Page 115 of The Grave Artist
Well, she chided herself. It was pointless to go for a stroll along the asphalt. You’re here to investigate, then do some investigating!
There were probably security cameras, but at this point she didn’t care. She strode to each mailbox and took one piece of mail, then hurried back to the car.
Damn good thing her sister wasn’t running the show. Carmen wouldn’t have done this without a warrant, and she probably couldn’t have gotten one based on what she had learned so far.
In fact, Selina thought in passing, she’d just committed a federal offense. Well, you’ve got jurisdiction now, Carm, come and get me.
The thought nearly brought a smile to her lips.
She returned to the car, dropped into the front seat and pulled the client list she’d gotten from Mr. Overton.
She compared the names.
None of the hilltop residents were on the list. Her shoulders slumped.
Until she thought of one she’d just seen. It was Christopher James Fisher, in the house at the end of the circle.
Fisher . . .
No, impossible.
My God.
Her heart thudded.
She was thinking of the other parts of her father’s note that no one had figured out. The fact that he had underlined his middle name, and the ancient Greek lettering scrawled at the bottom corner of the page.
Δ:ΙΘ
The characters that translated into the numbers 4:19.
Mateo equaled Matthew in English.
And the answer blossomed. Like everything else her father had been forced to do minutes before he died, the clue was elegantly simple yet easily disguised.
Their parents had taken their two daughters to Mass every Sunday. Selina had attended CCD and catechism growing up. Now that she realized the scripture her father had directed her to, it was obvious. Something anyone raised to memorize sections of the Bible would recognize without having to look it up.
He was directing them to Bible passage Matthew 4:19.
And He said unto them, “Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men.”
Christopher Fisher.
But she grimaced. His name was not on the client list.
Then she scanned it again. And saw that some of her father’s clients were companies, not individuals.
And one of those was CJF Enterprises, LLC.
Too much of a coincidence. A fast Google search gave her proof.
Yes, the Christopher Fisher who lived here was the founder and head of the company, which did something called venture capital work.
Okay, she had enough to get started. She’d call Carmen and Ryan and tell them about her discovery.
First, though, put the mail back.
She climbed out and made the rounds once more.
