up smothered in your sleep, we’ll know who to arrest. That cuts down on legwork.”
That brought a delighted cackle from the boy, and a half smile from his sister.
“If you could get us those names and contacts—add any of the students—we’d appreciate it. And if you think of anything at all?” Eve put one of her cards on the table. “Reach out. We appreciate your time and cooperation.”
“The woman,” Opal began. “The, ah, body.”
“Will be transported to the morgue. The Crime Scene Unit will need some time to process the area. Fiona, you should use the entrance inside until they’re done.”
“What a night.” On a sigh, Roger got to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.”
Eve waited until they were out of earshot. “Mr. Whittier, I’m going to ask this to open or to eliminate a connection. You obviously care deeply about your family, so I’m asking you to be honest. You didn’t recognize Leesa Culver?”
“Who? Oh, was that her name? No, I’ve never seen her before. At least that I remember.”
“Do you or have you previously engaged licensed companions?”
He stopped, gaped. “I— What a question.”
“The victim was an LC.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. I don’t. I haven’t, not ever. Opal and I… we’re in tune in that area. In most areas, actually. Lieutenant, I’m a family man, and this has terrified my family. I can only swear to you if anything I’ve done had even the most remote application to what happened tonight, I’d tell you.”
When they reached the door, he paused. “We’re a loud, often unruly family, but we love each other. My wife and kids are the most important things in the world to me.
“Please find who did this, who killed that poor woman, who brought my family into this horror. I doubt any of us will sleep easy until you do.”
When they stepped outside into bright daylight, Peabody circled her neck. “I believe him on that last bit. They’re pissed off at the daughter, and she’s pissed off at them. She has to be to justify being stupid. But they’re a unit. You could see how they sat together.”
“That sums that up. But it doesn’t tell us why here. It could have been for the relative convenience. But the rest? The pose, the costume. All that’s so deliberate and specific. Why wouldn’t the dump spot be deliberate and specific?”
