Page 94 of Disarming Caine

“Not about that one, but he confessed to signing that Chagall copy.”

“He what?”

“It was the only thing he said before asking for his lawyer, so I’m guessing it’s about protecting Cameron, who created the copy.” The corner of his lips twitched. “But I leveraged his company’s role in the auction painting to get some information on the shootings.”

“Did Janelle also tell you Antonio’s theory?”

“She did. Something about another potentially stolen painting, but she knew little beyond that, except that it sounded credible.”

I gave him a summary of our investigation, from meeting with Rhonda to my research with Lucy, and visits to Felicia’s office and the house with Antonio. He nodded while I spoke, following a link to the Interpol site describing the Constable I suspected was at the center of it all.

When I finished, he said, “What about the paintings that were stolen with this one?”

“There were two others.” I sent him another link, to a newspaper article about the LA theft. “At least, I’m fairly confident that’s the right theft. It fits with Parker’s girlfriend saying he bought three paintings from a pawnshop in Detroit—”

Elliot put up a hand. “Stop. A pawnshop in Detroit?”

“Yeah?”

“Interesting.” A sly grin spread across his face. “Let me share something with you I shouldn’t. The auction painting apparently came from an anonymous donor who claimed to have purchased it from—”

“A pawnshop in Detroit?” I said with him.

“Exactly. We talked to the shop owner during the initial investigation, and he pointed us to the person who sold it to him, who says they picked it up at a weekend flea market a couple of years ago. They didn’t remember the date and it was a huge weekly market. We interviewed everyone we could find and came up short.” He leaned back in his chair. “But if you’re right about these paintings, that pawnshop might be the key.”

“Do you think all this is enough for a search warrant?”

He stared at the details on his laptop. “Let’s say for a moment it isn’t. What’s your next step?”

“Before I knew about this link to the auction painting, I was going to attend a showing on the weekend. Antonio and I secured an invite and have a suspicion of where the painting’s hidden—if it’s still there.”

“Will Dr. Ferraro be here for that?”

A lump rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down. He was leaving too soon. “No, I’ll be taking Lucy, my data genius.”

“Alright. Now let’s say for a moment itisenough for a warrant. And that it was going to take me until… what shall we say… Monday?” He clasped his hands over his stomach, tapping his thumbs together. “Sure, Monday for a warrant. What would you do in that case?”

My inner detective did a cartwheel. He wasn’t saying I should go back, but he wasn’t saying not to either. “I would—”

He raised a hand to cut me off. “Actually, I don’t want to hear it. Just keep it legal. Don’t worry about the pawnshop—I’m already on that.”

“Will do.” Matt had told me to take the week off, so this would be a perfect distraction, especially after Antonio left on Saturday.

“And I hate to argue, but it sounds more reasonable that the shootings are related to this investigation, rather than the Scotts being involved.” He gestured to the big screen television, displaying the top three candidates for sightings of David and Olivia. “Considering Olivia allegedly paid someone to kill her husband, I won’t discount them, but let’s hope they’re not involved so the Brenton PD can wrap this up.”

“I know.” All the evidence pointed to Parker and the Constable, so it was just stubbornness that had me clinging to my original theory. We’d been talking about finding David and Olivia for so long that part of me wanted them to be risking their freedom to come here, because we might catch them finally. But if it was all Parker, at least we were safe. “I don’t want to talk about them anymore. Can we move on?”

He opened his briefcase and withdrew a sheet of paper, pushing it toward me. He produced a pen, uncapped it, and handed it over. “You sure you’re ready?”

Chapter 32

Samantha

“What’sthis?”Iranmy eyes over the simple letter, with space for my signature at the bottom.

“Formal request to re-apply to the FBI.”

I first worked for Elliot the summer after I graduated with my Criminal Justice Master’s degree, as an intern at the Detroit office, working for him in support of the Art Crimes Team. We’d stayed in touch over the years—his session at Quantico, art losses in Napa after a wildfire, an art loss fraud in Miami.