They followed him through a narrow corridor packed with desks, chairs, coat racks, and exhausted human beings.The entire precinct felt two sizes too small for the job it was asked to do.
“Before you complain,” Sullivan said, weaving around a detective swearing at a stapler, “Yes, I found you a workspace.Yes, it’s temporary.And yes, it’s crap.But it’s the only square footage in this building not currently housing a narcotics unit.”
He pushed open a door at the end of the hall.
The room beyond looked like a forgotten storage cupboard with delusions of grandeur.Two desks—one missing a leg and propped up with a stack of legal pads—sat beneath flickering lights.A single window looked out onto a brick wall roughly eight inches away.
Kate tried not to laugh.“This is… charming.”
Sullivan planted his hands on his hips.“Look, I know it’s not the Four Seasons.But it’s what I’ve got.You’ve got power outlets, a door that locks—mostly—and a fan that works when it feels like it.”
“It’s perfect,” Kate said honestly.“Thank you.”
Sullivan exhaled in relief.“Good.Now for the part that doesn’t suck.We’ll have to issue a press release about the murder… some dang nocturnal YouTuber managed to film the circus around Hayes’s building last night, so…” He spread his hands out.“I’m thinking minimal details as to the m.o., crime scene accoutrements, etc.That okay with you folks?I’m happy to run the wording past you first.”
They nodded.
“If this does go serial and I pray not, we’ll keep the same blackout in place, but review.Now…”
He handed Kate a manila folder.
“Item Two.That’s the preliminary from the M.E.”
Kate opened it.Photos.Notes.Measurements.A diagram of the wound.
She felt the familiar tightening in her chest.
“Short wound,” Sullivan said.“Angled upward.A couple rough edges along the cut track.M.E.says it wasn’t a professional blade.Not a kitchen knife, not a utility knife.Home-sharpened.”
Marcus frowned.“As in, homemade weapon?”
"Exactly."Sullivan tapped the diagram."At first, he thought the cake knife didn't give me that look; apparently, they're sharper than you'd think.But he's leaning now toward an artist's palette knife."
Kate looked up.“Palette knives aren’t sharp.”
“No,” Sullivan agreed.“But steel is steel.Someone with patience and a whetstone could turn one into a nasty little cutter.It requires considerable upper-body strength to cut that deep, though, so the M.E.’s money’s definitely on a male assailant.”
“And because of the artwork found with the body,” Marcus said, “you’re checking art suppliers?”
“Already on it.”Sullivan pulled another sheet from the folder.“Every art store in the Greater Boston area—brick-and-mortar or online—has been asked to flag any recent sales of palette knives.Cheap, expensive, doesn’t matter.Also checking hardware stores for whetstones or home sharpening supplies.The usual fishing expedition.”
Kate nodded.This was good.Solid.Exactly the kind of jumpstart she’d hoped for.
"Could you expand the search?"she asked."To the whole state?Rhode Island too?And also look for recent sales of India ink, nibs, and ivory card."
Sullivan stared at her as if she’d just asked him to intercept a cruise missile with a butterfly net.
“Valentine,” he said flatly, “are you kidding me?”
She blinked.“No?”
“We’re already stretched thin.My captain’s breathing down my neck because I’ve moved off trailing a burglary ring to helm this case and he thinks that makes us look ‘too reactive’.”He made air quotes.“If I try to run a statewide art-supply dragnet while the guy upstairs is having a coronary over photocopy costs, I’ll be doing road safety talks to first-graders by Friday.”
“But—”
“No,” Sullivan said firmly.“I cannot expand the search.I cannot check every paint purchase in Massachusetts.I cannot call every art teacher from here to Montpelier.We don’t have the resources.We don’t have the personnel.And my boss would sooner set this building on fire than sign off on it.”
Kate closed the folder.
