Page 36 of Nothing Hiding

“We’ll try our best, and if there’s the chance to cooperate, we’ll take it,” Juliette said.

“This is escalating into an international disaster. Embassies all over the world are raising their alert levels. The US embassies in several countries have just about locked down. I know it’s a serial, and that there are now other victims, but until this is solved, my phone is not going to stop ringing.”

Now, under the steely calm, Juliette could hear a note of exhaustion.

“We’ll do whatever we can, as fast as we can. And we won’t let interference block us,” she promised her boss.

Hanging up with a heavy heart at how this situation was worsening, Juliette set off, this time consulting the map to take her on the best route, because where she was going was not a familiar area to her. It was in southwest London, near Greenwich, out of the city center and into a more quiet and suburban area. The streets here were lined with cars, and rows of small, semi-detached, two-story houses were separated every so often by a few shops and small businesses along the way. It seemed like a quiet, prosperous, and pleasant part of London.

They were heading to one of the small businesses, it seemed, from where the map was taking them. The business was a corner shop that looked to have a studio space above it. If they were lucky, they might find Oliver here.

When they arrived, Juliette saw that the corner shop was a florist, with beautiful arrangements of flowers displayed in the window. But it was the studio above that had her interest piqued. It had large windows that, from street level, revealed a workspace filled with white plaster casts and unfinished sculptures. Looking curiously up, Juliette could see someone inside, but it was hard to make out who it was from the street.

There was a door to the right of the florist's shop that led up to the upper floor. Breathing in the sweet scent of roses, lilies, and jasmine, Juliette headed up the narrow stairway to the upper floor.

The door was closed, a black, painted, wooden door that said, simply, “Studio” on an engraved, wooden plate.

Juliette tapped on the door, and a distracted voice from beyond said, "Come in?"

She walked in and came face to face with a tall, lean man, with blond hair tied back in a ponytail, who was bent over a lifelike sculpture of a roaring lion that seemed to have been made from collected trash and painted in gold. He was putting the finishing touches to its mane, created from discarded plastic straws.

"Can I help?" he asked.

Juliette nodded. "We're looking for Oliver Sutton to ask him some questions regarding a case. Is that you?"

The man shook his head. "Not me I'm afraid. I'm Tim Watts." He stared down at her badge. "What's this about?"

"It's a serious crime investigation. We're trying to locate Mr. Sutton as part of our investigation," Juliette explained. "Do you know where we might be able to find him? Or have you heard from him recently?"

"Yes, I speak to him most days. He's working on a very exciting project in India right now. He left last week."

"India?" Juliette repeated, surprised. "What kind of project?"

"He's working on a sculpture for a new museum opening up in Mumbai. It's a big deal for him, and he's been planning it for months," Tim said, still focused on the lion sculpture.

"And he worked here before that?" Wyatt confirmed.

Oliver nodded. "Yes, he's based here, and he works in the studio most mornings. But he's been away for two months now. It's a long-term project."

Juliette felt a pang of disappointment. Another dead end.

"Is this about the ambassador’s daughter’s murder? I caught some of that story on the news earlier," Tim asked, frowning as he looked up from his lion creation. Juliette didn’t want to spook him, but she couldn’t lie. This man had been helpful and also deserved the truth, to keep him safe.

She nodded. "It's now a double murder. There's the ambassador’s daughter who has been in the news, and a second victim who’s just been discovered. Both the victims have had their faces coated in wax and painted to look lifelike," she explained.

Tim's eyes widened. She thought it was just in surprise at these grim details, but then he said, "You know, I think you need to speak to Oliver when he's back."

"Why's that?" Wyatt asked.

“It might not be relevant, but I’m now remembering a conversation we had a while ago.” The artist rubbed his forehead thoughtfully, tapping on the lid of his paint can.

“It might be relevant,” Juliette said. “Please tell us. What did he say?”

"We were chatting a while back, before he left, catching up—you know, we’re so busy that there isn’t really time for that every day. Anyway, he mentioned that a while ago, he was contacted by someone who sounded normal at first, but then he went off on a weird tangent, and who wanted to take lessons on how to paint wax surfaces in a lifelike way." He shrugged. "Sounds similar, doesn’t it?"

"It does sound similar," Juliette agreed.

"Did Oliver take his details?" Wyatt asked.

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