“Yes, but we know around what time Sharon was murdered and we know the killer wasn’t going to hang round waiting for people to notice so that should narrow it down somewhat. Listen, just find the footage from the building, make me a copy, and put it on my desk. I’ll have a look over it. You’re probably looking for a woman.”

Dorland took a deep breath and blew out. Theo could see the relief on his face.

“Listen,” Theo said, “you did good.”

“Thank you, sir. What would you like me to do?”

“This will sound terrible, but capture as many frames or faces as you can and ask the host of the party to identify those who attended and those that didn’t. We can narrow it down that way. Also, arrange for an autopsy on Mrs. Peter’s body. I want to rule out poison.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

That afternoon, Sophia skipped out of work early because she was expecting the artwork to arrive at her flat around three. When it did arrive, she buzzed the men into the lobby entrance and watched them cart boxes of artwork from their lorry into the service lift—five boxes worth. She laughed.

When the men disembarked, she led them down the hall and opened her father’s flat. She made a quick inspection to be sure none of her work had been left out from previous projects. None had.

She would need a hammer to enter the wooden crates and she checked under the kitchen sink. Her father loved to leave his tools under the sink to rust and, as expected, he had left her one. After some loud moaning from the nails, she managed to lift the lid off one crate. She lifted one of the heavy pieces out. How did Tipring manage to hang so many on his wall? He would have had to re-enforce the walls. She sat down on the sofa and ran her hands over the smooth tiles.

Although the tiles did not look artistic, she liked them. Each one sat in alignment, full of bright colors—purple, gray, yellow, and white. What was wrong with tiles as art? She had once gone to an art display worth thousands where the artist only used nails. Besides, they would really brighten up the walls of her father’s flat.

She remembered how Theo laughed when she had won the lot. Most of the attendees thought she was mad. And perhaps she was, but she enjoyed spending the money. She had enjoyed the company of Theo again. Hopefully he didn’t think she had attended just to see him.

Besides, he had come to her only a few weeks back with the note. A note he must have known led nowhere. He couldn’t have come to her without checking an Internet search for the meaning behind it. He knew it was a code.

Now she held the finished artwork of the bored electrician. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to design art that looked this way and stare at it for hours on end. What must he have been thinking as he lay each piece down in the mortar?

Sophia pushed the art away and stood up.

When Sophia entered her flat, she found Liam on her sofa, watching a movie. A case of beer sat on her table. He looked like hell with stubble all over his face, and he smelled of alcohol.

“I would ask you how you got in but I’m sure you can break into any flat you like. Oh, Liam, you stink and look like hell. When was the last time you showered?” she asked him.

“Why does that matter?”

She wanted to say it was because he was sitting on her sofa, but she didn’t have the heart. Instead, she went to make herself a cup of coffee.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“Redecorating my other flat. You should come see the artwork I purchased for a song.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow and followed her back down the hall, carrying a beer.

Suddenly Sophia stopped and turned around. “Wait, before I let you in. You’ve not come to inform me of some new assignment or case.”

“I have not.”

“And nothing relating to Stewart.”

“No.” He placed one hand on her shoulder. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not think about him right now. Just for an hour or two. Show me your art.”

Inside, one piece of artwork lay across the top of one of the cartons. Liam went over and lifted it.

“It’s . . . interesting,” he finally said. At least he was brutally honest. “Is this design based on a specific code you’ve been studying?” He laid the art down with a clunk. Sophia moved her hands over the edges and surface making sure he didn’t crack it.

“I know. It reminded me of a type of code but it’s actually not code; it’s art,” she said. “Be careful with it. It’s not like the two or three pound beers you choose to decorate your flat with.”

He ignored her. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, that’s not art, that’s bathroom material.”

“I’ll have you know a one-legged man created these.”

“That’s explains why he couldn’t finish his home-improvement project.”

She slapped his arm. “I happen to find them fascinating.”

“I’m sure you would in your mad mind.” He laughed and walked into her father’s old bedroom and turned on the light.

She followed him.

“It’s a lot like the layout of your other flat,” he remarked.

“Have you never been here?”

“Maybe. I can’t remember.”

Sophia placed her hands on her hips. Liam wasn’t himself and it worried her. Normally he was focused or angry. She had never seen him quiet.

“You need to go home and relax. You’ve seen a lot today and you’re not thinking properly.”

He sat down on the bed. “Did you hear that Marvin is quitting?”

She didn’t even know who Marvin was. “Oh, why?”

“Apparently the government doesn’t pay as much as the private sector.”

She laughed, but Liam didn’t.

“We don’t work for the government because of the money,” he continued. “But it sure as hell helps. Do you know how many people I’ve killed for the government? It does not pay enough—not for all I’ve been through. I used to count, you know, to say a prayer for each one but . . . I wish I could say I see the faces of all the lives I’ve taken, but I can’t. It makes life meaningless. If I stop caring, how can I expect the men who kill others to care?”

“We will catch him, Liam. We’ll catch Stewart. He won’t get away with it.”

“You get rid of one piece of shite and another pops up in his place. It’s never going to bloody end. And really, we—the government—allow it. The criminals get good solicitors and for all the months of hard work on our part, they get a slap on the wrist. They’re not afraid of us. They just laugh at us. I’m so tired of it all.”

“You’ve brought many to justice,” she said.

“Yes, and have seen many get away.” He patted her shoulder. “I’m just tired of it, that’s all. Especially when I could do something about it.”

“Then do something about it.”

He smiled, kissed her on the forehead, and made his way to the door. “I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”

She shrugged. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

He patted his right jacket pocket. “Oh, before I leave, I meant to give this to you. I even had your name engraved.” From his pocket he pulled out a long rectangular box.

Inside the box was a silver pen.

“What is it for?” she asked, but she knew what it was for.

“A thank you for all your hard work,” he replied and left.

She grinned. It was a tracking device and before he could activate it, it was going back into his possession. Cheeky bastard.

Chapter Fifty

No one was impressed with the artwork Sophia had purchased. She would have brought some pieces to work if she didn’t think the others would take them to use under their desks for their wet Wellies. Crystal just laughed when she showed her the photos.

Sophia brought one of the pieces over to her flat and placed it beside a print she got at auction for four times the price. It looked ridiculous beside the classics she had up. Tipring’s art reminded her of a grade school assignment where she had to place pasta on a cardboard. Maybe everyone was right, and no one created art like this. There had to be a purpose. If she had to stare at the art for the rest of her life, she wanted to know what was going through the artist’s mind.