“Last name?”
“Modine.”
Lynch raised an eyebrow.
“Modine?”
“Yes. Matthew Modine.”
“I see. You realize Matthew Modine is an actor, right? Full Metal Jacket? Private School? Ring a bell?
Avery tilted his head like a dog hearing a high pitch, wrinkled his forehead, and looked at the ceiling for a moment or two until the light dawned. If “ten” was how stupid he should have felt, he was around a “four.”
“Oh yeah. Huh…probably wasn’t real then.”
“Probably not. What else can you tell me about him?”
Avery scrambled to redeem himself.
“This is starting to make sense now. You think he’s the fellow in the trench coat. Don’t you?”
“Why would it make sense?”
“There was an article in Philly Neighbor a couple years back. Do you know the magazine?”
“I do.”
Gomez, chuckling, chimed in with “Intimately.” Lynch flipped him off behind his back. Avery continued with a bunch of information that Lynch already knew regarding the article, and then came back to Samuel/Matthew.
“Not only did Matthew read it, he tore it out of the magazine and handed it to me like a resume.”
“Sounds a bit zealous.”
“Maybe. He certainly knew how to get a job at a gallery. That level of interest in a painting will get the attention of any artist. I don’t care how bereft of ego we claim to be. Are you sure you don’t want a latte?”
“No thanks.”
“Anyway, I needed an intern.”
“As in an unpaid intern?”
“Well, don’t say it like that. I told you. He volunteered.”
Lynch decided to ignore the name “Matthew.” The suspect was introduced to him as Samuel, and that’s what Lynch was going to call him until he saw a birth certificate that stated otherwise.
According to Avery, Samuel was a part-time intern but pulled a full day at the gallery every day. The boy was obviously in a position where he didn’t need to earn a living. He always showed up to the gallery showered and shaved. His clothes were clean. He always went out for lunch and never asked to borrow money. None of his actions indicated that he was hurting for cash. He never complained about his parents, which meant he more than likely didn’t live with them. He did his job well enough to be memorable.
The interview went back and forth, consisting of nothing but short questions and long answers. Then Lynch asked if Samuel ever caused any trouble.
“You know, I can’t recall a single problem, and that’s rare with the boneheads that…hold on, I lied. There was this one time.”
“A problem, you mean?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t him, actually. It was a guy he brought in to check out the painting. A spiky Billy Idol-looking panty waste. What was his name? Andrew? Alfred?”
“Arthur?”
“That’s it, Arthur. I guess you’ve met him.”
“We have. He’s the leader of the gang.”
“Don’t think so.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know. I guess he could be. The first thing Arthur did when he walked in here was fill his pockets with the free scones we always have out. I didn’t know the kid’s situation. Maybe he was homeless or recently off his meds or something. I pulled Matthew off to the side and discretely told him what happened. The next thing I know, Matthew has that Arthur kid slammed up against the wall getting an earful. We got the scones back, but I had no idea what else was in his pockets, so I threw them out. Matthew tried to pay for them, but I didn’t let him.”
“So, you’re thinking Matthew was the gang leader.”
“I would say, at least that day, he was Arthur’s leader.”
“You said Sam-…Matthew brought Arthur in to see the painting?”
“I’m not sure what that was all about. After the scone thing got straightened out, they made their way up here. I don’t know what they talked about, but Arthur left the place beaming. No… ‘beaming’ is the wrong word. He looked dastardly, like a maladjusted child who was just told that it’s okay to play with matches.”
“And that’s the last time you saw Arthur?”
“That’s the last time I saw either of them.”
With the ballad of Matthew and Arthur complete, Lynch turned the questions toward Samuel’s paperwork. As expected, Avery had none. He didn’t keep paperwork on any of his interns. For a list of Bohemian reasons that gave Lynch a headache, Avery saw no need to keep paperwork on anyone. More accurately, Avery saw no need to pay anyone. This included any kind of bookkeeper. Like so many times before, Lynch handed over his card, and headed for the door feeling as though he had just run a marathon and tripped ten feet short of the tape. No one was that elusive by accident.
Who the hell was this guy?
Lynch had abandoned the notion that he was dealing with a professional hit two days previously, but why would Samuel use an alias to get a job at an art gallery? Or why would Matthew use an alias to join a gang? Either way, Lynch added “not sure of the suspect’s first name” to his list of complications.
As he reached for the door handle, he turned, expecting Gomez to be right behind him. He, instead, discovered Ernie to be off in the distance nosing around Earl’s counter.
“Hey!”
“What, jeffe?”
Lynch’s cell phone buzzed. He unlocked it and put it to his ear as he replied to Gomez.
“You’re looking for free scones, aren’t you?”
“What if I am?”
Lynch switched conversations.
“This is Lynch.”
The voice on the other end was excited, bordering frenzied.
“Jim, I think I just met our killer.”
6. The Confessional at St. Al’s
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Was one week since my last confession. These are my sins.”
A week’s-worth of Constance Henderson’s sins were usually atonable with half a “Hail Mary.” Today was different…sort of. It had been explained to her time and time again that words alone don’t mean much, and actions mean little more if done self-servingly. Still, she came every week and said what she thought would sitteth her as close to the right hand of God as possible.
“I’ve had evil thoughts regarding the
