Page 22 of Go Now
‘Sorry, did I scare you?’
‘You normally knock.’
‘I did.’
She rubbed her eyes.‘Did you?’ She realised she’d probably been in a bit of a trance.‘Sorry.What news?’
‘I’ve been working my way through the protestors.A couple of them got fined for demonstrating outside an abortion clinic.But not recent.Three years back.Oh, and I sent the photo of Big Guy to Ashworth’s agent.’
‘Well done.And?’
Marcus sat down heavily in the armchair.‘We parted on pretty cool terms when I visited her, so I was surprised when she rang me back.’
Kate leant forward and pulled her cardigan out from under Marcus.‘What did she say?’
‘She’s stuck on the fact that the guy she saw outside the office wore a cap.Can’t imagine him without it.I suggested she put her thumb over his hairline.Still not sure.’
‘So out of every angle we’ve explored so far, the priest is looking most suspicious.’
‘Let’s organize a warrant,’ Marcus said, getting his phone out.It buzzed in his hand, startling him.
‘It’s Chen.’
As soon as he heard what she had to say, he sat bolt upright in the chair.‘We’re on it.’
‘What is it?’Kate asked, as he ended the call.
‘There’s been a second killing, over on Long Island.Rocks, a statue, the same pattern.Neighbor popped round with a serving dish she'd borrowed, found the body.'
‘Time?’
‘PM yet to confirm but techs on-site say recent, between eleven and one today.’
‘When Father T was either celebrating the Mass…’
‘Or talking to us.’
Kate frowned, wishing she could punch a wall or kick a chair. ‘At least we didn’t bother with the warrant.’
With all the tiredness gone, she grabbed her coat, assembled the basic investigatory kit she took everywhere, preoccupied by the sure and certain knowledge that they were dealing with an elusive, sophisticated killer.One who wasn’t going to stop.
+ + + + + +
It was astonishing how rural Long Island looked.Less than an hour from the hotel room, and Kate was looking at gentle hills, blanketed in afternoon sunshine.Rows of vines, meticulously tended, stretched out towards the horizon, interrupted only by the occasional clapboard farm building.Kate found it hard to tear herself away from the window and focus back on the horror in the room.Painter Elena Vasquez lay on the floor of her studio; if Kate focussed on the bottom half of the body, it was almost possible to believe that the woman had taken an impromptu nap beneath her easel.She was wearing a thin, loose, denim smock, her dark curls stretching across her shoulders like seaweed. And her once-beautiful face had been smashed to a bloody pulp.
Like gulls on a beach, a buzz of quiet industry surrounded the still corpse: a photographer knelt to capture various details and angles, his camera making an electronic whine with each flash.Clad in their trademark white paper suits, another pair of forensic techs took measurements, marking out areas and items of interest with bright yellow numbered tags.Picking his way between the rocks scattered all around the body, Marcus approached a couple of unframed canvasses hanging on the wall just behind the body.He motioned to Kate to join him.
‘Why one and not the other?’he asked.
The canvas on the left had been cut to ribbons, while a large, central hole suggested the killer had punched it, or perhaps struck it with some heavy tool.In stark contrast, the canvas on the right, depicting a similar view to the one out of the window, was untouched.
‘So the killer prefers landscapes?’Kate suggested, in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood.She moved closer to the damaged canvas.It was impossible to tell what had been painted there.
‘There’s no blood to be seen,’ she said. ‘So if he attacked this canvas with the murder weapon, it must have been before he killed the victim.’
‘Or he used something else,’ Marcus mused.‘Like one of these smaller rocks.We’ll need to know if it’s the same type of rock that was used in the Ashworth killing.’
‘Schist,’ Kate said, mainly to herself.She liked the word.
