24: “There it is, 3306,” Sophie said, pointing out her window at the blue and white awning above the storefront’s large picture window, THE LEIGH GALLERY printed in large block letters.
Clair maneuvered her Honda into a vacant space in front, and the two women shuffled across the cold street, careful not to slip on the icy sidewalk.
A tiny bell rang as they pushed through the doorway, and a woman with shoulder-length blond hair and glasses looked up at them from a desk at the back of the store. “Good afternoon, ladies.” She smiled. “Let me know if you have any questions or if there is something I can help you with.”
Clair took in the store. She had never seen so much color in one place. The walls were covered in paintings from floor to ceiling, every inch of space filled with canvases ranging in size from a few inches to four or five feet big. The works ran the gamut from abstract to landscapes, lit by strategically positioned track lights at the ceiling. Tables filled the open floor space on either side, covered with statues, vases, figurines. Clair couldn’t spot a method to the organization. It appeared to be total chaos, yet it was wonderful. If she wasn’t working, she could have spent hours here.
Sophie had picked up a small statue from a table on the right. “I love penguins, they’re so cute.”
The woman stood up from the desk, placed her glasses on top of her head, and walked over. “Those are made by a local artist named Tess Marchum. She crafts each one by hand. I love the way they stand guard at the table, watching over all the other pieces. She made the giraffes and zebras too. Such a talent.”
Clair made a mental note to return to this place when she had time to browse. She turned to the woman. “Are you Ms. Edwins?”
“Yes. Please, call me Collette.”
Sophie set the penguin back down on the table, patted it on the head. “My name is Sophie Rodriguez. I’m with Missing Children, and this is Detective Clair Norton with Chicago Metro. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Lili Davies.”
The woman’s smile left her face. “Have you found her? Is she all right?”
“Not yet, but we have a lot of people out looking for her,” Clair said. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“The night before last; she closed for me. She was supposed to work last night too, but she didn’t come in. When five o’clock came around, I really began to get worried. It wasn’t like her. I can’t remember the last time she missed a shift, and if she was running late, even only a few minutes, she always called or texted.”
“What time was she due in?”
“She usually works the four-to-close shift and locks up,” Collette replied.
“The night before last, when she did come in, did you notice anything strange about her?” Clair asked.
The woman shook her head. “Not at all. She got in a few minutes early and was her usual bubbly self. Always smiling, that one. The customers love her.” She hesitated for a moment, then lowered her voice. “I saw the paper this morning. Do you think the Monkey Killer took her?”
Clair shook her head. “This isn’t the Monkey Killer.” She spoke the words aloud but wasn’t so certain herself. After the events a few months ago, it felt as if Bishop was finished. His ultimate target had been Arthur Talbot, and he got him. He had no reason to continue. Killers rarely stopped of their own accord, though. If Bishop had just been on hiatus, he’d be itching to come back, and even though these recent crimes didn’t fit his usual MO, they reeked of him. Clair could see Bishop’s smiling face, and she shook the image from her mind.
“But somebody took her?” Collette asked.
“We think so, yes,” Clair told her.
“Have you noticed anyone strange in the gallery over the past few weeks? Someone you didn’t recognize or someone who may have paid just a little too much attention to Lili and not enough to the artwork?” Sophie asked.
The woman chewed at the inside of cheek. “Most of our customers are regulars. We do host events here a few times each month and tend to draw in a couple new faces. On a regular day like today, we get our share of browsers too, people I don’t know, but nobody in recent memory jumps out at me. Usually, Lili gets in at four and I leave around five, so our schedules don’t overlap much. It’s very possible someone came in after I left. Lili is such a pretty thing, I’m sure she’s got her share of male suitors who stop by after I leave. I’ve caught her friends hanging out in here on more than one occasion, but they’re never any trouble. I don’t mind it, as long as they don’t interfere. It can get quiet in here sometimes, all alone.”
Clair eyed the ceiling. “Do you have any security cameras?”
Collette shook her head. “I’m afraid not. This is a nice neighborhood, and we don’t work with cash, so I’ve never felt the need to install them.”
“You mentioned events,” Clair said. “Do they draw a large crowd?”
“Oh yes, we’ll get a few hundred people in and out of here whenever we feature a local artist. We have our regulars, then they invite their friends and fans. There’s food and drinks. We try to do them as often as possible,” she replied.
Clair turned to Sophie. “If I wanted to stalk a young girl, get close to her, that seems like the best time to do it, right? Large crowd, strange faces. Much less likely to stand out than coming in on his own.” She turned back to Ms. Edwins. “Any chance you keep some kind of sign-in sheet for those events?”
Collette nodded. “We do. We gather names, addresses, and e-mails so we can add visitors to our mailing list. We also supply a copy to the featured artist.”
“Would it be possible to get copies of those lists?” Clair asked.
At this, Collette hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. “If it will help Lili, of course. Give me a moment.”
Clair watched the woman head toward the back of the store and disappear down a hallway behind the desk. She turned back to Sophie. “If our guy came in, I doubt he provided his real name or contact information.”
“Then what good will the lists do us?”
“We’ll review all the names and isolate the bogus ones—names that don’t tie out to the address provided, bad e-mail addresses . . . hopefully that will narrow it down to only a handful of records. Once we do that, we can—”
A scream erupted from the back of the gallery.
Clair tugged her Glock from the holster at her shoulder and ran toward the sound with Sophie behind her. They maneuvered around the desk, down the small hallway, past a dark bathroom, and found themselves in a small storage room. Collette Edwins stood just inside the doorway, one hand still on the light switch, the other pressed to her mouth. She stared at the center of the room.
Clair followed her gaze, her grip on the gun tightening.
Lili Davies’s lifeless body hung motionless against a metal shelf, her eyes glossy, empty, her mouth slightly agape. A black electrical cord encircled her neck, the flesh around it purple. She looked horribly pale.
Clair swept the room, holstered her Glock, then went to the girl, her fingers going to her neck in search of a pulse. Nothing. Her skin was cold. The cord around her neck had been tied to the supports of the metal shelf, holding her up.
“Did she hang herself?” Collette choked out.
“No,” Clair said. “She was dead before her body was placed here.”
“Who else has access to this room?” Sophie asked.
Collette was shaking. “I . . . I was just back here not two hours ago. I had to restock some of the figurines out front. She wasn’t here. Nobody was here. I’ve been alone all morning.”
“What about that door?” Clair asked. There was a steel door at the far corner of the room.
“We keep that door locked. It’s only opened for deliveries.”
Clair reached into her pocket and produced a latex glove, pulled it over her hand, and tested the doorknob. It was locked, as was the deadbolt above it. “Everybody out,” she said.