Think. There had to be something. Was it Brazil he was thrown out of? If so, where? And was it related to the picture? It had to be. It was too coincidental otherwise.

I arrived at my apartment just as my cell phone went off. I looked at the caller's info before answering it. "Private number." Of course it was. Caller ID seemed to mean very little these days. I answered with a fake exasperated tone, figuring it was a telemarketer. It wasn't.

"Mr. Honeycutt, this is detective Sorenson of the Nebraska State Police."

I had a bad feeling.

"Uh, hi. How can I help you?"

"I was given your name by the Wahoo police. Can I ask where you were last night around eleven?"

A really bad feeling.

"I was with my girlfriend all night at her hotel in Boston. Why?"

"Can anyone else confirm this?

Why couldn't they ever come right out and say why they were calling?

"Probably a lot of people. She had calls from her agent and publicist while I was there, and I think she mentioned me to them. My downstairs neighbor saw me go out around seven. Need more?"

"No, that's fine." His voice took on a friendlier tone. "You are not a suspect. I just like to cover all of my bases. Do you know a Russ Simpson?"

"He tried to sell me an old painting that used to belong to my great-grandfather. So I only met him two days ago. Did something happen?"

"Yes, he's dead."

All the air was sucked out of my body.

"Dead?"

"Quite brutally. Simply stated, he was tortured."

I had a feeling he said it for effect, to make it easier to extract information from me. It worked.

"Can you tell me about the painting?"

"Are you sure it had something to do with the painting?" I had no doubt it did, but I had to ask it anyway.

"He was still alive when we found him. He actually lasted six hours before dying. There was very little the doctors could do, and in fact, they were surprised he lasted that long. At one point he woke up and seemed almost lucid for about fifteen seconds. During that time he said 'Damned painting' twice before lapsing back into unconsciousness. The Wahoo police said you asked them to warn him about some men. Can you give me the story?"

I told him. The whole story this time, not the condensed version. This violence had reached a gruesome level, and Sabrina and I were right in the thick of it. So I told him everything I knew. Sadly, other than Mario Guidry, who was probably long gone, it didn't give him anything to go on. I told him I would email him the picture, but warned him that it wouldn't help any.

I think he sensed my sincerity (read: fear), and thanked me for the information, but not before warning me to be careful.

The morons who accosted us in the hotel didn't do that to Russ. No way. The big guns had been called in.