Page 40 of Go Now
They all fell silent again, gazing from one set to the other.
‘Okay, I’m going to ask this question,’ Kate said, decisively.‘Do we think these two groups of sculptures are similar in some ways?’
‘Could be,’ Marcus said.
‘Same,’ said Chen.‘I mean, same as Marcus.’
‘Do we think it’s possible,’ Kate went on quietly.‘That Ray Blackstone isn’t dead? That he’s alive, and still making statues?’
‘But why kill artists?’Marcus asked.‘He’s an artist himself.’
‘Both Ashworth and Vasquez were successful at it,’ Kate said.‘Ray Blackstone hasn’t been.He may have squandered his gifts, but it takes a degree of humility and insight to realise that, and maybe Ray just doesn’t possess that.Maybe he sees them as people who have usurped what he feels ought to be his.’
‘There’s another possibility, of course,’ said Chen.‘Which is that Ray just makes the statues.And someone else does the killing.Ray might not even be involved.’
‘You said you started out looking for another link between the victims,’ Marcus reminded Chen.
Chen nodded and brought up another poster.
‘An exhibition whose title wasThe Sacred and The Profane,' she read aloud.'The interface of religion and art, as seen through the creations of multiple artists, ranging from sculptors to tapestry-makers, painters to weavers, and film-makers.Many of them exhibiting works expressly created for the exhibition.Set to run in NYC through September and October last year, and then to visit Paris, Vienna, Budapest, and Athens.'
‘Set to?’queried Kate.
‘Cancelled three weeks prior to opening. “Private, family-related reasons”, according to the one, very brief statement that the Foundation released.Among the affected artists were Elena Vasquez and Brandon Ashworth.’
Marcus scratched his head.‘I don’t see the connection.The brother slaughters artists.The sister commissions them, but then cancels them.’
‘Maybe there was a reason for cancelling them.Maybe the family-related reason was the brother’s irrational hatred for artists, which she has somehow found out about…’ Kate shrugged.‘I’m not seeing it either.Not yet.But we need to follow this up, right?Look into the Foundation, find out what Ursula Blackstone knows, see if we can establish what actually happened to her brother.’She clapped her hands.‘Let’s get going, people.’
They set to, a fresh breeze of energy infusing their efforts.They had no idea where this new seam of questions would lead them, but so much of their work was like that, following steps in the darkness.The only thing they knew for certain was that a brutal killer was still roaming free.And they desperately needed to catch him before he snuffed out another life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ursula Blackstone lived in a top-floor apartment looking down on the treetops of Central Park. ‘Apartment’ really wasn’t the right word; it was more of a horizontal palace, every inch of which broadcast, in muted tones, the staggering wealth of its occupants.Even the lift attendant made Kate and Marcus feel scruffy.
They perched uneasily at either end of a vast, pigeon-colored banquette, taking in the quiet elegance of the space. An almost life-sized portrait of Digger Blackstone filled one wall, the old man gazing belligerently onto the room and its uninvited guests. Here and there, throughout the space beneath him, were small objects of great value: a Fabergé egg on top of the sideboard, underneath the mirror a crystal decanter whose contents glittered like liquid gold.For all of its grandeur and sophistication, it was hard to imagine people actually living here. Kate found herself wondering if Ursula Blackstone had ever wandered through this hall-sized room with a bowl of cereal in her hand.Did she ever collapse on the couch with Netflix and a huge bag of Cheetos?Definitely not that; the couch was the least inviting thing Kate had ever parked her rear end on.
At length, Blackstone emerged from some far-flung corner of her palace, floating towards them in a loose trouser suit of ivory silk. Her handshake felt like money, cool and dry and papery.
‘Will you take tea?’she asked, taking a seat opposite them and adjusting a bun of dark hair that needed no adjustment.‘Or would you prefer coffee?I’m not sure what one should offer the FBI in terms of refreshment.’
‘There’s no need, madam, but thank you,’ Marcus said.Kate couldn’t help shooting him a look.Why treat the woman like royalty? If he had a forelock, he’d be tugging it.
‘As you’re aware,’ Kate said, directly.‘We’re investigating the recent murders of Brandon Ashworth and Elena Vasquez.’
‘Two, quite phenomenal talents,’ said Blackstone, in her precise, mid-Atlantic accent.‘A great, great loss.’ It sounded false, Kate thought, but perhaps she was being unfair.That kind of cultured accent had a way of sounding insincere.And Blackstone’s voice, just like her manner, the lighting, the heat and every other goddam thing in this showroom, was really just controlled.Perfectly so.
‘And they both contributed works to your exhibition last year.’
Kate spotted… something.A flicker of doubt, or concern, quicker than a hummingbird, across that perfectly made-up face.'Along with some 16 other artists.In fact, 23, if you count the contributors to the European leg.'
‘Why was it cancelled?’Kate asked bluntly.
‘The reason is a matter of public record,’ Blackstone replied.‘Are you quite sure you don’t want a drink?’
‘To be fair, Mrs Blackstone…’
‘Ms.’
