Page 79 of The Grave Artist
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Sanchez said.
“Aliphatic and lipophilic solvents. Which is what I found traces of on the candy box. Only there, nowhere else at the resort. Those chemicals are fairly common, but what’s unusual is that these were found in combination with molecules of four-hundred-year-old alkyd residue.”
“On the murder board,” Sanchez said and typed in the words, after getting the correct spelling of “alkyd” from Su.
“So he’s an art restorer?” Jake asked.
“Not necessarily, but he’s been around art restoration. Collectors or museums that specialize in High Renaissance art.”
“Italian?” Sanchez asked.
“Likely.”
“Our boy’s first murders,” Jake muttered.
“You ever hear from the police there?” Su asked.
Sanchez shook her head. “Five or six phone calls and emails. Nothing. My guess is that they’re not convinced their cases are connected to ours, so collaborating isn’t a priority. They may not believe in micro threats either.”
Jake had been impressed when Eric Williamson had told him of the phrase he coined and how it was I-squared’s mission to find and neutralize them.
“Thanks,” Sanchez said to Su. “This is helpful.”
It was only one new data point, but his partner seemed pleased. She had told him that building a case was like constructing a wall. Every brick laid, no matter how small, was important. Like writing code. They’d shared this observation over a glass of wine a month ago.
Which brought to mind the near kiss.
The reverie vanished when his computer chimed. He glanced at the screen. “Results from one of my bots.”
“Which one?” Mouse asked.
There were two. The first was the one he’d sent out to scout for viruses on the HSI server after Stan Reynolds’s fumble in sending the unencrypted email. The second was the one searching cameras for Ms. Person of Interest.
It turned out to be the latter.
“Got her.”
Sanchez rose and joined him.
He explained that his chaining bot had swung along the vines of servers on Harrison Street and had spotted her walking into a coffee shop, farther along Harrison, after she left the cosmetics store. Significantly, the bot had not caught herleavingthe shop.
“Look.”
Sanchez leaned close to his screen, hair tumbling, and again he was momentarily awash in the scent of lavender. Dismissing the sensation, he scrolled quickly through the video over the course of three hours from the moment Ms. POI entered. Few people linger in a coffee shop without a book or computer. Either she was an employee, or the place had a back door to a parking lot or another street.
If there were a security cam in the shop, it was not part of the voluntary surveillance program. Jake was not inclined to hack any video systems at the moment. Not only would it aggravate Sanchez and start another debate about his stepping over legal lines—he was already on thin ice—but also there was no need. They could just drive over to the shop, a mere thirty minutes from where they were at the moment, and ask to see any recordings.
In the hacking world, like every other, for that matter, the simplest solutions were often the best.
Chapter 39
Now, at last, time to visitHer.
A trip to the special room Damon loved, his den, armed with the imported razor blades.
Yesterday had not gone as planned and, though he was safe, he was still shaken.
And so he needed the comfort of doing some cutting.
