Page 27 of Go Now
‘Some of our own collection is going off for refurbishment and I’m overseeing the move,’ Morrison said.‘So you’ll have to accompany me if you want to talk.’
‘Appreciate it,’ Kate said.They followed the academic out of the office and down an adjacent corridor, where two gloved workers were carefully boxing up paintings.
‘I didn’t realise there was an art collection here,’ Kate said, noticing that Marcus was hanging back.Morrison didn’t seem to have noticed, so Kate said nothing.She had an idea of what he might up to.
'There used to be generous tax breaks for donating artworks,' Morrison said, with a wry smile.'So various of our wealthier alumni bequeathed us their art collections. We've got a Tintoretto, a few Klimts, several works by Dufy, and a number of Picasso sketches… I feel very lucky to breathe the same air as them.They're the very bricks and mortar of Western civilization.'She moved closer to Kate and lowered her voice.'But I don't imagine you want to discuss that.Why are you here, Agent Valentine?'
‘You expressed strong views about two artists who are now dead.’
She nodded.‘I saw the news.And my opinions are a matter of public record.But I didn’t just express my viewsaboutthose artists.I expressed my viewstothem.I’m an academic.I believe in argument, debate, discourse… not in silencing people.And certainly not in killing them.’
‘But you claimed that their art was undermining Western Christian values.So you clearly wanted that silenced.’
‘Only as the end-result of reasoned consideration.Not through killing the artists!That was why I participated in that travesty of a documentary.I had hoped, naively as it turned out, that I’d be given an opportunity to explain to the artists in question where their version of art was taking us.That was my wish and intention. At certain points – and you wouldn’t know this, because that mendacious donkey of a director edited it out – Ms Vasquez was actually quite sympathetic to my point of view.But ultimately, the film-makers didn’t want a nuanced, adult debate.They wanted a screaming match, one in which the artists were cast as the champions of freedom, whilst I was the demented fanatic.’
Kate took this in, whilst watching several million dollars’ worth of Dufy being packed into a foam box the size of a briefcase.Morrison’s point was backed up by what Elena Vasquez’s husband had told her, that the artist had considered producing no more of the controversial images.Meanwhile, Morrison herself sounded… well, she had a strong opinion, but she didn’t sound unreasonable.There was one thing Kate couldn’t forget, though…
‘I’d like to believe you, Dr Morrison, but I’ve seen that part of the film where you talk about smashing in their mocking faces and grinding them into dust.’
‘I’m not proud of that moment, but the truth is, it’s a heavily edited excerpt from a conversation I had with my agent, once I realised that the film-makers were just making me look like a maniac.I said it on the telephone, not whilst I was kneeling in prayer.Due to that editorial sleight of hand, the scene adds to the impression that I’m some sort of dangerous religious zealot, when I’m not.If you read the transcripts from the lawsuit, you’ll see it backs me up.The presiding judge admitted that the film-makers had misled the audience on that point. But what does the truth matter, in the face of a hundred thousand eyeballs or click-throughs, or whatever the ghastly term is?’
With the paintings all packed up, it was time for them to wander back.They found Marcus chatting to the cloche-hat girl at the desk.Kate thanked Dr Morrison for her time and asked for a telephone number in case she should have further queries. After that, they headed out, aware that Morrison was watching them, and continued to do so until they’d gone round the corner.
‘I think she’s on the level,’ Kate said.‘She looks to be physically capable of the crime, but I don’t think it’s her style at all.And she was really, criminally misrepresented by that film.You’ve got that look, Marcus,’ she added.‘Why are you looking at me with that look?’
‘Let’s get coffee,’ Marcus suggested.
They picked up two Americanos from a truck and found an empty bench.Most of the students seemed to have dispersed to their afternoon classes.
‘As you may have guessed,’ Marcus said.‘I had a look in her office.Here.’
He passed her his phone.He’d videoed the tightly packed shelves behind Morrison’s desk.There were thick folders marked with the names of various artists: Vasquez and Ashworth were there, along with other names she didn’t recognise: Caldwell, Sterling, Malin, Edwardes. The camera moved on, taking in a crucifix on the wall – one of the gorier kind, it had to be said, with an effigy of the suffering Christ on the cross.He paused the footage.
‘She’s a Christian though, Marcus.Some Christians have that kind of thing on their walls. And she’s writing a critique of these artists.She’s going to have files on them.’
Without speaking, Marcus resumed the playout. Kate saw Marcus’s hand, reaching for the Vasquez folder, opening it.Kate drew a sharp breath.
There were photographs of Vasquez, pictures of her artworks, what looked like a satellite image of the Long Island home, a Google Earth image of the long driveway seen from the road.
‘She needs a picture of her driveway?’Marcus asked.‘C’mon, Kate.’
Kate bit her lip.He was right.Morrisson had flipped right before their eyes, turned from a principled academic into a potentially dangerous obsessive.
‘And if you’re still not convinced…’
Marcus took the phone from her, moved the footage on, showing his perusal of a second shelf, on the opposite wall.
A frog.A pig.A hand.The head of a man with his mouth open wide.Laughing?He could be screaming.
‘And before you ask.Yeah, they’re all made of clay.’
CHAPTER TEN
It was strange, Kate thought.People could be so polite and co-operative when you first met them.But if you had cause to come back to them a second time… It was almost like a mathematical equation.The more genial that first encounter went, the worse it would be on the second.
Dr Morrison followed them all the way round her apartment, scowling all the way, pointedly adjusting the things they’d had cause to move and giving a tiny, barely-audible grunt each time she did so, as if the effort was truly wearing her out.If she wasn’t rearranging her belongings, then she was uttering thinly-veiled legal threats or questioning Kate and Marcus’s capability as agents.
It didn't get to them, though.They were too seasoned for that. They didn't trash people's homes.Nor did they get a kick out of invading anyone's privacy.They did the whole thing with sensitivity, tact, and discretion, remembering, just as they'd been taught at Quantico, to be conscious of how they'd feel should the shoe be on the other foot.And also remembering that the warrant, currently lying ignored on Dr Morrison's coffee table, gave them the legal right to be right where they were, doing just what they were doing.
