Girl, Sought (Ella Dark #24)

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The Curated Value Group's headquarters reminded Ella of one of those nothing-to-see-here sex shops she used to see in Abingdon. Their entrance was a black door wedged between a coffee shop and a law firm, with a brass number that had oxidized to the color of an old bruise. No sign. No window display of precious things.

‘This is it?’ Luca asked. He limped over to a trash can and dumped his coffee cup.

‘You okay there, Hawkins? I thought it was me who had leg pain.’

‘Worse. I really need to pee.’

‘Christ. Now?’

‘Bladder waits for no man.’

Ella shot him a look that could curdle milk. Sometimes she forgot Luca was human, with all the inconvenient biological imperatives that entailed. ‘Just try to maintain some dignity until we're inside. I’m sure they’ll let you use their bathroom if you ask nicely.’

He shifted from foot to foot, doing the universal dance of the overhydrated. ‘Yeah. Let’s make this snappy.’

‘Keep your eyes on everyone. Vanessa might not be our killer, but someone else in here might be.’

The door opened into a narrow hallway that smelled of furniture polish. At the second-floor landing, another nondescript door greeted them. Ella rapped her knuckles against the frosted glass, the letters CVG etched in blocky sans-serif font. A woman’s voice called them inside and they stepped through into a reception area that matched the building's low-key exterior. No marble floors or crystal chandeliers, just simple furnishings and walls lined with preservation certificates. The woman behind the desk had the particular bearing of someone who guarded gates for a living.

‘Agents Dark and Hawkins.’ Ella flashed her credentials. ‘We have an eleven o'clock with Vanessa Blackburn.’

The receptionist’s gaze flickered to the weapon at Ella’s hip. ‘You’re early.’

‘Better than late.’

A staring contest ensued. The receptionist lost, probably because Luca's increasingly desperate leg-bouncing was too distracting to maintain proper eye contact.

‘One moment.’ She pressed an intercom button. ‘Miss Blackburn? The FBI agents are here.’

‘Send them through.’

The receptionist stepped back and ushered them into a hallway lined with certificates and still lifes. Ella clocked the minimal staff - a few doors stood ajar, revealing empty offices and darkened computer screens. Wherever Vanessa Blackburn's employees were, they weren't here.

The last office door opened before Ella and Luca reached them. Vanessa Blackburn stood on the threshold like a queen holding court. The woman had black hair with a grey streak down one side, and she must have been six-two in those brown stiletto boots. She was wearing a black sheath dress and enough jewelry to sink a ship.

‘Agents.’ Vanessa held out a hand to both of them. ‘Please, come in. I’ve brought some chairs for you.’

She led them into her office and took a seat behind a small mahogany desk. Luca parked himself in one of the wooden chairs opposite her, but Ella took a moment to catalog the room. The place was oddly reminiscent of Eleanor Calloway’s collection room, but instead of dolls, here were what Ella could only term macabre curiosities.

A shrunken head grinned from a velvet-lined case. Victorian medical instruments gleamed under glass. A human skull, yellowed with age, wore a price tag like a party hat.

‘Don’t let my goods distract you,’ Vanessa laughed.

Ella found herself drawn to a familiar sight on the wall. A painting. Crude circus colors and childlike technique, signed with initials that made her stomach clench: J.W.G. John Wayne Gacy's prison art, displayed like a trophy between degrees and certificates.

‘You have a Pogo the Clown painting?’

'Yes, I do. When you spend your life validating other people's treasures, you develop your own particular tastes.'

'No kidding.' Ella swept the rest of the room, and thankfully, the prison art ended with Gacy's terrible drawings. But she did pick up on something else that made her heart rate double in speed.

On top of a case sat a taxidermy squirrel, but wrong in many ways. Bat wings sprouted from its back, and rusty nails circled its head like a crown of thorns.

Ella had seen it before. In a basement in Louisiana.

‘Is that one of Austin Creed’s pieces?’

Vanessa's eyebrows lifted. ‘It certainly is. You’re familiar with him?’

Her memory sprang back to that day nearly two years ago. Live animals in cages. The smell of formaldehyde. Creatures that had been Frankensteined together for no other reason than Creed’s own amusement. Luca shot her a sidelong glance but had the good sense to stay quiet.

‘Unfortunately, yes I am.’

‘Fascinating piece, that squirrel. The marriage of innocence and corruption.’

Luca sniggered. ‘Innocence and corruption? It’s a squirrel with nails in its head.’

Vanessa glared at him. Ella could sense the atmosphere changing so she was quick to get back on track, even though the squirrel’s dead eyes seem to follow her as she sat down.

‘Miss Blackburn. Do you know why we’re here?’

‘No. Please tell me.’

‘Because two people are dead. Two people who had connections to your appraisal firm.’

Vanessa's reaction hit all the right notes in Ella's mental checklist of genuine surprise. Her pupils dilated. No crossing of arms or legs - no defensive posturing. She leaned forward slightly with her hands open on the desk. She kept eye contact without that slight lag that usually meant someone was constructing lies on the fly.

‘Yes, I’ve heard about Miss Calloway. It was on the news. I’m terribly sorry.’

‘You knew her?’

'Yes, I did. May I ask who else has passed on?'

‘Mr. Alfred Finch. I believe you appraised his collection.’

‘My God.’ Vanessa's hand went to her throat. ‘You’re serious? How did this happen?’

‘Homicide,’ said Luca. He was still doing the need-to-pee dance, but from a sitting position. ‘Both within the past couple of days.’

‘This is… quite a shock, I’m sure you understand.’

Vanessa's shock registered in ways that even skilled liars would struggle to fake. As far as Ella was concerned, this was the first time Vanessa was hearing of Alfred’s death.

‘When did you last see them?’

‘Eleanor? Only last month. I appraised her doll collection myself.’

‘She paid $5,000 directly into your bank account. Why did she pay you and not your business account?’

'Purely technical reasons. We changed banking systems recently, and they were down for three days. During that time, any payments went to my personal account, which I transferred later.'

Ella believed her. It would be easy to verify her claims.

‘Alfred, on the other hand, I’ve never met him,’ Vanessa continued. ‘I believe I spoke to him on the phone, but one of my colleagues handled his paperwork.’

Luca shifted in his seat. ‘Did either of them mention any concerns? Unusual contacts, strange phone calls?’

‘No, not that I recall. They were both...’ Vanessa trailed off and stared at the demented squirrel on the bookcase. ‘They were passionate collectors. The kind who lived for their collections.’

‘We believe the killer may have had access to information about their collections. Possibly through your company's records.’

The color drained from Vanessa's face in stages, like watercolor bleeding into paper. 'That's impossible. Client information is strictly controlled. My workers and clients are all'

‘We'll need their names,’ Ella interrupted, but Vanessa was already shaking her head.

‘I can't just hand over personnel files. There are privacy concerns, contractual obligations. Some of my workers have had stalkers in the past - occupational hazard in this business. Others have specific non-disclosure agreements that...’

‘Miss Blackburn.’ Ella leaned forward and tried to ignore how Austin Creed's Jesus-squirrel seemed to watch from its perch. ‘Two people are dead. Killed in ways that required intimate knowledge of their collections. Someone in your orbit has that knowledge.’

‘I understand, but if word got out that the FBI were investigating my staff, do you know what that would-’

‘Your employees could be targets themselves. Or suspects. And there’s a very good chance that another collector on your database will be next.’

Vanessa's fingers tightened around each other. ‘Get a warrant. I'll provide everything you need, but I have to protect my people's privacy.’

‘That takes time we don't have.’ Ella fought to keep frustration from her voice. ‘The killer's escalating. He's not going to wait for paperwork. There could be another murder tonight. We need to act right now.’

Luca finally cracked. ‘Vanessa, could I use your bathroom? I’m dying here.’

‘Of course.’ Vanessa pointed toward the door. ‘Two doors down.’

He bolted like his shoes were on fire. Ella fought the urge to roll her eyes. Trust Luca to suck all the professionalism out of the room.

‘Your staff,’ Ella pressed. ‘We'll need to interview them.’

‘That's also complicated.’ Vanessa's tone cooled several degrees. ‘Not everyone who works for me is an employee. I have contractors. Evaluating collections isn’t a full-time job, so when a request comes in, I subcontract it to the most relevant person on my books.’

‘Like who?’

‘Art historians, archeologists, professors. A handful of people aren’t going to know the value of everything, so I have to find people with the right knowledge.’

‘And if you appraised Eleanor Calloway’s collection, who appraised Alfred Finch’s?’

'I… can't say. How am I going to explain to them that I ratted them out to the FBI because they thought they might be a serial killer? This industry is already rife with paranoia, and my workers are no different.'

Ella knew a brick wall when she saw one. Vanessa was warring between moral obligation and professional risk, and it seemed that the scales tipped in the favor of money. Ella wished she was surprised.

‘So tell me this: who in this company has access to every collector’s details? Because that’s who we’re looking for.’

Vanessa stood abruptly and walked to her window. Outside, Chesapeake's historic district sprawled in all its orange-brick glory. Her eyes darted to the squirrel-thing, then back to Ella. ‘You recognized Creed’s taxidermy immediately. Why?’

The question caught her off-guard. ‘Lucky guess.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘And I don’t believe your reasons for withholding your workers’ names. What’s really going on here?’

Vanessa slowly turned back to Ella. ‘Nothing’s going on here. We’re just a very niche business, and I can’t afford to lose anyone.’

‘Really? Because for a company that barely exists online, you seem to be doing pretty well. Hell, all I could find about your company was something about a burned-out museum.’

'Ah, yes.' Vanessa's lip curled slightly. 'My white whale. Three years of negotiation, only to have it all fall apart over ownership disputes. Typical.'

Ella sensed a minor shift, like this was something Vanessa wanted to talk about. If she could get Vanessa on a verbal roll, she might open up.

‘What kind of ownership disputes?’

‘The usual mess that comes with old specimens. Questions of consent, proper documentation, ethical concerns about display and sale.’ She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Academic politics at its finest, especially as we wanted the actual museum itself as well as the specimens inside.’

‘As in the building? Why?’

‘Owning a space to publicly display things has its... advantages. I’m sure you understand.’

Ella guessed she had to read between the lines here, but she remained at a loss. ‘But you never actually accessed the collection?’

‘Never got past the preliminary inventory stage. Why do you ask?’

‘Professional nosiness.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie. The thought of a museum full of the world’s most bizarre specimens sitting idle somewhere out there tickled that curiosity nerve. ‘So, Vanessa, what do I need to do to get the names of your employees? Or contractors?’

Vanessa sat back down and sighed. ‘Look, I only have two employees. Myself and those two are the only people who see everything relating to every transaction.’

‘And their names are?’

‘Get a warrant and I’ll tell you. I can’t sell my workers out.’

‘Even if one of them is a murderer?’

‘What evidence do you have? No one here is capable of murder. Who’s to say your killer isn’t a fellow collector? Or someone who just happened to know Eleanor and Alfred?’

‘Very well.’

Ella stood abruptly. There was nothing else to learn here. She needed to get a warrant and get the names of everyone who worked at the Curated Value Group before nightfall, otherwise there might be another body on the pile.

But before she left, she nodded again toward Austin Creed’s taxidermy squirrel. ‘Out of curiosity, how much is that thing worth?’

‘Collectables are an odd thing. Most people wouldn’t take it for free, but to the right kind of collector? Anything up to $5,000.’

Under other circumstances, Ella might have laughed. She’d be reluctant to pay that for a car, let alone some squirrel-bat hybrid thing crafted by a murderer.

‘Well, maybe you’ll find someone dumb enough to buy it one day. Thanks for your time, now I better go find my partner.’

‘Certainly. I’ll see you out,’ Vanessa said.