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He felt instinctively that if they could just locate this mysterious artist, they would be one step closer to finding their killer.
Chapter Fourteen
“Goodnight,” Officer Courtney called when Jason left the quiet station house that evening.
“Night,” Jason returned.
That night the parking lot was nearly empty, an indicator Chief Gervase and his department had resigned themselves to the long haul and were trying to pace themselves.
Jason turned left and headed up Main Street, walking until he came to the General Warren Inn.
“I took your laundry up to your room,” Charlotte told him when he stopped by the lobby.
“Thanks.”
She looked like she had been crying. Her voice wobbled as she asked, “Do you know where Tony is?”
Proof of his preoccupation, it took Jason a minute to remember Tony McEnroe. “No,” he said. “Did he make bail?”
“Yes.” Charlotte started to add something, but her father called from the back office, “Charlie, can I see you for a moment?”
She threw Jason a look of frustration, but answered docilely, “Yes, Daddy.”
Jason left the lobby.
As usual no one was in the swimming pool, and most of the rooms were dark. Certainly there was no lamp shining behind the curtains in Kennedy’s room. Was he still prowling the countryside, visiting old crime scenes?
Jason let himself into his room. He was tired, and his headache was coming back, but he needed to eat and the idea of hanging around his motel room was just depressing. He showered, put on clean jeans and a fresh shirt, and headed over to the Blue Mermaid.
The first person he saw when he opened the door was Senior Special Agent Sam Kennedy eating fish and chips at the bar and watching the TV in the corner.
Jason glanced at the TV screen and caught a glimpse of the Madigans, tear-stained and enraged their daughter’s killer had not yet been brought to justice. That was followed by the image of Chief Gervase looking harassed and uncomfortable as he tried to answer the barrage of reporters’ questions. Even at that distance and with the television sound muted, Jason could see Gervase’s mouth forming the word copycat.
Briefly, Jason considered backing out of the bar, but that would be ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was trying to avoid Kennedy. He just didn’t want to look like he was fol—and right in the middle of that thought, Kennedy glanced Jason’s way.
Kennedy did not look overcome with delight. He also didn’t look disturbed to see Jason. After a moment—and it was definitely a moment—he nodded in greeting, and Jason walked over to the bar.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“How did what go?” Kennedy returned.
“Your tour of the old crime scenes.”
Kennedy lifted a shoulder in dismissal. “I can’t say I was struck by any blinding flashes of fresh insight. How did you make out?”
“Unless you have some objection, I’d like to head back to Boston tomorrow. I’ve got contacts there. I’ve worked with a couple of dealers who specialize in folk art. They might be able to help us locate the artist who carved those mermaid charms.”
“You think those charms are that distinct?”
“I do. Yeah.”
Funny how Kennedy’s eyes seemed to light up when he was interested. Like someone threw the switch on an electrical current. “Okay. Sounds good to me.”
The slender brunette behind the bar stopped moving long enough to speak to Kennedy, “Was I right? Pretty good?”
Kennedy examined the piece of fried cod he held. “Not bad.”
She nodded at his half-empty glass. “Again?”
