The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder 2)

“Adam met a guy?” Jason was partly joking, partly not. No one was more focused on his career than Adam Darling. Dedication, or possibly ambition, had already cost him one long-term relationship. No wonder Kennedy thought he was the ideal candidate.

“I know. Anyway, I’m calling because Kennedy is requesting copies of your case notes on Fletcher-Durrand. Also, he’d like you to forward whatever information that reporter, Chris Shipka, sent you.”

“Why?” Jason felt a flare of unease.

“I’ve been searching for connections between our victims and the Durrands, and it looks like we’ve got a couple of hits. Our first victim, the art critic Gemini Earnst, was both a long-time client and close friend of Barnaby Durrand.”

“What about the second victim, the art teacher?”

“Wilson Lapham was also a painter and protégé of Shepherd Durrand.”

“Protégé?”

“Exactly.”

“Actually, I’m questioning what that means,” Jason said. “I mean, I get that there was a personal and probably sexual relationship. Shepherd will reportedly slam anything with a pulse. Was there some kind of professional relationship?”

“The promise of an exhibition.”

Jason said, “An exhibition of Lapham’s works?”

“It sure sounds that way. You’re the expert. What are the chances that exhibition would have ever materialized?”

“Zero to none.” He amended, “In fairness, I haven’t seen Lapham’s work. Maybe he was a genius, but Fletcher-Durrand doesn’t do one-man shows. Ever. They do themes, decades, schools. The idea of F-D hosting an exhibition of an unknown artist…I don’t buy it.”

“Interesting.”

He braced himself to ask—suspecting this was why Kennedy had Jonnie phone rather than doing it himself, “Are you jerking my case out from under me?” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but Jonnie knew it was no laughing matter.

“Not at all. You’re working your angle and we’re working ours. We’re all part of the same team.”

“Sure.” Sort of not really. They were all part of the same organization, yes. Same team? No.

Jonnie said with determined cheerfulness, “So long as the bad guys get taken down, does it matter who makes the tackle?”

“I want to say no,” Jason said. “I’m pretty sure that’s the right answer.”

Jonnie’s chuckle was sympathetic. “Hey, if it helps, so far Shepherd Durrand has an alibi for Earnst, Kerk and the reporter’s death. Big Brother Barnaby has an alibi for Lapham and Kerk. So maybe they’re both in the clear. Maybe the connection is coincidence. You’ve often said the art world is small and incestuous.”

“I have?”

“Also that you believe Warhol is overrated and the best cure for a hangover is a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich. Preferably sausage.”

“Ah.”

“I’ll tell Kennedy you—”

“No,” Jason said quickly. “Just…keep me in the loop.”

“If it helps, he said to be tactful with you. I’ve never heard Kennedy show any concern for anyone’s feelings before, so there’s that.”

“There’s always that,” Jason agreed.

Rodney Berguan did not have a landline, either listed or unlisted. If he had a cell phone number, Jason was unable to find it through the usual—and unusual—channels. He did have a current address, however, and it was still in Watertown.

He was weighing different possible excuses for a return trip to New York when Hickok phoned.

“What the hell, West. I read the Valley Voice story on that poor bastard Chris Shipka. He was murdered next door to you?”