Page 78 of The Grave Artist
The door swung shut behind her.
Riverside County Detective Ryan Hall kept a neat house—likely due in part to his military background. A place for everything, everything in its place.
A tap on her ankle scared the hell out of her. She gasped and looked down. It was only Ryan’s cat, Caliber, a name she thought didn’t fit at all. Apparently he’d inherited the feline from an ex he didn’t talk about, though Selina was determined to learn all the deets.
The gray-and-black kitty rolled over for a belly rub, which Selina dutifully provided.
It was then that she heard a noise from outside, that guttural hum that a gas-powered vehicle makes.
She rushed to the window in time to see a black SUV driving slowly down the opposite side of the street. It was a smaller model, a Ford Edge.
The vehicle glided by, then turned the corner. She heard its engine rev as it accelerated away.
At first, she was troubled.
But then she did as her sister recommended and analyzed each fact carefully. First, nobody knew she was looking for the hit man who killed her father, other than Carmen and Jake. Even Carl Overton had no clue why she wanted the list of names.
Second, she had seen no one outside her apartment, much less anybody in a telltale black SUV. There was no indication the lights behind her earlier belonged to this vehicle, nor that the driver was anyone but a person as cautious as she was.
So, next steps: pour a glass of wine, lie back on the couch and summon Netflix.
Or go through the client list one more time. And study the “suicide” note again, on the assumption there were other clues it might give up in addition to RICO-offending goddesses.
There was, for instance, the unknown reason why her father had underlined his middle name as well as the equally mysterious Greek characters.
Δ:ΙΘ
Which—probably—translated into the no-less-mysterious numbers 4:19.
What the hell did that mean?
Okay. The decision was made: no wine, no streaming.
She plopped down on the couch, assembled a makeshift office on the coffee table and, with a purring feline beside her, got back to work.
Chapter 38
Thursday, June 25
Jake heard the urgent voice from behind him.
“Found something.” Su Ling was walking into the Garage. She was dressed in a lab coat over a bright-green spandex running outfit.
He recalled she had a race planned for today but had canceled it to analyze the evidence collected at the Chinampas Grand Resort.
“Tell us,” Sanchez encouraged.
Su gestured to their computers. “Just uploaded the lab reports. The champagne and chocolates were doctored with liquid propofol. A few sips or bites would put you out for ten, fifteen minutes.”
“Source?” Sanchez asked.
“The drug’s adulterated, so it’s from the street. Untraceable.”
“Dead end,” Jake muttered. “Then the prop’s not what you’re talking about.”
“Right.” Su lifted an eyebrow. “You know in forensic work we want something unique that can point to a specific location. Well, that’s what I found on the candy box. Now, a little bit of organic chemistry and I have to go back in time. During the High Renaissance, the most common type of varnish that painters used for their works was called adrying oil. It’s a substance that hardens through internal bonds, which form when water evaporates.
“The composition varies but typically it’s linseed oil, polyurethanes, alkyds and organic solvents. Art restorers often have to remove aging drying oil and replace it with new varnish. And howdothey remove it?”
