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The tennis balls needed a subconscious squeeze, too.
“Have you got a dog?”
Chad placed the ball back in the basket. “No.”
“Oh.”
“Thanks for letting me look around.”
He flashed her a brief smile then left.
When he stepped back onto the street, he turned to see Josh had also left the jewelry shop at the same time. He shook his head, Chad shook his back, and they moved on respectively to their next shops.
Amazing Art. Not an art supply shop like Chad had assumed while passing, but a shop selling paintings, and drawings from local artists. He stepped inside, no bell gave his presence away, but the man behind the counter was staring straight at him, unblinking.
It froze Chad for a minute. He let the door go, and it slowly closed as they stared at each other. The man had his hands on the counter, fingers slightly curled, and arms tense.
The man swallowed, finally breaking eye contact to look outside at the police car on the other side of the road.
“I’m detective Chad Fuller.” He flashed his ID, but it didn’t get a glance. “we’re going door to door, seeing if anyone has any information about Justin Fen or Damian Hunt.”
The man nodded. “Neither man has ever come in here.”
“You sure about that?”
“I never forget a face.”
Unlike the pet shop, there were no aisles as such, but partitions. Chad looked at the hanging paintings and pictures. Local areas, and local wildlife, all done by local artists.
Each selection of paintings had an about the artist plaque and a small biography.
The man slipped out from behind the counter and followed at Chad’s back.
He resisted the urge to shiver. Chad frowned at the arrow that pointed to the basement with the wordsrare collectablesin the dripping font.The man rushed to block Chad’s path.
“You won’t like what’s down there…”
“Why not?”
“I doubt it’ll be to your taste.”
“I have an open mind.” Chad said, before squeezing past to get to the basement.
He slowed his stride halfway down the stairs and stared. Racks and racks of canvases and art prints filled the space. Chad shuddered at the clown pictures on the walls.
A few paintings depicted screaming faces and decapitation.
There were quotes on the walls making light of murder, quotes Chad recognized from actual killers.
‘Anyone can be a serial killer.’
“What the hell?” Chad mumbled, stepping the rest of the way.
He spun around, gaping at the walls. A few paintings were behind Perspex with labels stating they were original pieces and the art prints were available.
“These are…”
“Artwork from criminals.”
