“You sometimes see art students sitting in museums, sketching famous works of art.”
Eve supposed she had. But. “Why?”
“It’s practice, it’s homage. It’s learning how that artist accomplished it. I’d say anyway. And some schools have students try their version of a well-known painting.”
“So art students.” Eve stuck her hands in her pockets. “Maybe art historians, considering the age of the original. Add art forgers, and those people who restore art. The victim can’t tell us much more, but we’ve got plenty of lines to tug. Start tugging.”
The doors opened. DS Jenkinson and his tie walked on.
“LT, Peabody.”
“Why, God, why!” Too late, Eve slapped a hand over her eyes. “In this closed space, it’s burning my corneas.”
“Aw, Loo.” With a kind of affection, Jenkinson ran his hand down a tie with a field that spread like a nasty, purpling bruise. Over it, flowers the color of a concerning urine sample bloomed. “It’s real subtle.”
“Yeah, subtle like a pipe wrench slammed repeatedly on the back of the skull. What are you doing here?”
“Had to run down, talk to a guy. Carmichael and Santiago caught one about an hour ago. He’s wearing the hat.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Looks like he bet Carmichael the Cubs would beat the Mets in Saturday’s game.”
Eve narrowed her burning eyes. There were lines, hard, deep lines, not to be crossed.
“One of my detectives bet against the Mets?”
“Well, Santiago’s from Chicago, and it turns out he’s got a pal from his high school days who’s a relief pitcher on the Cubs’ roster. Plus, he’s paying, boss. He has to wear the hat all week.”
Jenkinson shrugged. “No money on it, and the Mets took them down four to two. And he’s in for the Mets unless they’re playing the Cubs. You can’t hold it against him for rooting for a pal.”
“Can’t I?”
“Come on.”
The conversation held her on the elevator as it stopped and started, as cops shuffled in, squeezed out.
“You see the game?” Jenkinson asked.
“I caught the last couple innings.”
“Then you saw Santiago’s pal. They brought him in, in the seventh. He’s got an arm on him. Held us to the four.”
Eve played it back in her mind. “Yeah, he’s got a wicked fastball. Franx almost dinged him good in the eighth, two out.”
“Curved foul last minute or that baby was gone. Still, we won.”
“Yeah, there’s that.”
“Anyway.” All three squeezed off at Homicide. “Baxter and Trueheart are in-house, working the ’links right now on one they caught Saturday night. They were on the roll.”
“Right.”
One of the reasons she’d nudged Jenkinson to take the Detective Sergeant’s exam was just this. He knew everything, sometimes before it happened.
“Me and Reineke are clear right now, if you need some help.”
“Did you finish the paperwork?”
