CHAPTER FORTY TWO
Ella watched as the EMTs worked on Vanessa Blackburn, but her thoughts were somewhere else.
'St. Andrews?' she said on the phone.
‘Yeah,’ Luca said. She could hear him rustling papers. ‘He’s processing the insurance claims. The paperwork is right here.’
Something clicked. Here was a man who helped process claims, who knew exactly which collectors were pure and which ones played the donation game. The perfect window into a world of obsession and greed.
‘Hold that thought.’
Ella was moving before the idea had fully formed, but there was no time to dwell on possibilities. If they didn’t move now, Lawrence Winters could disappear into the ether.
Vanessa was huddled on the sofa while a medic shone a flashlight into her bloodshot eyes. The ligature marks on her neck mapped out Lawrence Winters' failed masterpiece in shades of purple and black. Ella knew those marks would fade to yellow, then green, then nothing, but the memory of his attempt to add Vanessa to his collection would linger long after the bruises disappeared.
She knelt down to Vanessa's level, tried to gentle her voice into something approaching soothing. Vanessa blinked at her, slow and lizard-like. The EMT made herself scarce.
‘Lawrence,’ Vanessa rasped. ‘Did you...is he...?’
‘Not yet, but we’re real close. I just need to ask you something.’
The appraiser nodded.
‘The museum. St. Andrews. What do you know about it?’
Vanessa sighed heavily. For a moment Ella thought she'd pushed too hard, asked for too much from a woman who'd just stared down the barrel of her own mortality. But then Vanessa’s expressed hardened.
‘We were...buying it. Then it burned down.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘CVG.’
‘Why?’
‘Having your own museum has its… advantages.’
Ella thought about everything Gabriel Thorne had told her about the little tax evasion scheme they had running. If the Curated Value Group had their own museum, they could basically write off as much in tax as they wanted. Find an item, give it a high value, donate it to themselves. It would take a little creativity, but people pulled similar scams all over America every day.
And not only that, but owning a museum would've given Vanessa's business a veneer of respectability, an air of cultural importance that went beyond appraisals and consignment shops. It would've made them kingmakers in the collecting world and gatekeepers to a whole new level of fat cat dick-measuring.
And Lawrence Winters, with his boxed-up resentments and seething inadequacies, must have seen that coming from a mile away. Must have looked at Vanessa's empire-building and seen red, seen his own pitiful little life rendered even more insignificant in comparison.
Something told Ella that there was more to this arson attack than the news had reported, but that was a problem for another day.
‘Winters. He knew about this museum, right?’
She nodded. ‘Very much.’
‘The museum. Is it far from here?’
‘Ten...minutes. Straight up...the highway.’ Every word was an effort, forced out through a throat that had to feel like it was lined with crushed glass.
‘I need an address, Vanessa, because there’s a chance that Winters is hiding there.’
‘3500...Waterfront Drive.’
‘How do I get in?’
‘Window.’
Ella placed a hand on her knee. She might not like the woman, might even suspect her of playing fast and loose with the legalities of her little appraisal racket. But she wouldn't wish this kind of brutality on anyone.
‘I’ll be back soon. These medics will take good care of you.’
‘Take my car,’ Vanessa rasped. ‘Keys are… on the table.’
Ella squeezed. ‘Thank you.’
She grabbed the keys, rushed out of the house, and found a black Mercedes waiting for her. Ella plucked out her cell – which was still connected to her partner.
‘Hawkins, you catch all that?’
‘Every word. Are you going there now?’
‘Yeah. I have to. I know you wanted to be the one to bring this guy down, but…’
‘Ego has no place here. You’re a lot closer than I am, so go and get that son of a bitch. I’ll wait here in case Winters makes a detour.’
Thunder rolled overhead like artillery fire. The storm that had been threatening all day was finally making good on its promises.
‘Can’t you get here too?’ she asked. ‘See if you can get someone else to keep an eye on Winters’ place?’
‘I’ll see. Just worry about catching this guy.’
Rain peppered the windshield like bullets as Ella threw the car into drive. Ten minutes to St. Andrews. Ten minutes to find their collector before he could complete his masterpiece.
The game was on.