“She sounded like the bitch somebody’s a son of.”
“Tell me you had better luck with Leonardo.”
“I had better luck. I’m not risking my marginally-smaller-than-it-used-to-be ass in that chair.”
Instead, Peabody eased some of it on the corner of Eve’s desk.
“First, no one approached him or his company for the costumes. He hasn’t heard about another designer taking them on, but he’s going to check around.”
“Appreciated.”
“He gave me a few places where, if he had gotten the order, he’d have sourced the fabrics. He also said that since historical accuracy was so important, he’d have consulted with an art expert. Without a specific model to fit, he’d have either taken the measurements given him by the client, or would’ve run a program to determine the measurements of the models in the paintings. Whichever the client wanted.”
“Okay, you definitely got more.”
“And a little more yet. Can I get coffee since I think I’m going to be spending a lot of time at my desk on the ’link after this?”
“Get it. Get me more. It’s doubtful the killer knew the exact sizes of his victims when he ordered the costumes. But he’d know what he was looking for. For the Girl, it’s the face. It didn’t matter if the outfit was a little too big, which it was. The Boy, that had to be closer, so he had tolook for somebody who’d fit. The face wasn’t as important. Youth was, but not specific features.”
“Can’t argue that.” Peabody handed Eve fresh coffee, eased her ass down again while she sampled her own. “Leonardo took a really good look at the painting details, at Harvo’s analysis of fabrics, yardage, all of it. Then he did some sort of program—so it took a little longer than I expected. But he said if he’d done these orders, the Girl would’ve taken six to eight weeks, if the materials were available. It could take twice that if they had to be manufactured to order. And considering the fabrics, the need for exact replication, he’d charge one-seventy-five. That’s thousand, which would include the consult fee for the art expert. For the Boy—double the time and the fee.”
“That’s even more than Harvo estimated.”
“Yeah. He couldn’t say absolutely, but he thought a company that specialized in historical costumes would probably come closer to Harvo’s take on moolah and time.”
“Like the French Trina’s place.”
“Her name was Trina?”
“No. She just reminded me of Trina. Okay, let’s start with placing the order three months ago. No, go back six months. You start with the fabric venues. Looking for the specific fabrics, the yardage, ordered going back six months and up to three months. He could have used more than one costume place or designer, so factor that.”
“What if I go back a year? It’s so much detail work, Dallas. It’ll take longer, but we’ll cover more ground.”
“Do that. I’m going to try this place in London. At least they speak English even if it’s not American, and I won’t need the translator.
She ran into the same wall in London, another in Milan, then an excruciatingly polite wall in Tokyo.
Frustrated, she got up and paced.
International warrants, she thought, would be a major pain in the ass for everyone involved. She might as well give a friend a pain in the ass first.
She contacted APA Cher Reo.
Chapter Eleven
“Reo. I’m in court, Dallas, but on recess.”
“I’ll make it quick. I need some international warrants.”
“Some?” Reo’s eyebrows lifted up under her fluff of blond hair. “International?”
“They’re pertaining to the back-to-back murders, street LCs, dressed up like people in famous old paintings.”
“Yes, I know about that, but—”
“Let me just get it out. Harvo’s ID’d the fancy fabrics, the fancy dyes, even the yardage used on both costumes. I’ve got venues that make this sort of thing, high quality, high cost, and a lot of them are outside the U.S. I’m getting nowhere, due to client confidentiality.”
“All right, I see the issue. But these are—here’s the pun—really loose threads on international.”
