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"No. And I don't see him now."
"Neither do I. Maybe he's on one of the other floors. The entire museum is open tonight, right?"
"I believe so. But why wouldn't he be here now, supporting Gerard?" His bad feeling grew as Victoria Waltham stepped up to the microphone. After welcoming the guests, she directed their attention to a large screen for a short video of Gerard's life and work.
As the video ended, Callie came back into the hall. She took a glass of champagne from a waiter, her attention on the stage as Gerard stepped onto the stage. The artist thanked everyone for coming and talked about his inspiration for his latest collection.
Flynn barely heard what Gerard was saying, every nerve in his body on high alert. Something was wrong.
Where the hell was Arthur?
He heard a crashing noise overhead. It was so loud that Gerard paused, and the entire crowd looked upward just in time to see a body come over the fourth-floor railing.
A woman screamed. The guests scattered as the body crashed to the ground. People ran for the doors, diving for cover behind statues, not sure where the danger was coming from.
He pushed through the crowd, the first to run toward the body and not away.
When he saw the crumpled body of a man, his brown eyes wide open, his gaze fixed in disbelief, the breath left his chest.
It was Arthur Corbyn. And he was dead.
Chapter Two
Flynn squatted down nextto Arthur's body, wondering if there was anything he could do to help him, but it was clear from the positioning of his body that Arthur's neck was broken. There was a pool of blood gathering under his head, spreading across the stage in an alarming amount. Arthur's pants were halfway down his thighs, revealing white briefs. Only his face was unmarred by the violence that had taken his life.
Savannah came up behind him. He gave her a grim look. "He's gone."
"I'm sorry," she said, concern in her eyes.
He stood up, glancing overhead. "I'm going upstairs."
"I'll stay here."
He jogged over to the stairway, taking the steps three at a time, until he reached the top floor. A broken vase and a champagne glass were on the ground near the spot where Arthur had gone over the railing. As he looked over the rail, he could see the chaos in the grand hall. The small stage had emptied. There were broken champagne glasses on the floor, trays dropped haphazardly, some personal items strewn about in the rush toward the exits.
And there was Arthur's body in the middle of everything. Savannah and a security guard stood next to the body.
Then Juliette ran forward, screaming in anguish, her daughter, Callie, right behind her. The guard held her back to maintain the integrity of the crime scene, getting some help from the museum director Victoria Waltham, who was trying to comfort Juliette.
But he doubted Juliette could hear or see anyone but Arthur. He couldn't blame her for her hysterical screams. She'd just witnessed her husband's death.
Beyond the small circle surrounding Arthur, he could see that most of the guests had already fled the building, with probably the killer among them. Anger and frustration ran through him.
He should have pressed Arthur for more information. He should have insisted they talk immediately. But regrets would get him nowhere. He might not have been able to save Arthur, but he would find his killer. He would get him justice.
Pulling out his phone, he snapped several photos of the scene below, then did the same for the broken vase near his feet. He moved down the corridor. There were two exhibit rooms on this floor as well as two restrooms. He moved in and out of those rooms, but they were empty and there was no sign of a struggle or an additional crime scene. There were, however, security cameras, so hopefully there would be helpful footage.
He snapped several more photos and then made his way back into the hallway as Savannah came up the stairs, with a man in a dark suit, who was wearing an earpiece.
"Flynn, this is Rand Bentley, director of museum security," Savannah said.
"Mr. Bentley. I'm Agent MacKenzie."
"Did you find anything up here?" Rand asked.
"Just a shattered vase and a broken champagne glass. No obvious trace of blood on the railing. I'm hoping the cameras caught the judge's fall."
Rand's lips tightened in anger. "Unfortunately, the system went down several minutes before Judge Corbyn fell over the railing. My tech guy believes the system was hacked."