Then the chatter had suddenly stopped and they had nothing. Hopefully this time the outcome would be different.

"What kind of timeline are we looking at before you narrow this lead down to a specific location?" h.e.l.l, Dan tossed the pen aside, they needed the names and locations of the perps involved in this not more talk about how the investigation was inching closer. A new twitch started in Dan's jaw.

"We're doing all we can, Burnett. Spears clearly handpicked the people carrying out his wishes. They know what they're doing, and all we can do is follow their tracks. He's been several steps ahead of us for years."

"Meanwhile, the body count keeps rising." Dan threaded his fingers through his hair again. d.a.m.n it! They were getting nowhere.

"Just be aware," Gant said, his tone indicating the conversation was over, "we are closing in on at least one element of these unknown subjects. That's something we didn't have twenty-four hours ago."

"I can't tell you how rea.s.suring that news is, Gant." Dan ended the call and slung his phone across the desk.

d.a.m.n Eric Spears.

He was a coward who watched from a distance, allowing others to do the dirty work. It wasn't until his prey was captured that he bothered to come close. He loved torturing and murdering women once they were disabled.

And yet, Dan's blood ran cold, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had deviated from his usual MO and walked right up to Jess on Friday... close enough to touch her.

Dan clenched his jaw against the new blast of outrage. He and Spears had been face to face once. He hoped to have that opportunity again... soon.

6.

109 Broadway, 10:49 a.m.

Jess surveyed the street as she emerged from Lori's Mustang. Nothing like having Spears show up for a press conference attended by nearly every cop in the department to put a woman on edge. Arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d that he was, he'd not only dared to set foot in Birmingham again but he'd appeared in the crowd at last Friday's press conference just to prove he could.

He'd touched Jess. She shuddered even now.

Lori joined her on the sidewalk. "He's not here."

Jess blinked. "Ellis?" He was supposed to be here speaking to a group of visiting art lovers from Alabama's esteemed capital.

Lori held her gaze. "Spears. No one followed us here except our a.s.signed BPD escort." She inclined her head toward the cruiser parked across the street. "I kept an eye out for the Infiniti his friend drives and any other potential tails. We're okay for now."

That transparent, was she? Emotion welled so fast inside Jess it was all she could do not to sway with the weight of it. The urge to tell Lori just how high the stakes were now was nearly overwhelming. But she couldn't. Lori was already too close. The first real friend Jess had had in a long time. But that friends.h.i.+p made Lori a target. She'd almost lost her life once already.

Spears could still be here, and the dark haired man who'd been following Jess for days in that d.a.m.ned Infiniti could be lurking somewhere close. Those possibilities disturbed her more than she wanted to admit, even to herself.

"Good to know." Jess gave her friend a nod. "Let's go meet this enigmatic Mr. Ellis."

The vintage storefront windows on either side of the entrance to The Gallery were filled with lovely framed art pieces and sleek sculptures. A bell jingled overhead as they entered the elegant shop. The cardboard 'open' sign flopped against the gla.s.s in the ma.s.sive wood door. The gallery turned out to be an unexpectedly generous s.p.a.ce, but not very well lit. Smelling of oil and age, it reminded Jess of the library at the middle school she'd attended. The art cla.s.sroom had been next door and the smell of wet oil paints wafted into the library and mingled with the scent of old books.

That library had been Jess's favorite place to hide out when she wanted to skip cla.s.s. Not because she'd particularly loved reading, it just felt safe and smelled comfortable, the way a home should.

Ellis's gallery didn't have that same comfortable vibe. The decor was too chic with that museum hush about it. Seating areas filled with graceful furnis.h.i.+ngs flanked the entry, making a corridor down the center of the s.p.a.ce that led deeper into the building. Art hung along the walls, each piece spotlighted with a soft glow. Sculpted pieces sat on pedestals beneath their own spotlights.

The sound of a deep voice resonated from somewhere beyond Jess's line of sight, interrupting the quiet.

"I guess he's still with that visiting group." Lori checked the time on her cell.

"Let's give him a few minutes. Have a look around." Jess wanted to get a better feel for the place and maybe some perception of the man.

Lori nodded and headed left. Jess went right. She moved from painting to painting studying the work. New work, she decided. The color layers were distinctly vivid, not dulled by time. The unique smell of oil lingered stronger near the paintings. Maybe Ellis preferred to focus on up and coming artists, local ones perhaps. Whatever the case, his gallery features were new and bold. The colors were strong, vibrant. Most of the work appeared to be landscapes or local landmarks. A few were renderings of people, mostly women.

As if she had nothing else in the world to worry about, she suddenly found herself trying to recall the last time she'd been to a gallery. Strange thing to have come to mind when her life was about as sideways as it could get.

The National Gallery of Art with Wesley. That was it. Felt like a lifetime ago.

Wesley Duvall, her one and only ex-husband, had been another life. She'd hit forty and suddenly marriage seemed necessary. She and Wesley had married on a Sat.u.r.day and were back at work on Monday. The marriage lasted barely longer than the senseless celebrity wedding debacles that made the news. Sooner, rather than later, Wesley transferred to the west coast where he was needed since Jess didn't seem to need him after the initial ceremony.

Looking back, she understood now she'd only needed to prove to herself that someone wanted to marry her. Wesley just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least they had remained friends.

"That masterpiece comes from the admirable imagination of a local artist."

Jess turned from the commendable rendering of Sloss Furnaces, a local landmark, to the man who'd spoken. He stood medium height with broad shoulders and a kind face. Late forties, maybe fifty, she estimated. Nice silk jacket, very expensive and a stark contrast to the comfortable jeans and gray t-s.h.i.+rt that sported the Crimson Tide logo. The man looked nothing at all like she'd pictured the owner of an art gallery or a master teacher of one of the fine arts. He looked more like a firefighter or football coach.

A stealthy one considering he'd walked right up to her and she hadn't sensed his presence until he spoke. Where was her mind?

"She's quite talented," Jess agreed. The artist's signature read Leah J.

"Quite." He extended his hand. "Richard Ellis at your service, Chief."

So, he knew who she was. My, my. Jess shook his hand. His palms and fingers weren't as smooth as she'd expected. Evidently, nothing about this man was to be what she'd antic.i.p.ated. "Do you have an office where we can discuss an ongoing case?"

He gestured to the room at large. "This is my office."

Visitors, those who had come from Montgomery, she supposed, filed out the entrance. Jess counted ten. He was a popular guy. "I was thinking of some place a bit more private, Mr. Ellis."

"Please, call me Rick."

Before Jess could respond, he strode to the entrance, made a parting comment in French, no less, to the exiting visitors, and then closed and locked the door. He rotated the 'open' sign to the closed side and released the Roman style shade so that it dropped down over the gla.s.s in the door.

"Now." He glanced at Lori, and then turned back to Jess. "Would you and your friend like coffee? Water?"

"No thank you, Rick." Jess moved to the nearest sofa and took a seat. She settled her bag next to her and removed her pad and pencil. "I hope we're not catching you at a bad time."

Lori continued to wander the gallery.

Ellis relaxed in the stylish sofa stationed on the other side of the marble and gla.s.s coffee table. "Not at all. What may I have the privilege of doing this morning for Birmingham's newest deputy chief?"

"One of your former students, Lisa Templeton, was murdered." Jess didn't hear any sign of a European accent in his voice. What she heard was a northeastern one, most likely Ma.s.sachusetts.

He nodded, his expression s.h.i.+fting from congenial to somber. "Stacey called me. She was horribly upset. Lisa was a dear friend of hers." He shook his head. "I'm continually amazed at the evil one human can do to another. Lisa was a lovely young woman."

Jess was amazed at what dear friends like Stacey could do as well but she opted to keep that to herself. "When did you last see Lisa?"

He inclined his head and flashed her a knowing smile. "Are you asking me for an alibi, Chief?"

"Do you have one?" Charm wasn't going to buy him an ounce of slack.

"Let's see. Sunday night I went to dinner with friends who will gladly corroborate as much. By midnight I was tucked in for the night."

"Alone?"

He smiled again. "Unfortunately."

Jess decided not to point out that he actually didn't have an alibi for the time of the murders since the ME had estimated time of death at between two and four Monday morning. "When did you last see Miss Templeton?"

His brow furrowed in careful concentration. "She took one of my cla.s.ses last spring. Until two weeks ago, I hadn't seen her since the cla.s.s ended in April."

"How did you come to see her two weeks ago?"

He leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees and folded his hands together. He had blue eyes. His hair was close cropped and brown, she decided, with a scattering of gray. No wedding ring. No jewelry at all.

"She'd completed a new painting and she wanted my opinion."

"Did Miss Templeton hope to become a full time artist one day?"

Ellis laughed. "Many have that hope. It's the misery all artists suffer, I'm afraid."

"What was your opinion of her work?"

"Lisa beautifully captured the emotions she kept bottled up for most of her life. In fact, I was so enthralled I purchased the painting for the gallery." He shook his head sadly. "Would you like to see it?"

"I would." Jess shoved her pad and pencil into her bag and followed Ellis deeper into the gallery. Lori, who'd apparently already spotted the painting, had paused to admire the work.

"Breathtaking, isn't it?" Ellis said.

"It is," Lori agreed, stepping aside for Jess to have a closer look.

Jess adjusted her gla.s.ses and considered the work. Nude lovers, women, in the midst of a s.e.xual act. The affection and ecstasy captured was undeniably compelling. The crisp colors and perfect brushstrokes conveyed the sensual moves and setting as if the scene were in motion. But it was one of the faces that told Jess more than anything else. Stacey Jernigan had been wrong about her friend.

"It's lovely." She turned to the man whose pride for his pupil's work literally beamed from his face. "Is this the first painting you've purchased from Lisa?"

"I rarely purchase a painting from a student." He shrugged. "Most are just learning to put their feelings on the canvas. The work, though perhaps fairly well done, isn't generally extraordinary enough to fit in here."

"But this one did?" Jess indicated Templeton's painting. "Because she needed money?"

"I don't make a habit of buying art because the artist needs money," he chided. "I made an exception with this one because for the first time, Lisa allowed all the emotion she'd kept inside to spill onto the canvas. She was in love with another woman and she wanted the world to know. She wasn't hiding anymore. That decision elevated her work from the so-so to the remarkable. It's that ability to convey ones deepest emotions that defines a master artist."

"Do you know who the other woman in the painting is?" The profile was not clear enough for Jess to be certain. The long flowing dark blond hair could have been Alisha Burgess's, Templeton's housemate, but the eyes were closed and there just wasn't enough facial detail to make that determination. The other woman was obviously Lisa Templeton.

"Lisa had a secret lover," Ellis explained. "She opened up to me after cla.s.s one evening. She didn't want anyone to know. I urged her to stop hiding her true feelings and this was her way of coming out, so to speak." He turned to Jess. "But the answer to your question is no. I have no idea who the other woman is."

"Did Lisa have any enemies that you know of? Anyone who gave her trouble at her shop or in your cla.s.s?" Templeton had moved here almost three years ago from northern Tennessee. Neither she nor Burgess had any family in the area. They were still working on a list of the women's friends.

Ellis crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his finger against his chin as if giving the questions a great deal of thought. "Lisa struggled mightily with who she was. Like most artists, she had difficulty accepting her lot in life. She did what she had to do to earn a living, but she wanted more. She moved to Birmingham to escape her family. They have very strong religious beliefs that, shall we say, hampered Lisa's lifestyle. She wanted to be who she was. After moving here, she started to open up, like a tiny bird just hatching. I watched her grow in my cla.s.s this past spring, spread her wings. This," he indicated the painting, "was the real Lisa."

But did that decision cost Lisa her life? "Did she mention any family problems at all? Had anyone come to Birmingham to try and persuade her to come home?" Or repent? The idea made Jess think of Wanda Newsom, her aunt and only living relative besides her sister and her sister's family. The aunt who'd let Jess and her sister down as children when their parents were killed but who had suddenly found religion and wanted to make it all right.

Jess banished the painful memories.

Ellis shook her head. "Lisa had been estranged from her family for over two years. They never called or visited."

"Any trouble with work?" Jess prompted.

"There are those, even in a city as progressive as Birmingham, who didn't agree with Lisa's business choices. This is still the Bible Belt. There was the occasional protest outside her shop. I read about the incidents in the paper but she never mentioned them to me."

"Are you aware that several of your students maintain a closed Facebook page where they feature some pretty graphic art?"

Ellis frowned. "I am not. The inspiration, however, could be a result of my cla.s.ses. I encourage them to share their art and their feelings with those they trust. Life is about exploring one's world, inside and out. Sometimes it's difficult to share the discoveries with those who might not understand."

How nice. Jess scrounged around in her bag for a business card. One of these days she had to get better organized. She handed the card to Ellis. "I really appreciate your time, Rick. If you think of anything else that might help us find the person responsible for this tragedy, I hope you'll give me a call. We'd like to give the folks who cared about these women closure."

He read over the card before tucking it into his jacket pocket. "Of course. Anything I recall, you'll be the first to know."

Jess started to turn away but hesitated. "You're not from Birmingham, are you?"

He chuckled as if he recognized she'd been trying to figure out the answer to that question from the moment he said h.e.l.lo. "I came to Birmingham ten years ago after spending two decades in Europe, primarily in Paris, surviving as an artist."

"But you hail from Ma.s.sachusetts originally?"

"Indeed." He grinned. "There are some things we can never escape."

Jess knew a little something about that. She'd spent twenty years trying to rid herself of her southern accent only to have it reemerge in full form barely a week after returning to Birmingham.

Some things were just destined to be.

Ellis escorted them to the door and insisted they should come again under more pleasant circ.u.mstances, and then he wished them a bonne journee. Outside, Jess considered her impressions of the man. "I didn't get anything from him, you?"

Lori vigilantly scrutinized the street. "Only that he was quite taken with you."

Jess moved toward the Mustang. "I think he just wanted to see my badge."

Lori grinned at Jess across the roof of the car. "Face it, you're a celebrity, Chief."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Lucky me."

When they'd settled inside, Lori hesitated before starting the engine. "You're okay, right?"

Her team-no, her friends-recognized she was not herself. How could she be? Her hormones were focused on gestation. Her emotions were scattered all over the map. She was a mess.

"I'm okay." Jess faked a smile.