Page 61
Story: Ruthless Cross
He gave her a hard look. "I shouldn't."
"But you do."
"Sometimes—when I think about happier days," he reluctantly admitted. "But then I remember how it all ended. He wasn't the person I thought he was."
"But he was there for you when you were a child. Maybe that counts for something."
"It doesn't count for much. He abandoned us to save himself. How could I ever forgive him for that?"
"Maybe you can't." She paused. "Do you think Arthur contacted you because you know art or because you're FBI? Or was he collecting on an old debt—the support he gave you when Olivia died?"
"I've asked myself all those questions. He told me someone was watching him, and there was fear in his voice. He didn't look me up because I was an old friend. He wanted my professional help, and he probably thought he could trust me to keep his confidence."
"But he was taking a risk, if he really was involved in stolen art. Getting you involved was dangerous."
"He must have felt desperate."
"It's strange to think of Arthur as being desperate; I always saw him as this self-assured, overly confident, somewhat self-righteous man. Every aspect of his life was under his control. He ran his court with precision and efficiency and his home the same way. But there was this other side to him. The way Layana spoke of him as this passionate, almost dreamy, art lover, it was like she was talking about someone I had never met. I knew he liked art, but she said that he was obsessed with it, that he needed to be with someone who shared that obsession, that my mom couldn't ever be that person."
"Sounds like she was obsessed with Arthur."
"She definitely was. Her grief was palpable."
"So was her anger in the text she sent to your mother."
She glanced back at Flynn. "Do you think she could have killed Arthur, because he didn't want to leave my mother?"
"It wouldn't be the first time that happened."
"But she wasn't at the party, was she?"
"Her name wasn't on the guest list or the witness list. I checked on that this morning. Although, at the time, I only had her first name. Maybe she was listed under her business name as some of the guests were."
"I don't think she was there. If she had been, she would have thrown herself on Arthur's body. So that means she's not our killer, unless she hired someone to do it for her. I feel like we keep spinning around, only to end up at the same place. Does your job ever drive you crazy?"
"Often," he admitted. "But I like the challenge."
"Let's talk about something else for a while."
"Good idea. What do you do for fun, Callie?"
"I cook."
"That's your job."
"I know, but it's my favorite pastime, too."
"What else do you do?"
"I like to run. I ran a half-marathon last year."
"Then you really like to run," he said, giving her a smile.
"It's a good stress reducer. I also love watching baseball. My dad was a huge Dodgers fan. We had season tickets when I was a kid, and we used to go to the games on the weekends. He'd buy me a Dodger dog and a huge carton of popcorn, and I'd go home happy with a big stomachache."
"My father used to take me to Dodgers' games, too. We might have walked right by each other."
"Probably. Did you play baseball?"
"But you do."
"Sometimes—when I think about happier days," he reluctantly admitted. "But then I remember how it all ended. He wasn't the person I thought he was."
"But he was there for you when you were a child. Maybe that counts for something."
"It doesn't count for much. He abandoned us to save himself. How could I ever forgive him for that?"
"Maybe you can't." She paused. "Do you think Arthur contacted you because you know art or because you're FBI? Or was he collecting on an old debt—the support he gave you when Olivia died?"
"I've asked myself all those questions. He told me someone was watching him, and there was fear in his voice. He didn't look me up because I was an old friend. He wanted my professional help, and he probably thought he could trust me to keep his confidence."
"But he was taking a risk, if he really was involved in stolen art. Getting you involved was dangerous."
"He must have felt desperate."
"It's strange to think of Arthur as being desperate; I always saw him as this self-assured, overly confident, somewhat self-righteous man. Every aspect of his life was under his control. He ran his court with precision and efficiency and his home the same way. But there was this other side to him. The way Layana spoke of him as this passionate, almost dreamy, art lover, it was like she was talking about someone I had never met. I knew he liked art, but she said that he was obsessed with it, that he needed to be with someone who shared that obsession, that my mom couldn't ever be that person."
"Sounds like she was obsessed with Arthur."
"She definitely was. Her grief was palpable."
"So was her anger in the text she sent to your mother."
She glanced back at Flynn. "Do you think she could have killed Arthur, because he didn't want to leave my mother?"
"It wouldn't be the first time that happened."
"But she wasn't at the party, was she?"
"Her name wasn't on the guest list or the witness list. I checked on that this morning. Although, at the time, I only had her first name. Maybe she was listed under her business name as some of the guests were."
"I don't think she was there. If she had been, she would have thrown herself on Arthur's body. So that means she's not our killer, unless she hired someone to do it for her. I feel like we keep spinning around, only to end up at the same place. Does your job ever drive you crazy?"
"Often," he admitted. "But I like the challenge."
"Let's talk about something else for a while."
"Good idea. What do you do for fun, Callie?"
"I cook."
"That's your job."
"I know, but it's my favorite pastime, too."
"What else do you do?"
"I like to run. I ran a half-marathon last year."
"Then you really like to run," he said, giving her a smile.
"It's a good stress reducer. I also love watching baseball. My dad was a huge Dodgers fan. We had season tickets when I was a kid, and we used to go to the games on the weekends. He'd buy me a Dodger dog and a huge carton of popcorn, and I'd go home happy with a big stomachache."
"My father used to take me to Dodgers' games, too. We might have walked right by each other."
"Probably. Did you play baseball?"
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128