The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder 2)

Ouch. This was a less likable side of Shipka. Sure, no one liked having their pet theories challenged, but it should be possible to debate an idea without getting personal. Then again, maybe Jason sounded more dismissive than he meant to.

He said neutrally, “That could be. How about this. Send me what you have. I promise to look at it with an open mind.”

Shipka’s face twisted. “Okay. Fair enough. I realize this isn’t really your area of expertise. But you were involved in that murder case in Massachusetts, and you seem to be part of this taskforce.”

“There is no taskforce. The BAU is working directly with Santa Monica PD on the Kerk homicide. I was brought in for about five minutes’ worth of consulting.” He was briefly tempted to share with Shipka the real problem with his theory: the fact that Kerk’s death was part of a definite pattern that did not seem likely to dovetail with the Havemeyer case. But Kerk’s homicide was part of Sam’s case, and no way in hell would Sam be okay with sharing any such information with the press.

It must have been obvious he was holding something back, because Shipka’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a two-way street, West.”

“I’m not part of any taskforce,” Jason said.

Shipka said with sudden shrewdness, “There is no taskforce, or you’re not part of any taskforce? Which?”

Well, hell.

Jason was forced to admit, “I’m not part of any taskforce.”

“Ah-ha.” Shipka grinned. “I thought so.”

Jason refused the bait. He said, “There’s something I wanted to ask you about a comment you made regarding Gil Hickok. You said—implied, anyway—he might not be entirely impartial in any investigation into the business dealings of Fletcher-Durrand.”

The sour expression sat awkwardly on Shipka’s normally good-natured features. “Are you telling me you never noticed how good old Hick always manages to get himself invited to all these premier art shows and exhibitions? He likes hobnobbing with the rich and famous a little too much.”

“Is that your opinion, or do you have some basis for saying so?”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t do his job—he’s happy enough to go after street artists or small fry like your protégé Lux—but he’s not looking for a reason to get kicked off the Getty’s guest list.”

The Getty being one institution with past problems purchasing works of dubious provenance?

“My protégé?”

“That’s what Lux is, isn’t he? A little flexing of the noblesse oblige?”

Jason let that pass. “It wouldn’t be useful getting kicked off anybody’s guest list.” He considered Shipka’s flushed face and heated tone. “Did you bring your theories on the Havemeyer case to Hickok?”

“Yep. I sure did. Right after Phil died. Hickok wasn’t interested. Said there was nothing there, and even if there was, it was out of his jurisdiction.”

“It is out of his jurisdiction.”

“Whatever. He basically warned me off.”

“When you say ‘warned you off’…”

“Just that. He told me not to waste my time, said it wouldn’t be smart.” Reading Jason’s expression correctly, Shipka said, “Sure, he did it like he was offering friendly advice, but I know a threat when I hear one.”

“Hm.” Jason was unconvinced. There were non-sinister reasons for Hick to warn off Shipka, including the fact that Shipka could be a little overzealous in his pursuit of a story—case in point, sneaking into the Hotel Casa del Mar.

And as far as the events at the Hotel Casa del Mar… Hick hadn’t given any sign that he knew Shipka. Maybe he didn’t remember him, in which case there couldn’t have been much behind the warning off. Maybe he remembered him but dismissed him as that same pesky reporter, in which case—again—there couldn’t have been much behind the so-called warning off.

Hick would regard Shipka as a not always necessary nuisance, which is how most law enforcement—including Jason—regarded the news media.

Shipka said, “Yeah, the thin blue line. I know.”

“I’m not a cop,” Jason said. “I’m not going to turn a blind eye to police wrongdoing, but so far all I see is you think Hick enjoys the perks of his job a little too much and several years ago he told you he couldn’t investigate a missing person case in New York. That’s not grounds for involving IA.”

He didn’t like the disappointment in Shipka’s eyes, but he was being honest. The fact that they’d slept together didn’t mean he’d suddenly lost his objectivity—any more than Shipka had lost his. Or maybe that was the problem. Maybe Shipka had held an idealized image of Jason, and now he was confronted with the reality of plain old puts-his-jeans-on-one-leg-at-a-time Jason.

“What I’m saying is don’t trust him.”