“Art transcends man-made laws.”
“Yeah? Is that why you killed Leesa Culver?”
“I don’t know who that is.” He said it absently as he continued to circle, to gesture. “I need stimulation to create art. Music, movement, sex. How can I bringFuryto life without the stimuli?”
“Headphones,” Eve repeated. “Get some. Where were you last night between midnight and fourA.M.?”
“Don’t you understand…” He paused, frowned. “What?”
“Midnight to four last night. Your whereabouts?”
“Didn’t I already say I’m forced to work like a slave? But still, there is stimulation, and there is on occasion inspiration. I was doing the menial work I’m forced to do until my art is recognized. Serving others their drinks and food at Saucy. In the next block.”
“From midnight to four?”
“From nine to two. Then, exhausted, I returned home, too depleted for my art, too restless to sleep. I took a sleep aid and slept. One day the pain will be too much, and I won’t wake again.”
Eve pulled up Leesa’s ID on her ’link, turned the screen toward him. “How do you know her?”
He frowned, shook his head, then tossed back his hair. “I don’t. If she modeled for me, and I put her on canvas, she would always live in me.”
He pressed a hand to his heart.
“If she complained about my need for stimulation—”
“She’s dead.”
He frowned again, then just shrugged. “Death comes to all of us.”
“Death comes sooner than it should when someone’s murdered.”
“Murdered.” He looked more intrigued than shocked. “Well, I certainly didn’t murder her.”
“You shoved a man into the street in front of moving vehicles.”
“That was a moment of madness, an accident, really. Blind passion. I’ve moved on. Now, I have only a few precious hours for my work. I need to go back toFury.”
Eve put the Vermeer on the screen. “Do you know this painting?”
He looked, sneered. “Boring. Ordinary.”
“Right. If you turn the music up to that volume, or close to it, again, you’ll find a couple of cops at your door with an arrest warrant.” Eve started for the door. “You won’t get anywhere withFuryin lockup. Remember that.”
When they went out, Eve waited. The music came back on, but not at door-shuddering volume.
“What a dick” was Peabody’s opinion. “He really shouldn’t have bothered changing his last name.”
“He’s a dick, and we’ll check out his alibi, see how close we can pinpoint when Leesa left the stroll. But he didn’t kill her.”
“Way too busy swimming in self-pity and self-indulgence to plan out a murder. Plus, none of his stuff is in the same universe as the portrait. He’d never have used something like that.”
“What universe is his stuff in?” Eve asked as they started down.
“The Shit Universe. Some would go for it, sure, because it has a creepy kind of gut punch, and I absolutely believe all art has value. However, well, shit has value. But otherwise, it’s abstract, conceptional, and reeks of that self-indulgence. He’s just using it as an excuse to suffer, or claim he’s suffering.”
“I agree with all that. We’ll check the timing anyway. Who’s next?”
Peabody checked, noted Reineke’s list came through. “Standish, and he should be at his day job. Café Urbane, and that’s just a block past where we parked, across the street, and another block.”
