WHEN CASSIE RETURNED inside, she found Drake standing with Jimmy and a man dressed in a navy polo shirt, tan sports jacket, and khaki pants, his posture proclaiming his membership in the law enforcement fraternity. Drake had rolled up his shirtsleeves and his black tie dangled from his unbuttoned shirt collar. Jimmy still wore his tuxedo jacket but his hand kept going to tug at his collar and tie and Cassie knew he was searching for any excuse to pull it free. He caught her gaze and lowered his hand with a guilty smile. Denise must have given him strict instructions about tending to expensive rental suits.
Cassie moved to join the group, both Jimmy and Drake automatically making room for her in their circle as if she were an equal. The third man looked up at her with annoyance, stopping his speech at her arrival.
“One of the uniformed officers can take your statement, ma’am,” he told her in a frosty tone, his gaze following the arc of the black leather pumps that Drake dangled on the tips of two fingers and passed to her. “This room is off limits.”
Cassie reluctantly accepted the shoes. She ignored the detective to peer at a diagram Drake was holding. It appeared to be a device consisting of a small electronic apparatus connected to an elongated vial shaped like a large light bulb.
“Cassie, this is Detective Romero, arson squad,” Jimmy made introductions, suppressing his grin at Romero’s discomfort over the presence of a civilian.
“Remote control?” Cassie asked. She looked up at Romero. “Something that produced a spark or electrical current?”
The arson detective nodded grudgingly. “Remote car starter. The trigger would look like a car alarm key fob.”
“What kind of flammable liquid was it? I couldn’t smell anything but it burned fast.”
Romero pursed his lips, obviously determined not to allow a civilian further into his confidence. Drake answered for her.
“Lamp oil mixed with paraffin. The heat of the current burst the light bulbs and simultaneously ignited it as it poured down over the canvas.”
“The pops we heard.” He nodded. “Who knew far enough ahead of time to set them up? It had to be someone who knew you were the artist.”
Romero shoved his hands into his pants pockets, his jacket opening to display his gun and badge—reminders of who was in charge here. “What makes you think Ms. Fairstone wasn’t the intended victim? She’s the one out a million dollars worth of art.”
“Not after the insurance pays. And while this might not be the most successful fund raiser of the season, it will certainly by the most memorable and talked about.” Cassie shook her head. “The only losers here were Drake and the clinic. The bastard could have at least waited until after the auction.”
<<<>>>
DRAKE CUT HER a look accompanied by a half smile. Leave it to Hart to get her priorities straight, he thought. He could always depend on her to slice through the bullshit.
Romero made a small noise and Drake realized the detective had just put two and two together and figured out who Hart was.
“How can you be so certain you weren’t the target, Dr. Hart?” Romero asked, his tone indicating he was tired of playing games. “I understand your ex-husband’s brother was here tonight?”
Drake glanced up at that. Alan King would definitely top his list of anyone with a grudge against Hart—and Drake. “King was here?”
“I didn’t see him,” Hart said. “If Alan King wanted revenge over his brother’s death, he’d make sure I saw him enjoying the spectacle.” Drake had to agree with her assessment; King was a supreme narcissist.
Romero seemed disappointed by her answer.
“Maybe someone who attended Fairstone’s private viewing?” Jimmy put in. “They had access before the rest of us.”
“Private viewing?” Romero asked. “When did this private showing occur?”
Drake answered. “This afternoon, once the installation was completed. Just an intimate group of about twenty, any of them could have had time to plan this.”
“The devices were strictly amateur—easy to download instructions from the web and the components could be found at any Kmart.” Romero shrugged. “I’m gonna hit the computer anyway, see if any of this fits a signature we’ve got on file.”
“ATF as well?” Drake asked.
Romero shot him a look that said he didn’t need to tell him how to do his job.