Charlie exhaled. “She’s gone.”

“Somebody was looking for something.”

Edmonds led them back downstairs. Two DEA agents were collecting paintings while another had set up a table in the corner and was swabbing their edges.

“These paintings are, for lack of a better word, crap.”

A petite redhead walked toward them. Frost nudged Charlie. He didn’t recall seeing her at the briefing and he would’ve remembered, not because of her fire-engine red hair, but because she was the only one in a sea of DEA agents wearing a blue jacket with big yellow letters on it.

“Deputy Lynch, Deputy Frost, this is Agent Murphy. An art expert on loan to us courtesy of the FBI.” Edmonds introduced them. “See, we can play nice with the fibbies.”

Murphy rolled her eyes. “Most of that he got right, but no one said anything about playing nice.”

Frost snickered and drew an amused look from the female agent, which colored his cheeks almost as red as her hair. Edmonds’s cell phone rang and he excused himself.

Charlie gave Frost a pointed look before returning his attention back to the agent. “What were you saying about the art?”

“These paintings are amateurish at best. Most of the names I don’t recognize. I’d say, based on my initial inspection of what’s still intact”—Murphy looked around—“less than fifty grand worth of art and I’m being generous.”

“Fifty thousand?” Charlie toed a piece of glass. “Sydney’s single painting was listed at twelve hundred dollars.”

“Some galleries overprice the art to make a profit, but usually it’s on actual art.” Murphy lifted a torn piece of canvas. “This is just above student level.”

“Sydney’s art fits right in then.” Frost tried folding his arms across his bulky vest but after a few awkward seconds settled for sticking his hands in his pockets.

Charlie scratched at the stubble on his chin. “You don’t recognize any of the names on these paintings?”

“Only a few,” Murphy said. “Not enough to warrant this gallery’s reputation.”

“That first day we came by, two students from the art school were filling out applications to have their art displayed here. Said it was the first time the gallery’s been open to students’ work. What if Annika was exploiting unknown artists? You’re the expert, but if you don’t recognize the artists, then it’s possible regular customers wouldn’t either.”

“Her computer might’ve been smashed, but it seems your gallery owner kept written records of her clients.” Edmonds walked over. He held up a notebook. “Found this hidden behind a canvas propped up against a wall safe. Recognize any names?”

Charlie scanned the rows of names and landed on one. “Floyd Hollins.”

“That book gives us the names of people she paid and used to ship her paintings.” Edmonds lifted his eyebrows. “We’ve even got a couple of dealers listed on there.”