Page 37 of Nothing Hiding

"No. I've no idea who he was. Oliver said he sounded like trouble," Tim explained. “He gets a lot of strange people wanting to learn art techniques, the more so after he had those issues with the models he used, and he’s always cautious. He said he thought this guy would be trouble, and he has the experience to know. He pointed him in the direction of a few excellent online tutorials and videos and left it there.”

Juliette's mind raced with possibilities. "Do you know if Oliver can be reached?" Anything might tell them more. Particularly a phone number. This man must have called from somewhere?

But Tim shook his head. "No. I don't know anything more, and Oliver's not contactable outside of the few minutes we spend chatting every other morning. He turns his phone off to avoid roaming charges. He called today, and I guess that means the day after tomorrow would be his next time."

He looked apologetic, but Juliette was sure they now had a new lead.

If this had been the killer, looking to learn, then it meant he had no formal artistic background, but a strong desire to do his evil work. Because of that, he'd asked for lessons. Lessons that could help him achieve his aims of creating a lifelike-looking face on wax.

She wished that Oliver hadn't been in India. That was a stroke of bad luck for them.

But it meant that the blogger was now an even stronger suspect as a lay person who might have needed to learn how to coat items in wax without turning it into a disaster zone. Walter Wax might have been the person who called Oliver asking for advice.

She hoped that Sierra had found out his address.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"I've got an address for Walter Wax!" Sierra said triumphantly, and Juliette's shoulders sagged in relief. She'd been getting worried as they'd sat in the car for ten endless minutes while Sierra worked furiously to access the hidden archives where Walter Wax had published his address before all the controversy.

She'd been on the point of phoning the local police office to ask them if they knew but had feared that would have caused a fight she didn't want to enter into. Luckily, thanks to Sierra rooting it out, they had what they needed.

"Where is it?" Juliette said.

"It's in west London," Sierra told her. "In a place called Chiswick."

That rang a bell for Juliette, for sure. She remembered it as being an arts and media hangout. A friend's mother had worked for a small bistro called The Arts.

"Let's get there. Now," she said.

She started up the car and set off on the drive, feeling frustrated that despite London's efforts to reduce traffic in the city center, that wasn't where they were now. They were in the outer suburbs of London, and at ten a.m., they were surprisingly busy with Sunday morning traffic. Not the gridlock that she was sure would be in place tomorrow, but still, too much traffic for her patience to deal with and on narrow streets that did not allow for easy overtaking.

As they drove, Sierra tapped away on her phone, researching more about the area. "Apparently, Chiswick has a lot of art galleries and studios," she said, glancing up from her screen. "Maybe Walter Wax was inspired by the creative scene there."

It was also a wealthy area, Juliette remembered. Renting a studio here would be costly. She wondered if he'd made money off his controversial blog, giving him the freedom to pursue his murderous dreams.

Finally, they were joining the road that led into Chiswick, with the elegant houses and the well-treed streets that rang a distant bell in her memory. Walter's studio address was listed on Beehive Street, and that was the road they were turning into now.

"Are we going to check the place out first?" Wyatt asked. Juliette thought that was a good idea, so she slowed down, looking out for number five.

"Yes. Let's take a look around, see what we can see, and where the exit routes are," she agreed. It would be wise to know what they were going into, so that if Walter Wax was guilty, he didn't get the chance to run.

They arrived at number five Beehive Street. She felt taut with excitement that the property looked occupied—and furthermore, seemed to have an upstairs studio. Staring at the well-kept property with its neat yard, Juliette's eyes were immediately drawn to the upstairs windows. These had been customized into huge glass doors that covered half of two walls. Natural light, when you were an artist, was essential, she guessed.

But what was he working on in there?

"Let's see what exit points there are," she said, climbing out of the car. "Sierra, you stay here but watch the house carefully. If there's any sign of anyone trying to escape, call us and call the local police."

She did not want to risk being short of manpower if it came to a chase down with this suspect. But at the same time, she knew that manpower was a problem because of their opposition team from Scotland Yard blocking them at every turn.

"I'm going to check around the back," she said.

She headed around the paved track that led to the side of the house. The back, Juliette saw immediately, was less glamorous than the front. No colorful flower beds and topiary plants here. Just a basic, mowed lawn, a washing line, and a small shed.

She went to look in the shed, just in case. Peering through the window, she saw it was used as a storage area for old art supplies. The shed was filled with old easels, tubes of paint, brushes of every different size and age, and sheets of canvas, as well as other materials that she guessed were used for modeling. And a large chunk of wax that got her narrowing her eyes.

So, that told her something. That told her that Walter Wax did still use this place as a studio.

Taking one last look at the house, wondering if that wooden kitchen door was open or locked, Juliette saw something else that caught her eye.

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