“Other than you?” He hesitated before continuing, “Just how deep was your relationship?’
She stared at him for a long moment. “If you’re asking if we were lovers, the answer is no. But did I love her? Yes. I loved her like a sister. I loved her like an inspiration.” She hesitated, not quite sure how to make him understand. “The thing is, an artist has something inside them that helps to keep them inspired. Elena was that person for me.”
“And was your love maybe a little more than just platonic?”
“Absolutely not.” She smiled. “Elena loved men. But again, she was that social butterfly. She would have a relationship, and she would leave. She would slide into somebody’s life and leave. Unfortunately she left a trail of broken hearts.” She understood he didn’t like hearing that. “She was light,” she said, trying to explain it. “She was a good soul.”
At that wording, he froze, slowly raised his gaze, and looked at her. “Interesting wording.”
“No, she came from the heart. Everything Elena did was to help bring light and laughter to the world,” she said sadly. “And, if you can’t understand that, I’m sorry.”
“I understand very well,” he said. “Unfortunately.”
*
Richard walked out of the hallway door and into the lobby, watching Cayce as she strode away, her tall, lean frame moving rapidly, as if she couldn’t get away fast enough. He understood that, for it was a reaction he saw again and again with suspects. Though she wasn’t really high on his suspect list, except that, in her own words, she had loved the victim. Who knew exactly what had been behind that love?
He’d asked her about a few of her own relationships, but there hadn’t been anything major or recent, according to her. Now, if only he had somebody else to confirm that. That just meant losing Elena was all the more heartbreaking, if she’d been the main friendship in Cayce’s world, but it didn’t answer the question of whether Cayce had had a hand in Elena’s murder. Being within a masterpiece, maybe Elena had done something to ruin it. Maybe she’d upset the artist somehow, or maybe she had done something with somebody else, gone to another artist?
More questions to ask Cayce.
She had disappeared from sight now, but he pulled out his phone and quickly called her. “Did Elena model for anybody else?”
“Yes,” Cayce said, on the other end. “Several people.”
“Email me that list,” he said in an urgent tone. “I need to contact them as soon as possible.”
“As soon as I get back to the office,” she said in a resigned tone, “I’ll send it to you.”
“And, if you think of anything else, of anybody who might have had something to do with this, let me know.”
“That’s your job, Detective,” she said. “I’m a busy person too.”
“Unless, of course, there is some reason why you don’t want to help the police,” he said, his voice hard. He walked outside the police station, his gaze quickly scanning the crowds, moving rapidly up and down the streets.
She groaned. “If I don’t cooperate, I’ll look suspicious, and, if I do cooperate, I have to keep reliving everything to do with my friend’s death.”
“Yep, that’s about the way it works,” he said. “Deal with it or don’t. But I’m not going away until I solve this.”
“Nobody wants you to solve this more than I do, Detective,” she said.
“Then prove it,” he snapped. He hung up the phone, walked across the street to a food vendor, and checked out the huge pretzels they had. He smiled, reached for one, and said, “How much are these?”
“Two bucks.”
He quickly paid him. It was wrapped up with a paper napkin because it was still quite warm, and Richard stood here, studying the gray morning. Seattle was many things, but it typically wasn’t exactly a bright blue sunny day. It was gray, cloudy, and threatening to rain. Just like yesterday.
This new case was bothersome. Something about it was wrong on so many levels. And not just about the skinning.
When his phone buzzed, he looked down to see a text from one of his team, saying they were pulling the next meeting ahead twenty minutes and asked if he could be there.
He messaged back, saying he was on his way. With half a sigh at the crazy dark world around him, he headed back inside. He needed to find answers, and he needed to find them soon. They’d already missed the crucial twenty-four-hour window. Hell, he had already missed the forty-eight-hour window as well.
Chapter 3
Cayce returned to her gallery, deeper within, toward her small dingy office that she deliberately kept cramped and crowded, in order to force herself in and out as quickly as possible, so that she could go paint again.
As she walked in, her assistant looked up with her eyes full of tears. She got up from her desk and came racing over, throwing her arms around her. Cayce wasn’t terribly demonstrative, but, if she understood one thing, it was grief. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel the pain of losing her friend yet, and it hurt her already to know how many other people would be affected.
“I can’t believe what they’re saying. Please tell me that it’s wrong.”
“It’s not wrong,” she said sadly. “Elena is dead.”
“But not just dead.” Anita stepped back, tears pulling the mascara all the way down her cheeks, like streaks of rain on a windshield. “But murdered, skinned apparently,” she snapped.
“Where did you hear that?” she asked.
“The news.”
She frowned at Anita. “The news shouldn’t have had those details.”
“Well, you know what the news is like,” she said. “It’s a cutthroat business.”
“That may be, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t pass on rumors.”
At that, Anita
