Page 34 of Nothing Hiding

She could hear his voice, from somewhere in the labyrinth of rooms, with its sharp, enthusiastic timbre.

"Crime? Let me call him quickly. He's very busy with this launch about to start." Now, she looked harassed, and Juliette felt sorry to have caused this hitch in the program.

But the receptionist dialed an extension, spoke quickly, and then they heard hurried footsteps as Mr. Fenton appeared.

His hair had a gleam of gray at the temples, but otherwise, he was the same man Juliette remembered, exuding a massive energy as he went about his business.

His eyebrows shot up when he saw her.

“Juliette … Juliette Hart? I remember you." His face fell. "And your father. Rest his soul. I know it's years back, but I'm so sorry about what happened. But what are you doing? They told me the police were here!"

"I am the police," she said. "I joined the FBI nearly a decade ago. This is my partner, Agent Thompson, and we're here about two recent murders in central London."

"I’ll do my best to help. We'd better talk in private," he said.

He turned and led the way to a small, secluded back office with a shiny desk in jet black, three plush chairs that looked like overgrown mushrooms, and a few paintings on the walls.

"Would this be about the ambassador's daughter? I heard a client talking about it just now. It's extremely distressing," he shared.

Juliette nodded. "Yes. That's why we're here."

"And what questions do you want to ask? How is our gallery involved?" Now, she could see he looked anxious.

"The killer is using wax to create lifelike casts over his victims' faces before killing them. We believe that the person we're looking for might have connections to the art world, especially sculptures," Juliette explained.

Mr. Fenton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Wax, you say? It's not a material that's used often. Apart from in the famous wax museums, like Madame Tussaud’s, of course. Those are molded and then oil painted, and it's done here in London but by a large team."

He was thinking out loud, and Juliette, sitting on the surprisingly comfortable mushroom chair, was happy to let him ramble, knowing the process might help them down the line. Knowledge wouldn't be wasted here.

"Lining a person's face with wax would be different. More like painting, I guess. It would need to be doable by one person, I imagine."

His fascination with the topic was clearly overcoming his shock at the macabre circumstances, and Juliette exchanged a hopeful glance with Wyatt.

"Anything you remember that might link up to this, sir?" Wyatt asked.

Mr. Fenton leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed in thought. "I don't know about any recent talk or incidents."

"And not so recent?" Juliette asked.

"There was a sculptor a few years back who caused quite a stir in the art world. His name was Oliver Sutton. He was known for his incredibly lifelike sculptures, and he used wax in his work quite frequently. I think he got into trouble for doing a live exhibition where he forced his models to stand still for hours to resemble waxworks. And I think he might have used some kind of medium on their face to get that same effect. It caused quite a stir because the models complained so badly. They said he'd abused them by making them stay in those poses for so long."

You could stay in a pose indefinitely if you were dead and tied there with wire,Juliette thought, wondering if this killer had taken his sadistic desires further.

"What did Oliver Sutton say to that?"

"He unfortunately stuck to his guns and said that in the name of art, people should be able to endure a little discomfort, and they were complaining unnecessarily. That wasn't well received, and I think he became very unpopular in London," he admitted.

Juliette's heart quickened. "Do you know where we can find him?"

"I'm not sure," Mr. Fenton admitted. "He disappeared from the scene after that.I've heard mention of him since then, but I can’t remember the details. I do think someone told me the other day that they saw him in London again. I could ask that person?"

"That would be incredibly helpful," Juliette said, grateful for any lead they could get.

But at that moment, there was a knock on the door.

"Mr. Fenton, the VIP guests are here," the receptionist said urgently.

Fenton jumped from his chair.

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