‘You said her seizures made her choke?’

Denise nodded. ‘It terrified us every time. She couldn’t breathe. Her skin changed color.’ She paused and looked away. ‘She could’ve died so many times.’

‘And the seizures simply stopped all together?’

‘Yes,’ Roy continued. ‘Right after she started painting.’

Hunter got up and handed the frame back to Denise. ‘Was Laura in a relationship?’

Denise let out a deep sigh. ‘Laura didn’t really get deeply involved with anyone. Another of her self-defense mechanisms.’ She walked over to the bar by the large bookcase. ‘If you read any of the articles about her and how she got her career started, you’ll read about her pain of being cheated on by her fiancé. She found him in bed with another woman. It destroyed her inside.’ Denise poured herself a double dose of whiskey from a decanter and dropped two ice cubes in it. ‘Would you like one?’ She raised her glass.

Hunter’s biggest passion was single malt Scotch whiskey, but unlike most, he knew how to appreciate its flavor and quality instead of simply getting drunk on it.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Roy?’ She faced her husband.

He shook his head.

Denise shrugged, took a small sip and closed her eyes as the liquid traveled down her throat.

‘To drown her pain, Laura went straight back to painting. Something that she hadn’t done for several years. By chance, a gallery curator saw one of her canvases, and that was how her new career started. But not before she suffered a great deal.’

‘From a broken heart?’ Hunter said.

Denise nodded and looked away. ‘Patrick was the one who insisted they moved in together after only four months,’ she continued. ‘He told Laura he couldn’t stand being away from her, that he loved her more than anything. He was one of those who had a way with words. A charmer who usually got what he wanted. I’m sure you know the type. And Laura believed him. She fell desperately in love with him and his seductive charm.’

‘You said his name is Patrick?’

Denise nodded. ‘Patrick Barlett.’

Hunter wrote the name down in his notebook.

‘Laura used to work in a bank. Patrick was a big investor. That’s how they met. She found out about his affair because that day she felt unwell just after lunch,’ Denise recalled. ‘Something she’d eaten. Her boss told her to take the rest of the day off and she went home. Patrick was in their bed with his slut secretary or PA or something.’ She shook her head. ‘For someone who was supposed to be intelligent, you’d thought that he would’ve at least gone to a motel.’ She chuckled nervously. ‘So much for loving Laura more than anything, huh? That was only three months after they’d moved in together. Since then, relationships became a thing of the past for Laura. She had flings, affairs, but nothing serious.’

‘Any recent ones?’

‘No one Laura thought was worth mentioning.’

‘So after Laura split from Patrick, was that it between them?’

‘For her, yes.’

‘And for him?’

‘Ha!’ Denise said with contempt. ‘He never let go. He tried apologizing with flowers and gifts and phone calls and whatever else he could think of, but Laura didn’t wanna know any more.’

‘How long did he carry on all that for?’

‘He never stopped.’

Hunter’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

‘He visited her exhibition last month and begged her to have him back yet again. She obviously told him where to go.’

‘So he’s been after her, asking for forgiveness and trying to get her back for . . . ?’

‘Four years,’ Roy confirmed. ‘Patrick is not the sort of man who takes no for an answer. He’s the sort of man who gets what he wants, no matter the price.’

Twenty-Two

The word obsession flashed at the back of Hunter’s mind. Four years was more than enough time for most people to take the hint and move on. Denise told him how possessive and jealous Patrick used to be of Laura, and though during the time they were together he’d never been violent towards her, he did have a problem with his temper.

‘Do you know if anyone other than you had an extra set of keys to Laura’s apartment?’

Denise had another sip of her drink and thought about it for a minute before looking at Roy.

‘Not that we know of,’ he said.

‘Laura never mentioned if she’d given the keys to anyone else?’

A firm shake of the head from Denise. ‘Laura never allowed anyone to go into her apartment or her studio. Her work was very private to her. Even though she was successful, she never did it for the money. She painted for herself. It was a way of expressing what was going on inside her. She didn’t even like exhibiting that much, and that’s what most artists live for. As far as I know, she never took any dates back to her apartment. And she never, never got emotionally involved.’

‘How about any close friends?’

‘I was her closest friend.’ A slight quiver came into her voice.

‘Anyone other than family?’

‘Painters are very lonely people, Detective. They spend most of their time by themselves, working on a piece. She had acquaintances, but no one she could really call a close friend.’

‘She didn’t keep in touch with any of her old school, university or work friends?’

Denise shrugged. ‘Maybe, by phone or the odd drink, but I couldn’t tell you who.’ She paused. ‘The only other person I can think of is Calvin Lange, the curator of the Daniel Rossdale Art Gallery. The person who kick-started her career. He was very fond of her, and she of him. They talked on the phone and met quite frequently.’

Roy nodded his agreement.

Hunter noted Calvin Lange’s name down and his eyes returned to the photo frames on the wooden desk. ‘Being a successful artist consequently means having fans, I suppose.’

Denise nodded proudly. ‘Her work was admired and loved by many.’

‘Did Laura ever mention any . . .’ he searched for the right words, ‘ . . . insistent fans?’

‘You mean . . . like a stalker?’ Her voice faltered for an instant.

Hunter nodded.

Denise finished the rest of her whiskey in one gulp. ‘I never thought of it, but she did mention something a few months ago.’

Hunter put down the picture frame he was holding and took a step in Denise’s direction. ‘What exactly did she tell you?’

Denise’s gaze moved to a neutral point on the white Nepalese rug in the center of the room as her memory struggled to remember. ‘Just that she’d started receiving some emails from someone who said he was in love with her work.’

‘Did she ever show you any of these emails?’

‘No.’

Hunter looked at Roy questioningly, who shook his head.

‘Did she tell you what they said?’

Denise shook her head. ‘Laura played it down, saying that it was just a fan being flattering of her work. But I did get the feeling that something about it had spooked her.’

Hunter wrote again in his notebook.

Denise moved closer, stopping at an arm’s reach from Hunter. She looked into his eyes. ‘How good are you and your team, Detective?’

Hunter frowned as if he hadn’t understood the question.

‘I wanna know if you can catch the sonofabitch who hurt my daughter and took her from me.’ The grief in her voice was gone, substituted by undeniable anger. ‘Don’t tell me you’re gonna do the best you can. The police are always doing the best they can, and their best is rarely good enough. I know you’re gonna do your best, Detective. What I want you to do is look me in the eyes and tell me your best will be good enough. Tell me you’ll catch this sonofabitch. And tell me you will make this sack of shit pay.’