“Why was she so fixated on Elena?” Richard asked.
“Elena had that something special that Naomi could never emulate, and she knew it,” he said immediately.
“Is she an artist at all or interested in art or artists?” Andy asked.
“No. Hell no,” Derek said. “But, at one point in time, they had a boyfriend in common, and I think that’s part of Naomi’s ongoing feud.”
“And who is that?”
“Kenneth,” he said. “He was Naomi’s boyfriend first, I think, and then he went out with Elena. Naomi took that as a rejection.” But he frowned, as if trying to figure something out.
“Kenneth, the engineer?” Richard asked, taking a stab in the dark.
Derek shrugged. “Not sure I knew his profession. I presumed he was an artist.”
Richard shook his head. “I’m not sure he dated Elena—my research and investigation hasn’t confirmed that—just that they may have gone out together. After all, Elena and Kenneth the engineer were foster siblings and childhood friends.”
Derek looked at him in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t know that. I doubt Naomi did either. Too bad. She wouldn’t have taken their relationship the wrong way. Still, that was years ago.”
“Yeah, plus he’s over in Dubai these days,” Andy said.
“No, he’s not,” Derek said. “He’s here. At least he was the other day.” Then he stopped, frowned, and said, “I think so anyway. My partner saw him.”
“Your partner knows him?”
“Well, from photos.” Derek shrugged and said, “Look. It probably wasn’t even him. Especially if he’s supposed to be in Dubai. You’re probably right.”
“It’s hard to say,” Andy said, “but we can check to see if he’s back in town or not.”
“Where was he seen?” Richard asked.
“At the bar we frequent,” he said.
When he gave the name of the place, prickles stood up on the back of Richard’s neck. The same bar where Naomi had been supposedly beaten up. “Interesting,” he said slowly. “Do you have a photo of him?”
Derek frowned. “No, nothing here that I know of.”
“So how did your boyfriend know who it was?”
“I have no clue,” he said. “He just mentioned it in passing.”
“When was this?”
“A few days ago. Maybe a couple days before Elena was murdered,” he said.
“Did you know Elena?”
“Well, much to Naomi’s dismay and anger, yes. We hung out in a lot of the same circles. I really liked her. She was a real sweetheart.”
“And again, you were just friends?”
“Just friends,” he said. “But she might have been looking at seeing Kenneth again. I don’t know.”
“Interesting,” Richard said.
As the detectives turned to walk out, Derek said, “You could always check with the art world,” he said. “A lot of us are connected that way.”
“Are you an artist?” Andy asked him.
Derek shrugged, shook his head, and said, “Not really. My partner dabbles though. So does Kenneth.”
“What stuff does he do?”
“All kinds,” he said, “but I don’t think he classifies himself as anything in particular.”
“Who, your partner or Kenneth?” Richard asked, a sense of stillness inside him.
“Kenneth. Elena said that he and Cayce used to paint together all the time years ago.”
Richard stared at Andy. Andy stared back, and they quickly made their exit.
Richard asked, “What was that look for?”
“I warned you, dude.”
“I hear you,” he said with a shrug. “It doesn’t mean a whole lot though.”
As they got outside, Andy said, “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to ask Cayce a few questions.”
*
It’s a good thing that the police didn’t have a clue. “I’d have been taken in years ago.” But, hey, this is the way life was now for him. And he really, really wanted to get down there tonight.
If there was a chance of completing this last piece, then he would be a happy boy. He wasn’t so sure it would be effective, but hey.
He checked his watch, swore, rose, walked over quickly to shut off the music he had been playing to drown out the sounds behind him. Washing up again quickly, he switched his shirt, and headed downstairs. He lived in a hovel, with no time to clean it or him, but that was expected of an artistic temperament. Nobody gave a shit here, and he liked that.
As he raced down the stairs, somebody called out from above, “Hey, you left your door open.”
He froze, turned to look at him, and said, “Pardon?”
The man pointed back down the hallway. “Your door isn’t closed, man. Somebody will go in there and steal everything.”
He slowly worked his way up the stairs to where the young man stood and asked, “Did you take a look inside?”
“No, no, I didn’t,” he said, backing up a few paces.
“You did, didn’t you?” he said, in a threatening manner, stalking closer.
“Hey, look. Your door was open.”
As he walked past, he stared at the door and frowned. It definitely was open. But it hadn’t been like that before. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
“Hey, I just checked and called out to see if you were inside,” he said.
“Funny, I didn’t hear you call out.”
“Well, I meant to,” he said. “Then I saw you down here and thought maybe I’d check and see if it was you.”
“And, if it wasn’t me, you would go in there, huh?” He shoved his face right into the personal space of other man, who backed up quickly.
“Look. I don’t want any trouble,” he said. “I was just being a nice neighbor. Jesus Christ.” And he turned to walk away.
Except that he didn’t dare let him go. He was too close now to reaching his goal. Tonight was too important. He reached out, grabbed him in a pincher move on the back of the neck, and, with a hard right to the temple, put him down. He quickly checked both sides of the hallway, then dragged him inside his apartment. He tied him up and stuffed a rag in his mouth and left him there to be dealt with later.
Trouble was, he didn’t really want to deal with him at
