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It takes a couple of seconds to arrive.
Jacob, I need your take on something. A guy I know socially has what he assumes is a Rothko oil on paper that I think might be a fake. I almost kept my mouth shut but then decided I’d better let him know. Naturally he’s freaking out. I told him it might help to look at my paintings for comparison, so he’s gonna try to drop by tomorrow night if he can get away from some work thing. Would you be willing to talk to him next week?
For a moment Emma’s too stunned to speak. The painting, supposedly worth millions, might not bereal?
“Emma?’
“Yes, still here. Wow, this is a lot to process. But wait, you didn’t find anything between Chris and Derrick confirming Saturday night? What about a text?”
“I haven’t been able to get into his phone.”
And it probably wouldn’t reveal anything, Emma decides. Because again, if there’d been an exchange between Chris and Derrick, the police would have known about it.
“Here’s what I think happened,” Lilly continues. “When... when Chris canceled the original meeting, they probably worked out that Derrick would come here on Saturday night. And when he never showed, Chris must have assumed he couldn’t get away from that conference.”
“And Chris wouldn’t have minded someone dropping by your place after nine on Saturday night? You two wouldn’t have had plans?”
“Nope, because of his ankle we were vegging out in the apartment for the entire weekend,” Lilly reminds her.
“Right.” Emma keeps turning Lilly’s revelation over her in her mind, trying to see if it will lead to others. “There’s one thing that doesn’t quite make sense, though,” she says, thinking out loud. “Derrick had an Uber driver leave him at the corner north of the garage near where he was killed. If he was coming to see Chris, why wouldn’t he get dropped off right in front of your building?”
“Maybe he was going to the garage first for some reason.”
“Possibly. Oh, wait, I’m just remembering that the police found his camera in the glove compartment. I wonder if that was related.”
“It could be that he wanted to use the best camera possible to photograph the Rothkos here.”
“That makes sense. It still doesn’t explain why someone murdered him, but it’s really good information for the police to have. I can’t thank you enough, Lilly.”
Lilly sighs. “I just wish Chris had come clean about it at the time.”
“Well, at least we know now.”
Maybe this new kernel of information will actually get Detective Webster off her back, Emma thinks. Or then again, maybe it won’t. It’s not hard to imagine Webster thinking:Derrick Rand called Emma Hawke from the dinner that night and told her exactly where he was headed—and then she told the killer where to find him.
She’ll have to call Dunne, of course, before saying even a word to Webster.
“Oh, and I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news about the painting. It must be devastating to hear it might be fake.”
“Don’t give it another thought. It isn’t mine—it went to Derrick’s brother when he died. I’ll let him know as well. He’s willed the painting to a museum, but that will change if it’s worthless.”
“Okay. And I’ll email you Jacob Whaley’s details in case you want speak to him directly.”
They sign off, with Emma promising to be in touch once she’s spoken to the police. A second later she notices that Lillyhas already forwarded the dealer’s info, and she enters it into her contacts.
Emma rests back against the bar chair, her mind racing. If the Rothko is fake, could that mean the Helen Frankenthaler painting is, too? And what about the paintings that went to Kyle and Derrick’s sister, Heather? A chilling thought follows: What if, in a way she can’t imagine at the moment, Derrick’s death is connected to the forgeries? If Derrick had contacted the dealer or gallery his parents used and voiced his suspicions, might that person have arranged to have him killed? Maybe she’s suddenly holding a key to everything, and it has nothing at all to do with Tom.
Though it’s urgent she speak to Dunne, Webster, and Kyle, none of these conversations is going to happen tonight. Her priority is figuring out what went on outside Halliday Advertising.
She’s wondering where Tom is when she hears the hum of the garage door rising and the purr of his car. She jumps up in anticipation.
“What happened?” Emma exclaims as he steps into the kitchen. His hair’s mussed and standing on end in places, as if he’s been raking his hands through it, and his mouth is set in a grim line.
“The body we saw in the parking lot?” he says, his voice hoarse. “It’s Taylor Hunt.”
