The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder 2)

Daughter of

ELI &

CAROLINE HINCKLEY

died July 2, 1860

aged 1 year 10 months

r /> and 12 days

This would be the civilian burial ground.

What had Bram said? The civilian graveyard was slightly to the east of the old fort?

“Ambrose, put that down!”

Jason looked up, trying to see through the lazily shifting mist. The voice came from a short distance away. Despite the words, the tone was calm, even exasperated. This was confirmed by the short, excited bark of a dog.

The voice said, “You’re too old to chase sticks, and I’m too old to throw them.”

Jason followed the sound of the voice through the length of the graveyard and up a steep embankment. A man in a green hunting jacket and a tweed cap stood near the ruins of a tall stone fireplace.

He turned in surprise at the sound of Jason’s approach. The dog, a springer spaniel, changed barks and ran toward Jason.

“No, Ambrose. Come,” the man called. “Come here!”

Ambrose’s ears twitched acknowledgment. He did not come, but his tail began to wag. He advanced on Jason with friendly snuffling curiosity.

“Mr. Durrand?” Jason closed the gap between himself and Barnaby.

Barnaby’s face immediately closed down. “Special Agent West, I presume?”

“That’s right, sir.” Jason offered his ID. Barnaby did not deign to glance at it.

He looked like an older and more refined version of Shepherd. His hair had been allowed to go silver. His features were sharper, more patrician. He was the physical type companies such as Barbour and Morgan Stanley chose to star in their advertisements. Shepherd was the type who showed up in commercials for Club Med.

“My lawyers have ordered me not to speak with you.”

Jason smiled. “Mr. Durrand, your lawyers work for you. They don’t give you orders, they give you advice, and they’re giving you the advice lawyers usually give clients in your situation. But you should be aware that your cooperation now could make all the difference later on. Could determine whether there is a later on. No decision to prosecute has been made yet. There’s still room for discussion, for negotiation, for deals.”

Barnaby stared down his long, elegant nose. His eyes were the shade of hazel that could appear almost yellow, but doubt lingered in those wolfish depths.

“According to your brother, this is all one big misunderstanding,” Jason added.

Barnaby frowned. “When did you speak to Shepherd?”

“Monday morning at the Downey gallery. I also spoke to Ms. Keating.”

Barnaby pursed his lips—or maybe that was a tight little smile. “Ms. Keating has retained her own legal counsel.”

Jason smiled again. “Yes, she has.”

Barnaby’s gaze sharpened. He scanned Jason’s face for further hints as to his meaning, but didn’t break down and ask what Keating had said.

“Shepherd is correct. This is not going to end up in court. Though I’m not sure it’s a misunderstanding so much as financial desperation on the part of former friends.”

“The Ontarios would have to be fairly desperate to file federal charges.”