Page 123 of The Grave Artist
Sanchez shrugged. “Nothing illegal about it. The fact is, it’s meaningless. He’ll be well within his rights to ignore it. But I’m betting hewantsto help. He just needs a cover-your-ass document in case somebody asks him why he released the vids. Let’s hope he buys it.”
Which he did. The letter was all the man needed.
And in ten minutes they received the videos and Jake sat down at his station and scrubbed. They counted about four hundred individuals who had visited the room where the Bellini was hung.
“Declan.”
“Yes, Jake?”
“Scan the videos in Heron Secure Folder 89 labeled ‘Uffizi’ and compile best-quality screenshots of dark-haired White males aged twenty-five to thirty-five who viewed the Bellini.”
Sanchez said to Jake, “And add in your Sherlockian deductions about him physically. What we talked about in the coffee shop earlier.” She nodded to the murder board.
“Good. Declan, prioritize right-handed individuals in good physical shape.”
“I’m doing that now, Jake.”
Ten seconds passed. Then:
“I have forty-two, in descending order of seconds spent examining the painting.”
Jake nodded to Sanchez, who took over the hunt. “Compare the images with those of passengers in the Customs and Border Patrol database flying into the US from Rome, Milan, Venice or connecting from Italy through Munich, Frankfurt, Brussels, Paris and London.”
Declan suggested, “I would add Reykjavik too. Icelandair is a popular carrier for flights into and out of the United States. Would you like me to do that, Carmen?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes met Tandy’s, Jake noted. The detective said, “The plan, it seems kind of ... fragile. What if it doesn’t work? Do we have any alternatives?”
The answer was no, they didn’t.
An endless moment of silence.
Finally broken by the computer’s low tenor. “I have one match. Would you like to hear it?”
Now it was Jake’s and Sanchez’s eyes that met. She said, “Yes.”
“The individual fitting all your search criteria is Damon Garr, 4437 Ocean Vista Drive, Malibu, California, 90265.”
Chapter 59
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sweeney said. “Who?”
“Fortuna, the goddess of wealth, and Hygeia, the goddess of cleanliness. Money and laundering.”
The big man still seemed confused. “I don’t remember them from Marvel or DC.”
Sighing, Selina continued, “My dad realized one of his clients was laundering money. I didn’t know which one but eventually figured out it was Fisher.”
“You really are something.” He shook his head in disbelief. “But we have a deal, right?”
“Oh, plugging the leak. Sure. But tell me more about Fisher.”
A nod around the mansion. “Silicon Valley venture capitalist. They call themselves VCs. They raise money for start-ups. Not all of Silicon Valley is a golden goose, and Fisher lost a shit ton of money.”
She looked at the mantel. There were pictures of a handsome man in his late forties, trim and with perfect hair. One was of him with a woman about his age, holding hands and looking at the camera from the deck of a yacht. They wore wedding rings. Another photo about the same age showed him with his arm around a pretty girl in her late teens in a cocktail dress.
“Husband and father,” she whispered. It seemed impossible that a “normal” man could do what he’d done.
