A day later Edward found himself back at the art gallery, staring at the portrait of Mrs Diana Greene, socialite. It looked dated to him, the pose of a rich woman who gave charity balls and rode a carriage through the streets. Until he looked at the eyes and mouth. Her eyes had a twinkle that the sensuous mouth seemed to deliver on. The dead artist’s hand had been subtle, but having met the subject in person and learned about her, Edward thought he could read a great deal into the painted face.
‘She was still a victim here,’ Linda said from behind him. Edward was meeting her for lunch in the café next door, but Linda had obviously run in here for another peek herself first, just as he had. She was gazing at Diana. ‘Just because she’s a rich bitch doesn’t mean she didn’t get kidnapped. In fact it makes it more likely.’
Edward shook his head. For a second he thought another woman had been reading his mind, but said, ‘That’s not the defense I’m thinking of. I’ve seen her in person, she’ll look too anxious and scared to have plotted something.’ Vilifying the victim was always a way for the defense to go, and Linda knew it. But Edward had something else in mind. Diana as victim all right, but not of Donald, of her husband. Cowed by him into doing and saying whatever he told her to do.
‘You know we need to sneak into their house and look around.’
Edward darted his eyes all around the room. ‘I know no such thing. Man, you really got a taste for burglary in your one time, didn’t you?’
Because he and Linda had done the same thing in his last case, Amy’s case, lockpicked their way into a potential suspect’s house. From the way that had turned out, he hadn’t thought Linda would be eager to try it again.
Still staring at the portrayed Diana, Linda said, ‘You think they staged the kidnapping for some reason, which means they’re hiding something. Or one is. How else are we going to find out? Unless you know how to hack into his computer. And I doubt he left “Notes on Faking a Kidnapping”.’
No, Edward’s only criminal skill was actual illegal entry. His computer skills stopped at ‘Have you tried restarting it?’. Maybe one of Donald’s cronies could help with that, but they looked more like smash-and-grab guys than hackers.
‘I’ll keep your advice in mind,’ he said, pulling Linda close and kissing her. ‘I love your novice enthusiasm.’ Then he put his arm around her waist and led her toward the door. ‘So tell me what you’ve learned in your first time in the courthouse.’
Linda began immediately. ‘Did you know some judges have little signals for their court reporters to say “Don’t take this down.” Like in a pretrial hearing where nobody’s explicitly asked for a record? Judge Hanson even—’
‘I did always suspect that. But I meant more in the way of courthouse gossip.’
Linda’s eyes brightened even more. ‘Oh. You know Belinda, the coordinator in the 281st? She’s been engaged for about a month but she’s still carrying on with that sleazy defense lawyer …’
Wow, Edward thought, realizing how quickly his girlfriend was plugged into the Rumor Central that was the small legal world. And how invested. It was as if he had a mole on the inside. Hmm …
‘I see you appreciate Tony’s work.’
After lunch Linda had left to go back to work. Edward, with a more flexible schedule, had returned to the gallery. He’d looked at other portraits, trying to spot the same kind of little smile or twinkle he’d seen in Diana Greene’s likeness. He thought he spotted it in one, a fortyish woman of great style, at least in Alberico’s likeness. But he’d returned to Diana. Something about that life-size impression seemed to hold a message for Edward. Not from the subject, from the artist. He’d been trying to convey something, though he couldn’t possibly have known Edward would be its recipient.
Edward turned to find a woman in her fifties standing just behind and beside him. She stepped forward. Great profile, dominated by a long nose, with no attempt to hide the frank lines around her eyes that made her look alert and sharp. The eye grew a bit of sparkle when she felt him looking at her.
‘It’s a great shame. He was on the verge of an amazing career. No, he was already at his peak, but it looked as if it was going to be a long plateau instead. You’ve seen his landscapes?’
Edward nodded. ‘I’m sure he made a good living from the portraits but in a way it’s a shame he was concentrating on them. I’m sure the market for them is limited to the subjects.’
She nodded, turning toward him with an appreciative look. ‘In a generation they’ll be very valuable. Who remembers the Mona Lisa was drawn for the rich merchant who was married to her? But for now you’re right.’
They looked at each other for a moment. The woman had blue, very clear eyes, a small mouth, tight skin over her cheekbones. Her graying brown hair was relatively short, framing the face well. Made sense.
‘Your gallery?’ Edward asked. She nodded.
‘You called the artist Tony. You were friends?’
She nodded again. ‘Anali Haverty. I didn’t befriend all my clients, but Tony was special. And you’re the lawyer defending the man who kidnapped Diana. Allegedly,’ she added before Edward could.
It was his turn to nod. ‘Can I ask you a little about Tony?’
She drew herself up. ‘I don’t get involved in my clients’ personal lives.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘And I’m not a gossip.’
Edward looked shocked that anyone would even use that word in her presence. ‘But,’ he said delicately, ‘this is probably a murder case. And the police don’t seem anywhere close to solving it.’
The gallery owner’s face became animated. ‘We all knew he was banging that Greene slut.’
‘“We”?’
‘The art community. It’s a very small world and nearly everybody knows everybody.’ She took his arm and drew him out of the room to her private office. There was a desk but she sat on a small sofa and pulled Edward down next to her. Anali wore a simple, dark gray skirt, rather tight, showing off her calves. A walker’s legs, not a runner’s. Long smooth muscles. Her thin yellow sweater had three-quarter sleeves. Her hands moved constantly, describing, briefly touching, expressing.
‘Tony was rather notorious once he gained a little bit of notoriety. No, before. He didn’t kiss and tell, of course, but he was seen having lunch or a drink with some of his subjects. He said he needed to get to know them in order to find his … his take on each one. They seemed to like the attention. The men too.
‘But that Diana Greene. As soon as her husband hired him you saw Tony and her together in public once or twice, but then the relationship went subterranean. In more than one sense, we all thought. She has a reputation. Maybe it was just a deep flirtation, but I don’t think so. There was the way Tony changed, for example.’
‘How so?’
She gave him a flat look as if reappraising his intelligence. Downward. ‘Red eyes. Bags. Drinking more, alone.’
‘Not the life of the party anymore?’
‘Tony would always disappear for spells. All artists do. Sometimes he was taking long drives alone, sometimes painting furiously. I tried to get him to open up, but he just spiraled inward.’
Edward hesitated, then said as delicately as possible, ‘I’ve heard he was killed with his own gun. Is it possible she rejected him and he became depressed?’
Anali reached out to him again. ‘That was the strangest thing. Tony buying a gun. He was the farthest from a cowboy you ever met. “Not a real Texan,” he used to like to say about himself. Never owned cowboy boots or a pickup truck. Or a gun. He was disdainful of people who did.’
‘Maybe he’d been burglarized. He lived in the Heights, didn’t he? Parts of it are high-crime areas. He wouldn’t be the first liberal to change his ways after being a victim.’
She shrugged. ‘Possibly. As I say, he didn’t confide in me. Can I offer you coffee?’
He’d bet it was good coffee. He watched her cross the office to an already brewed pot and return with two porcelain cups. Edward took a chance and said, ‘Are you French by chance? Or do you just spend a lot of time in Paris?’
She gave him a startled but very pleased smile. ‘I’ve just returned from a visit. What made you guess?’
He waved a hand around. ‘Well, art world. But mainly your style. The skirt. You look like you walk a lot. Plus the scarf is a dead giveaway.’
She touched it, a filmy mix of multicolored stripes that perfectly set off her neck. She looked as if he couldn’t have paid her a better compliment.
‘You have a good eye. Do you paint yourself by any chance, Mr Hall?’
‘Edward, please. No, I just look.’ He returned to the subject. ‘Is there anyone else I can ask about Tony? Any special friends?’
She set down her cup and crossed her hands over her knee. ‘I don’t get involved in my clients’ lives.’
But this time she was smiling. ‘No, of course not,’ Edward said, preparing to take mental notes.