The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder 2)

n business. I’ve never heard anyone mention he painted.”

“I see.”

“It might be Shepherd’s sense of humor,” Jason said slowly. “Not Barnaby’s.”

Sam made another of those noncommittal noises.

Jason waited.

Sure enough, after a moment or two Sam asked, “What did you make of Bramwell Stockton?”

“Who?”

“The owner of the boat rental place. Seaport Sloops.”

That seemed straight out of left field. “Bram? I didn’t really think much about him.”

“No? I felt like he was making an effort to insert himself into the investigation. He was just a little too interested. A little too interested in serial killers, in general. Also, he went out of his way to throw suspicion on his neighbor, Eric Greenleaf.”

Jason said, “Maybe he thinks Greenleaf is the most likely candidate. By all accounts—including my own—Greenleaf’s a strange guy.”

“Maybe,” Sam agreed. “I had Jonnie do some checking on Stockton. He travels around the country quite a bit to do repairs on antique and classic boats.”

Okay, that was starting to sound like maybe the beginning of a case against Mr. Seaport Sloops. Still. Bram? Jason was willing to bow to Sam’s experience, but personally, he hadn’t picked up any particularly hinky vibes. On the other hand, if he’d learned anything from Kennedy, it was that the image of a serial killer as a weird and isolated loner was a myth propagated by the media. An alarming number of serial offenders were completely integrated into their community, even pillars of that community.

Jason asked, “Is he an amateur painter as well?”

“Unknown. We’re still fine-combing Stockton’s background. Anyway,” Sam’s tone changed, grew brisk. “They’re calling my flight.”

Was he ever not flying somewhere?

“Right,” Jason said. He wanted to ask, well, a lot of things—none of them relevant to what was on Sam’s mind. He was very conscious of everything Sam had said in Cape Vincent about being a distraction and always having to come second, so he said with equal briskness, “Safe travels.”

There was a funny hesitation, while both of them waited for the other to hang-up.

Sam said, “I’ll call you tomorrow,” and disconnected.

Chapter Twenty-Three

If planes came equipped with ejector seats, Jason would have pressed the button on Special Agent J.J. Russell somewhere over Nevada.

Russell was smart and ambitious. Also, tall, dark and good-looking. Just the way Sam liked them, though he had not liked Russell.

Jason had never liked the guy either, and he was pretty sure that by the time they reached Watertown, he would actively hate him. Russell probably felt the same, but he had to vent to someone, and Jason was the only one around.

Some of it, Jason sympathized with. Having to catch a six-a.m. flight on a Saturday morning was not anyone’s idea of a good time. Russell had had a rough week. He needed a day off. Clearly. The rest of it…Jason knew Sam was not universally beloved, but listening to Russell bitch about what an arrogant, smug, pompous prick he was tested his patience.

He said finally, mildly, “Really? I kind of enjoyed working with him.” Was eight-thirty in the morning too early to order a Kamikaze? It was eleven-thirty New York time. True, they were still five hours away from New York.

“Why not? You got a commendation out of it,” Russell said bitterly. “And so will Darling although he’s the biggest screw-up I ever worked with.” He was off and running once more.

Jason checked his messages and did his best to ignore the diatribe next door. He’d have preferred the screaming baby four rows back as a traveling companion.

Lux was still not returning his phone calls. Jason sighed. Something was up with the kid. Meanwhile, he and Stripes were still playing phone tag. Did it matter now? It seemed like Sam would be wrapping up his case any minute. He was not asking for any additional info or follow-up from Jason.

In fact, this trip to interview Rodney Berguan was probably unnecessary. A waste of taxpayer time and money as Jason tried to expunge his guilt over what had happened to Shipka? Jonnie had phoned to let him know Sam had arranged for an Evidence Response Team to examine the three graveyards on Camden Island.

“If your missing art student is there, we’ll find him,” she promised.