Page 24 of The Grave Artist
Sanchez continued his thought: “Which means he sees I-squared as a way to get noticed. Does it really matter if he’s a champion because he loves us or he’susingus? I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Williamson’s expression grew concerned. “Congressional hearings. Those are always trouble. So much grandstanding and political gamesmanship just for the sake of constituents back home—and for voters in the next election cycle. Just once I wish a witness would say, ‘In response to your self-interested and simpleminded question, Senator, why don’t you answermine? Would it have killed you to do the research a middle schooler would do, so that you could ask something intelligent?’”
Jake had to smile. Sanchez did too.
Then her phone hummed with a text. She glanced at the screen and blinked.
Jake noted her entire demeanor change. “Sanchez?”
“What?” Williamson asked impatiently.
She got to her feet. “Ben Sutton? Anthony Brock’s best man. He’s at the memorial service at Cedar Hills. A friend from the wedding party told him there’s somebody there who he thinks was in the upper garden not long before Brock died. He’s acting funny, staying out of sight, or trying to. White male, thirties.”
She fired off a text. “I’m telling Ben not to give anything away, or approach, but just keep an eye on the guy until we get there.” Without further words to her boss, she strode out the door, Jake following.
He glanced at his phone for the location of Cedar Hills. They would be there in twenty minutes.
Chapter 11
For Damon Garr, murder was always an option.
The old standby . . .
But here, at the cemetery,thatTableau would add considerable complication to his life.
Besides, the homicide was planned for later.
So this work of art would involve the thirteen-year-old girl’s destruction in a different way.
The aperitivo . . .
A look toward the wall where the urn containing the cremated remains of Anthony Brock would be set. Yes, the mourners were gathering. But a number had yet to arrive, it appeared. No minister, no priest.
He had some time.
And so he rehearsed the lines he would tell the girl.
Walking up casually, a big smile, friendly eyes.
Oh, hey, hi!A surprised look, as if he hadn’t been expecting to see her here.I’m so sorry for the loss ...
TammySammyKelli, as he dubbed her, would be confused by his familiarity and why she didn’t recognize him. And wondering too why he was, in effect, hiding out in the glen and not with the others.
But she would examine the suit, the trim hair and the beautiful tie, and deduce that he was here legitimately.
She would relax.
And he would attack.
So sad what happened, but I wasn’t surprised when your mom told me. He wasn’t a young man.
The portrait on the graveside easel was of some old codger who probably should have died ten years ago.
How’re you holding up? ... Cool, good to hear ... Anyway, I’m hanging back here because, yep, ta-da, I’m Bill.
He pictured her frowning, at which point he’d elaborate.Bill, you know ... Your motherdidtell you about me, right? When she and I had dinner last week? At the hotel? She said today was the day she was going to introduce us. We’d all go out together, the three of us. Get some drinks, well, ice cream for you, and you and I would get acquainted.
At her continued confusion, he’d widen his eyes as if alarmed.Shit, shedidn’ttell you! God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said anything. I just assumed ...
