CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Typically, Chen was hard at work by the time Marcus and Kate arrived.
They were at that point where 'well-rested' turns to 'sluggish', largely because they'd both, very suddenly, flooded their systems with a mountain of carbs, starch, and protein.
They'd countered the damaging effects of the hotel's 'all-you-can-eat' buffet breakfast with large, four-shot Americanos from the adjacent coffee shop, a move which didn't so much remove the tiredness as add irritability and a fine tremor to their list of symptoms.
Life with the Bureau was like that, Kate thought, all the way.
All or nothing. And nothing in moderation.
You were either up all night for weeks on a case, or you were so under-employed that you were forced to shut the door to your office and play Jenga.
Either you caught your perp so quickly that he might as well have been wearing an "I Did It" badge.
Or the investigation dragged on into eternity.
'I've been following up a few leads,' Chen told them eagerly, as they took their seats. 'I've got driver mugshots from Grubhub, JustEat, Doordash and half a dozen local pizza and taco businesses in Hoboken. Narrowed it down to five possibilities.'
She showed them the five drivers on her screen.
‘Nobody’s drastically overweight,’ Chen added. ‘But this guy…’ She tapped the screen. ‘And this one here on the right are both on the larger side.’
‘Both got bad skin as well,’ Kate noted.
‘Yeah, but it’s more like spotty than acne scars,’ Marcus pointed out.
‘The witness could be mistaken about that,’ Chen argued. ‘If I order out, I’m just thinking about the food, not checking out the delivery person.’
Kate nodded. ‘Also, if I see someone with some kind of facial… issue,’ she said, ‘I kind of go out of my way not to look. I don’t know whether that’s better or worse than staring at them. But it could explain why our eye-witness didn’t give a very accurate account.’
'Meanwhile, there's this gentleman with the headgear…' Chen pointed to a third man whose cap was tilted slightly to the right. 'No scars… a bit of a double chin, though. And a Padres cap.'
‘Wait a minute,’ Marcus said. ‘Can you zoom in?’
Chen enlarged the mugshot, so that the cap logo filled the screen.
'That's S and F,' Marcus said. 'San Francisco Giants. It's the same format as the Padres logo, but with a different city. See?'
‘So what are we thinking?’ Kate asked. ‘That our witness was mistaken about the cap logo?’
‘Could be. Or he has a lot of hats.’
‘We’ve got a decent enough spread to show to Roy LaForge,’ Chen said. ‘I can send them over to him right now.’
‘Do it, thanks.’
Chen scribbled a note on her pad. 'I also spoke to Joseph Kiefaber, the private detective. He's ex-NYPD. Not only that, he's ex of the 62nd, my precinct, so we had a lot to talk about. He had an interesting take on why the search for Ray Blackstone suddenly ended.'
‘Go on.’
‘He thinks they ran out of money.’
Kate and Marcus both laughed in surprise and disbelief.
‘Right,’ Marcus said, sarcastically.
'Honestly. He spent a lot of time with the family, interviewing various relations and staff members.
He came away with the distinct impression that the old man, Digger, left far less in the biscuit tin than they'd expected.
So he did a bit more digging of his own.
It seems the old man got caught up in some sketchy project to build a string of resort-cities on the Saudi Arabian coast.'
‘There’s nothing on the Saudi coast,’ Marcus said. ‘Just flies and sand.’ He hastily pushed away his own memories of that part of the world: the stifling heat of a tent, a bloated body, dead, yet alive with bluebottles.
'Exactly. He lost billions. Whilst also owing the IRS a considerable amount, dating back to the late Eighties.
Ursula Blackstone was basically working 24/7 to keep up appearances whilst, in reality, the cupboard was bare.
On the back of that conversation, I took a further look into their financials.
That string of homes the family had – Paris, Monaco, London, Aspen – they're either rented out or they've been sold.
Same goes for about two-thirds of their massive art collection. '
‘Could that be why they cancelled the “Sacred and Profane” exhibition?’ Kate asked.
'I can't find any direct proof of that. Arguably cancelling the exhibition would have been more costly to them than running it. If it did well, they might have expected to recoup their outgoings, or some of them, at least. However… are you ready for this?'
‘Go on.’
'The assorted artists who contributed to the planned exhibition were to receive a kind of rental fee for the inclusion of their works.
Furthermore, at the end of each leg of the tour, there was a planned auction of some or all of the works shown and, should their contributions be included and sold, the creators were down to receive fifty percent of the fee.
Not one artist has received a cent so far.
Consequently, a number of them are mounting a class action suit, in order to force Blackstone to pay up. '
'And I'm guessing there's no sign of her doing that,' Kate said. Chen held up a finger. Wait.
'I've seen a list of all the artists who are part of that legal case. There are nine names. They include Brandon Ashworth, Elena Vasquez, and David Sterling.'
There was total silence in the little office. Elsewhere on the floor, a woman laughed, a strange counterpoint to the grim, heavy news that Chen had just imparted.
‘So there’s a clear motive for murder,’ Kate said quietly. ‘A dead artist can’t sue.’
+ + + + + +
Arranging to interview Ursula Blackstone for a second time had been something like a game of chess.
Kate and Marcus had been all for returning to the palatial apartment with a warrant, but when they’d put in the request to their boss, Assistant Director Winters, she’d been firmly set against the idea.
'I'd like to say that no one is above the law,' Winters said.
'But people like the Blackstones know to game it.
She'll make a stink if there's so much as one comma out of place on the warrant, and we'll all find ourselves dealing with that, instead of progressing the investigation.
Invite her to come to the field office. It will give you the psychological upper-hand.
But make her feel as if it's her choice. '
‘How do I do that, ma’am?’
''This is probably a good juncture to tell you that we've proven the arrest footage of James Caldwell was doctored. The media site in question has taken the footage down, so you're all in the clear.'
‘That’s great -’
Winters interrupted her. 'It was nonetheless a bungled arrest from the get-go. Did you do any sort of risk assessment before going in? And since when do we bring our buddies in the P.D. along for the ride? It was a royal mess, Kate. You need to do better.'
A click, and she was gone. Kate felt her cheeks burning; not with annoyance or embarrassment, but because she realised the boss was completely right. They needed to do better.
But A.D. Winters didn’t have to deal with Blackstone’s British-accented and unbelievably condescending P.A., who kicked off the next round of negotiations by announcing that her employer could ‘possibly find a window’ to meet them in three weeks’ time.
'That's not happening,' Kate had said. 'And if it does, I'll be charging you and your employer with obstruction.
' Before the P.A. could make a counter-move, she pressed on, bluffing wildly.
'I have the power to force Ms Blackstone to come here at midday today.
I can also make sure that she's brought here in a police patrol car.
What I can't do is guarantee that the media won't be out in full force to observe that happening.
That would be really regrettable, but what is it they say?
A picture is worth a thousand words? A picture or two like that on the evening news would be so damaging to the family's reputation. I'd really rather that didn't happen.'
There would be fall-out. Kate knew that.
But it would come later, and who knew, maybe it wouldn't matter because she'd solved the case.
She reminded herself of that as Blackstone sat in the chair opposite Kate and Marcus, radiating a kind of cold fury.
She'd lawyered up, as was her right; the seasoned family retainer sitting next to her looked like a former prize-fighter, who'd maybe gone to seed a little, but could still break jaws.
He was in his early sixties, with a handmade suit and eyes like a raptor.
This wasn't going to be an easy conversation.
‘When we spoke about Brandon Ashworth and Elena Vasquez yesterday, you didn’t mention the fact that they’re suing you.’
'You didn't ask me about it,' Blackstone replied calmly.
'With respect, we discussed the recent murders of both of those artists. And given the fact that you had a difficult relationship with them, I'd have thought you might have wanted to make that clear. Unless, of course, there was something that you really didn't want to draw my attention to.'
‘This is ridiculous,’ the lawyer interrupted. ‘You’re attempting to deduce something from what she hasn’t said. Arguments from silence don’t cut it, sweetheart.’
‘It’s Agent Valentine,’ Kate said coldly. ‘Patronising me won’t cut it, either.’
The lawyer opened his mouth to deliver a retort, but Blackstone put a slender hand on his wrist, very gently, to silence him.
'I didn't have a difficult relationship with either of them,' she said. 'Admittedly, they were suing me, but I didn't take that personally. It was business. I still admired their talents.'
‘Did you feel the same about David Sterling?’