Leverage in Death: An Eve Dallas Novel (In Death #47)(74)

“Is that one of his paintings?”

Astrid nodded when Eve gestured to a study of a woman with gold and green hills behind her back as she stood in a garden with a basket on her hip and her face lifted to the sun.

“Yes. He painted it when he lived in Italy. That’s Tuscany, one of my favorite places. I bought it shortly after he moved in here.” She let out a sigh. “I could afford it, and this space. Family money. It’s why I only use my first name. I really want to make my own name. Got a ways to go yet.

“But Angelo? He was going to bust out. He was already getting serious attention. And he had years and years ahead of him. And now, he’s gone? Right at the start of his rise? A fucking gas leak?”

“It wasn’t a gas leak.”

“I don’t understand. You said explosion.”

“Would you come across the hall?”

Eve led the way to where Peabody conducted a search.

Astrid didn’t gasp. She moaned, a deep, guttural moan. “No, no, no. Who would do this? Who could do this? His work. Monsters. Fucking monsters.”

Tears didn’t just swirl now, but streamed.

“Who would do this?” Eve echoed.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anyone who’d do this.” Weeping, she knelt down, touched a ripped canvas. “I hope they burn in hell for it. Maybe, maybe some can be restored. They’d never be the same, but there are some good restoration artists. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t—”

She broke off, and those tears shut off like a tap turned. “Not a gas leak. What kind of cop are you?”

“We’re Homicide.”

“Murder.” With the hands balled and shaking at her sides, Astrid got slowly to her feet. “You’re saying someone murdered Angelo.”

“And four others.”

“An explosion? Somebody set off a bomb. At the Salon. His work there. His work here.”

Her face went hard as the stone on her workbench. “Oh, I see. I see. Three reasons, there are only three reasons I see.”

“What are they?”

“Somebody’s just crazy—straight crazy. Somebody crazy jealous because he was about to bust out. Or somebody who figures a dead artist’s work, especially if a lot of it is gone—is worth a hell of a lot more than a live one’s.”

“Do you know anyone who fits any of those reasons?”

“I don’t. I’d tell you if I did. I’d help you hunt them down myself.”

“Who had access to this unit?”

“Just Angelo. Like I said, we slept together sometimes—and we both slept with other people sometimes. I had to knock or buzz. As far as I know, so did everybody. He didn’t have any close friends, not really. But he didn’t have anybody who hated him, either.”

“Did he ever mention Jordan Banks?”

“Not to me.”

“Hugo Markin?”

“No, sorry.”

“Wayne Denby.”

“Sure. He’s one of the owners of the Salon. I actually met him a couple times. He came over to talk to Angelo about which paintings to include in the show, and the fact is, he had a better sense of the flow than Angelo—and Angelo knew it. He’s all right, isn’t he?”

“No.”

Her lips parted, trembled. “He had a kid. He talked about his little boy. He was leaving here, he said the first time I met him, to meet his wife and his little boy, taking him to a—a puppet show.”

“Did you see anyone in or around the building today who shouldn’t have been? Did you hear anything?”

Astrid shook her head as tears swirled again. “I’ve been working all day, I like the music loud. But—Lollie. Maybe Lollie. She watches the street a lot, for inspiration.”

“Which apartment?”

“I’ll take you down. Please, I have to do something.” She stared at the torn and sliced canvases. “I have to do something. I’ll take you down.”

“Peabody, keep the scene secured.”

“Affirmative. I let Baxter know the situation. They should be here any minute.”

“Let’s go, Astrid.”

“It’s just one flight down. I thought you were Lollie when you buzzed. She’s been poking at me all day to come down to help her pick out an outfit for tonight. We were going together. She’s just had yet another dramafest breakup with her latest guy, so she’s—I’m babbling. I’m just pushing out words so I don’t think too hard.”

“It’s okay.”

The third floor held six units. Astrid walked to one Eve judged to be directly below Richie’s main studio space.

The woman who answered wore a paint-splattered white smock over black skin pants. The smock didn’t disguise the curvy body beneath.

Her hair streamed in multicolored braids around a stunning face dominated by enormous eyes of tawny gold.

“Finally! Come see which—Oh, sorry. Hi!”

She beamed a smile at Eve.

“Lollie, this is Lieutenant—sorry, I forgot.”

“Dallas.”

“Lieutenant Dallas. She—”

“Oh sure, like the one in the vid. Hi!”

“Not like a vid,” Astrid began.