Page 8 of The Grave Artist (Sanchez & Heron #2)

Followed by Heron and Tandy, Carmen walked into the cavernous lobby, where they were quickly approached by the hotel security director. The huge man with a deadpan expression nodded to the trio. His name was L. Jackson, according to the badge affixed to his suit. Introductions were made.

“Agent Sanchez. I got that picture you sent. Showed it to the entire staff that’s here. Unfortunately, doesn’t show much.”

“I know,” Carmen said. “But sometimes people can recognize a pose or just a silhouette. That can lead to recalling something about the individual.”

Jackson nodded. “Guess so. But, sorry to say, didn’t jog any memories. You really think it was a murder?” His voice dropped on the last word, and she supposed he’d be thinking that a homicide at a wedding venue equaled a public relations disaster of a high magnitude.

She employed the typical evasion tactics to avoid revealing specific details of an ongoing investigation. “We’re still gathering facts at this point. But it seems likely.”

“Man . . . we should’ve . . . I don’t know . . .”

Carmen leaned in. “This wasn’t on you or your staff. We think the subject is an organized offender. He was careful to avoid security before he acted.”

His face revealed that this was faint comfort.

Jackson said, “Mrs. Brock is waiting for you in one of our private meeting rooms.”

The designation was a sharp reminder that she had become a widow immediately after becoming just that: a Mrs.

They were ushered through a corridor and into a wood-paneled room with leather chairs surrounding a glossy cherrywood table.

In a close-fitting, high-necked and sleeveless black dress with a brocade belt, Allison Brock was sitting on a tapestry divan, looking somewhat regal, Carmen thought.

The lean woman wore her black hair in a sleek chin-length bob.

Her bright-blue eyes were in stark contrast to her dark brows and lashes.

She had an aloof beauty Carmen had seen on the covers of magazines like Vogue , where models seemed to scowl at the camera.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, perhaps sobbing, wailing or hysterics, but she supposed everyone handled grief in their own way.

Perhaps the bride was the type to put on a brave front and break down in private.

If Carmen read anything in her taut expression, it was anger.

Frank Tandy, who’d spoken with her earlier over the phone, made the initial introductions. Allison acknowledged their words of sympathy with a stoic nod.

The door opened once more.

Allison said, “Thanks for coming, Ben.”

The burly, barrel-chested young man was introduced as Ben Sutton, Anthony Brock’s college roommate and the best man at Saturday’s wedding.

Allison’s face softened. “He’s been such a comfort to me.” Ben sat beside her, and she leaned against his shoulder.

After she disengaged and sat back, Ben said, “Allison told me there’s some bullshit about Anthony being murdered?”

Again judiciously, Carmen said, “That’s where the facts are pointing. We found a probable murder weapon. And we’ve learned something else. There were two similar killings. In Italy.”

“Similar?”

“A bride or groom killed on their wedding night. Blow to the head. Near water. They drowned.”

“No!” Allison’s eyes widened.

“Jesus,” Ben whispered. “So this is some kind of sicko? A serial killer?”

“We don’t know, Mr. Sutton,” Tandy said. “Sometimes individuals stage killings to look like part of a series to cover up the real motive.”

Echoing Carmen’s thoughts from just a half hour before.

“But Anthony? No way. I can’t believe it.”

“First,” she said, turning to Allison. “Did you see anyone in the garden when you two were up there?”

She looked off, her eyes hollow. “No. But I was ... I was just focusing on Anthony, the night. It was so beautiful.” A brief hesitation. “And, okay, we’d been drinking. More than a little.”

Tandy asked, “Did you have a jealous ex-husband or lover? Stalkers?”

She scoffed. “No. My last relationship ended nearly a year before I met Anthony. We parted on good terms.”

“Anthony?”

“No. Not that he ever mentioned. And he shared everything with me.”

“Was he ever in Italy?” Heron asked.

“I don’t know,” Allison said, looking at Ben.

Ben said, “Years ago. A couple of us went to Europe. We stopped in Rome, Paris and Prague. But it was just a vacation.”

“Did he know anybody in Italy?” the detective continued.

“No. And we were together the whole time.”

“Any issues at work?” Carmen asked. “Did he handle sensitive information?”

Ben laughed sadly. “No. He was a CPA. Basic work for the government.” The smile faded and he choked back tears.

“He loved his job. He was career government. He could have gone to work for one of the Big Five or Big Six—or however many big accounting firms there are. But he wanted to stick with civil service. Felt he had a higher calling working for the public rather than a hedge fund. He was going to run GAO someday. Or Office of Management and Budget, or something.”

Allison glanced at each of them in turn. Her eyes had narrowed. “Okay. We’ve got federal agents and LAPD. Do you have leads?”

Carmen studied their reactions while Heron displayed screenshots of the person of interest.

“That’s a clue ?” Allison muttered, confused. “Who’s that supposed to be? You can’t see anything.”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

She looked at Ben, who shook his head. “You think she’s a witness?”

“We don’t know,” Tandy told her. “She was in the garden not long before he died.”

Allison examined the images a moment more and then waved a dismissive hand at them.

Carmen asked the names of everybody who had remained at the end of the wedding reception and might have been present around the time of the death.

“Most everybody had left,” Ben said, glancing at Allison. She nodded.

On the drive here, Carmen had spoken to Anthony’s parents, who had taken the red-eye back to their home in Florida, then returned immediately the next morning after learning the news. They knew nothing helpful.

Tandy said, “And I called his sister, Lauren. Never heard back.”

“I think she left right after the reception,” Allison said. “Before ... it happened.”

Tandy said, “Still like to talk to her. Mr. Brock might have said something—that he was being followed or threatened. The memorial this afternoon? Will she be there?”

“Doubt it.” Allison explained that Lauren took the death very hard, and she had tried to connect with her new sister-in-law in the days since the death without success. “Given her background, I’m afraid she might be on a bender.”

Carmen asked, “Lauren has substance-abuse issues?”

Allison nodded. “Anthony saved her life, got her into rehab. They were very close. And now with him gone, I’m sure she’s having trouble coping.”

She realized Allison hadn’t mentioned her own family and asked if they were still in town.

“My parents have passed,” she said. “And I was an only child.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “They would have loved Anthony ... and as for me?” Allison muttered, with more ice in her voice than self-pity. “Everything’s gone. All the plans. All my future. I have to start over again. Now, forgive me. We need to get to the service.”

“Where is it?” Carmen asked.

“You might’ve heard of it,” Ben said. “A place called Cedar Hills Cemetery.”