“I know,” Stefan said, his voice growing stronger. “And I can’t tell you very much about it, but it’s connected to the art. It’s not so much about the victims. It’s about the art,” he said.
“My art?
Stefan’s voice was calm but crisp when he said, “No, his art.”
“And what does my art have to do with his?”
“He’s trying to get back to his art. He’s frustrated and angry. Those are the emotions I’m picking up. And it’s connected to you.”
“I don’t understand,” she said curiously. “Is he jealous? Is he trying to imitate? To emulate?”
“I don’t think so,” Stefan said. “It’s really all about getting his own art back, his own passion, his own sense of worth in the art world.”
“Interesting,” Richard said. “You’re busy saying he and him, but you don’t have a name for us, right?”
“I never have names,” Stefan said with a humorous note. “There’s a reason that the cops have their jobs. It’s not like I can give you all the details. You have to go out and do the work.”
“You haven’t given us anything I can go on,” he said in exasperation. “I have two bodies in the morgue, and both of them have had their torsos skinned.”
“Yes,” Stefan said. “I saw that.” There was a moment of disturbed silence as they absorbed that information. “It’s not the first time,” he said.
Richard leaned forward. “Not the first time that he’s skinned somebody?”
“No, it’s not. It’s not a perfect job though. So he could be just practicing and getting better as he goes along.”
“Meaning he may have started with animals and moved over to people? I don’t understand the people part,” he said.
“That’s why I’m not sure it was animals either,” he said. “But it’s very much connected to the body art.”
“Meaning, he’s a body-painting artist?”
“No. I don’t think so,” Stefan said. “I know I’m being extremely nebulous, and I’m sorry about that,” he said, “because I can’t pinpoint who or when or where. What I can tell you is anybody connected to one of your next pieces is in danger.”
“You want to give us a little bit of proof here,” Richard demanded, “like what would her next piece even be?”
“Ice,” Stefan said immediately. “It’s a huge winter scene, correct?”
“Yes, that’s the one I’m sitting here looking at the start of right now,” she said. “And I just had an argument over one of the white paints this morning.”
“Whites are definitely hard to do,” he said. “It has to be the right whites.”
“And I created these colors on my own,” she said sadly, “and people still don’t follow instructions and make it up the way I need it.”
“I’m surprised you even trust people to do it for you,” Stefan said curiously.
“But consider the size of my canvas to your own,” she said with a smile.
He chuckled. “Good point. You’re also utilizing something that somebody else wants,” he said abruptly. “You know it. The murderer thinks it. The detective is sure of it. The audience has no clue. But it gives your pieces that extra something. I admire that. In fact, I’m fascinated by it.”
“Your pieces are pretty fantastic yourself,” she murmured. Why she was seeing flashes of his paintings, as if she had researched it, but she didn’t think she ever had. “Even though I’m seeing images right now, I have no clue when I may have seen them before.”
“And you probably didn’t,” he said cheerfully. “The minute you open yourself up to energy work, other energy comes toward you.”
“Of which you’re making no sense,” she said cautiously. She’d started energy work a long time ago without any effect before, so why now?
He chuckled. “I’m making lots of sense. You’re just not understanding. But you will,” he said. “Now that you’ve opened up that energy channel, you need to be careful because of the connection with you and Elena. A connection that you both trusted and bonded, loved, nurtured, and now that that bond is gone, you’re hurting.”
“Of course I’m hurting,” she cried out. “My best friend was murdered.”
“On an energy level, you’ve slammed a door shut,” he said, “but that’s just a door to the pain, so you don’t have to feel the same agony that you did before. This is an entirely different thing. You had a line of energy between the two of you. That energy is what the killer wants because something special was between you, so, when you painted Elena, she became something special. When he stole part of Elena, he thought he was getting that something special for himself. That he could use it for his own work.”
She shook her head, not even beginning to understand. Then the phone crackled. “Stefan?”
“Have to go,” he said.
*
And, just like that, Stefan was gone.
They stared down at the phone. Richard snatched it off the bench and first checked what the last number was, and it came up as a local number, different than he expected. He held it out and said, “Whose number is that?”
She shook her head. “That’s Anita’s number. Where the hell is Stefan’s call?”
Richard checked through, looking for recent calls, recent conversations. And then stared at her. In a hard voice, he said, “There isn’t any record of the call.”
Shocked, she could only wonder, “So did he do that himself?”
Richard sagged in place. “I’m not sure what the hell just happened.”
“You at least have people you can go talk to,” she said, “to find out just what he’s like.”
“Yes,” he said, “I can. I have lots of work to do.”
She smiled. “Don’t let me keep you.”
Somebody called out, “Delivering coffee and croissants. I’m looking for a Cayce Matlock.”
She looked over, smiled, lifted her hand, and said, “That’s me.”
The courier walked over
