Drawn in Blood (Burbank and Parker 2)

The foyer was dark.

Rich flipped on the light just inside the door. Automatically, Derek pulled out his pistol, raising it in a defensive motion.

“He’s not home,” Sloane stated tonelessly. “And he wouldn’t know how to hold a gun, much less fire it.”

“It’s procedure, Sloane,” Derek replied. “You know that as well as I do. This manor is way too big to assume no one’s here just because the car is missing and Wallace didn’t answer the door. As soon as we’re sure all’s clear, I’ll holster my weapon.”

Sloane nodded.

“Rich, you and Sloane start looking around,” Derek instructed. “I’ll cover you.”

They made their way through the foyer and stepped down into the sunken living room. Sloane paused, reaching over to slide up the light dimmer until the room was illuminated enough to make out everything in it.

The first object they saw was the painting of the little Chinese girl. Wallace had put it on an easel just inside the room, so the eye would be drawn directly to it.

“That’s beautiful,” Sloane murmured, approaching the painting and studying the innocent quality of the little girl.

“It should be,” Rich responded drily, walking up close to the painting and studying the details of its design and frame. “It’s a costly painting, created by a highly successful Chinese artist. It was stolen from a private collector in Beijing six months ago.”

Sloane’s head jerked toward Rich. “Stolen?”

He nodded. “So we’ve already got grounds for Wallace’s arrest.”

“What we’ve got is grounds for that second search warrant,” Sloane corrected him. “Wallace didn’t steal or buy this painting. He told me that Cindy gave it to him as a thank-you gift from her and her uncle.”

Derek had already flipped open his phone. “I’ll call Jeff and have him get started on the warrant right away. I don’t want to give Cindy Liu an extra minute to clear out any evidence she’s hiding at her apartment. If we can tie this stolen painting to Johnny Liu, it will be a real coup.”

“It’ll get you the warrant. But it won’t get you Liu,” Rich apprised him. “He’ll deny knowing it was stolen property when he bought it. He’s probably already fabricated a paper trail to make the provenance as murky as possible.”

“Plus, he’d never send us here if he knew we’d find something to use against him or his niece,” Sloane added. “But right now, I’ll settle for the warrant.”

“You’ll have it.” Derek called Jeff and set the wheels in motion.

After that, Sloane, Rich, and Derek made their way through the seven-thousand-square-foot manor, room by room. The starkness of each room revealed a man whose emptiness had consumed him. The furniture was minimal, the accents nil. Any remaining space that was richly decorated and highlighted with complementary colors was clearly the work of Beatrice’s elite European interior designer, and had been done ages ago.

The one bedroom that emanated personal warmth and a sense of light and life was, without question, Sophie’s. Painted a soft pastel pink, it had ruffled white curtains at the windows and a matching bedspread on the four-poster bed. The bed and one entire wall was filled with dolls and stuffed animals, and the dresser held a DVD player, a color TV, and a lineup of Disney and other family-oriented DVDs. The way the room was arranged, the exact lineup of toys and movies, told Sloane that, other than keeping the room immaculate, Wallace hadn’t changed a thing since Sophie’s death.

She felt a lump in her throat as she turned away.

/> “Let’s move on” was all she said.

Exploring the multitude of rooms took an inordinate amount of time. But even though the doors were shut, none of them was locked, not even Wallace’s bedroom, which was masculine but minimal—a place to sleep but not to live.

They checked the basement, which would be an obvious choice, but it was nothing more than a storage room. Ditto with the attic. They checked the wine cellar, which was stocked only with bottles of fine wine. They even checked the garage, which had two additional pricey sedans in it, but no paintings.

“Do you think Liu was lying?” Sloane asked.

“No.” Rich shook his head. “There’d be no point. Besides, if Johnson’s collection is not only hidden but also extensive, I haven’t seen a room yet that would fit the bill as a gallery.”

“So it’s time to play Nancy Drew: The Hidden Staircase,” Sloane murmured. “I’d suggest we start looking for places in the main section of the house that might lead to an inconspicuous stairway. Maybe an area with wood panels, where a doorway made of the same wood would blend in and go unnoticed.”

“There are wood panels in the breakfast room, the den, and the media room,” Derek reported.

“Fine. Let’s each of us take one of those rooms and explore it inch by inch.” Rich jerked his thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll take the breakfast room. It forms an L-shape with the kitchen, but it juts out to the rear, so it’s not visible to arriving guests. It’s also a place where Wallace would probably spend time when he was here—reading the paper, eating his meals.”

“I’ll take the den,” Sloane announced. “Wallace’s leather wingback chair is in there; he’s had it forever. His brandy’s also in there. So are his books and his photo albums. It’s the most personal room in the house, other than Sophie’s.”

“Then the media room’s mine,” Derek said. “It’s fully wood-paneled. And, with all the electronic components in there, it would be easy to conceal a doorway.”