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Sam said gravely, “No? And you two hit it off so well. Yes, I’ve heard from O’Neill. What is it you want to know? The ME determined that Shipka was killed with an ax.”
“An ax.”
“Yes. Wielded by a right-handed assailant who was taller and considerably stronger than Shipka. Time of death was likely between one and four-thirty.”
“Taller and considerably stronger than Shipka wouldn’t be Shepherd or Barnaby. Is O’Neill still—”
“Looking at you? No. He’s convinced you’re hiding something, but he suspects it has to do with your investigation. Which irritates him all the more.” Kennedy hesitated. “Look, if we do uncover anything that relates to your case, you’ll have that evidence.”
“Thanks. I know. Did they determine whether Shipka ever interviewed the Patricks? That might narrow down time of death.”
“No. He did not interview the neighbors. It sounds like he never left the cottage after the two of you parted ways.”
Jason opened his mouth to say something that might move the conversation into more personal channels, but Kennedy spoke first.
“That’s not the only reason I called. I want to pick your brain about those paintings.”
“Which paintings? The fake Monets?”
“That’s right. What do you think of them?”
“It’s funny you ask. I was looking at the photos of them right before I left the office. They’re really bad.”
“Which means what?” Kennedy sounded alert.
“Well, they’re almost too bad to be real. What I mean is, they’re bad, but they’re still an accurate representation of Monet’s technique. It’s hard to explain. It takes a certain amount of skill—as well as knowledge—to be able to copy someone else’s style. But then the execution is terrible. Almost too terrible.”
How do you mean?
“Deliberately terrible,” Jason said. “Like a caricature. Like someone painted them as a joke. Except for the fact that they represent murder scenes.”
“Yeah.” There was satisfaction in Kennedy’s tone. “That’s what I hoped you’d say. That’s what I hoped you’d see.”
“There’s a sense of humor at work, but it’s…malevolent.”
“A malevolent sense of humor.” Kennedy seemed to be turning the words over in his mind. “Yes. That syncs.”
Did it?
Jason said slowly, “You think these paintings were intended to throw you off the trail.”
“That’s good, West. Yes. Something like that. I think we’re meant to interpret those paintings as the outward expression of a violently deranged mind—the signature of a classic serial killer. But, in fact, I believe they’re a distraction devised by a cold, calculating and absolutely methodical brain. The paintings are intended to obscure what’s really going on.”
“What’s really going on?” Jason considered. “The victims were all connected to Fletcher-Durrand, so…you’re saying there is no serial killer? The Monets were painted to disguise the real motive behind these murders?”
“Oh, there’s a serial killer. He’s pretending to be a different kind of serial killer, that’s all. And that’s pretty fucking clever, even for your average sociopath.”
Jason said, “That’s why you think Shipka was killed by your unsub. It doesn’t matter that the MO doesn’t match. The MO was always stagecraft.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly right.”
Which was kind of terrifying, really. Because the murderous rage expended on Shipka had been the real thing, the real face of this unsub. Ruthless, reckless, relentless.
“Who are you looking at?” Jason asked.
Sam did not answer directly. “Do you think Barnaby or Shepherd Durrand could have painted those Monets?”
“Barnaby attended Cooper Union. I’m not aware he ever did any real painting. He may be a closet artist. Shepherd did not attend art school. He went to USC and majored i
