Conor agreed. He was done answering questions. If the detectives thought he could do what had been done to that young woman, it was hopeless to try and convince them otherwise.

The cords of Jackson’s neck went tight as steel cables, and his lips compressed into a bloodless line.

Ianelli stood up. “Your client will have to sit tight for a few more minutes.” He left the room. Jackson followed without speaking.

“Just breathe for a minute. I didn’t even get a good look at the picture, and I nearly lost it.” Damian put a hand on Conor’s shoulder. “On the bright side, if I hadn’t already been convinced of your innocence, your reaction sealed the deal for me.”

Conor raised his head. Acid burned up the back of his throat into his nasal passages. He needed to get out of this claustrophobic room. But the holding cell had been worse. What were they going to do with him?

Damian leaned close to his ear. “They’re obviously checking with the DA to see if he’s willing to file charges.”

“Will he?”

“Frankly, Conor, it could go either way. They’ve gathered the perfect storm of circumstantial evidence.”

CHAPTER 9

9

Louisa found a metered parking spot across the street from the museum. The exterior design of the Livingston Museum mirrored the exhibits within. Renovations over the years had given the old building a modern flare, a slide down the timeline of history from present to past.

The streetlight behind her reflected on the dark glass, casting her own image back at her. It was past closing time. She stepped closer and shielded her eyes with her cupped hands. She couldn’t see any movement inside. But she knew people were in there. The night security guard would be on duty. He was likely making his rounds. The cleaners worked at least until midnight. She didn’t have a key to the front door, and there was no one in sight. Heels ringing on the concrete, she slipped down the narrow alley that led to the rear of the building. She pulled her key ring from her purse and opened the back door. In the corridor, a tiny green light on the alarm panel blinked. She swiped her card through the reader and entered the four-digit security code, and the light stilled.

She flipped on the light switch in the rear corridor. The floor gleamed with fresh wax. The faint hum of a floor cleaning machine placed the cleaning crew in the exhibit part of the museum. She walked down the hall.

Why was she here?

Because she couldn’t go home. Once she’d left the police station, she’d thought of one other spot the knife could have been placed by accident. If she could just find the reproduction, the museum could be absolved. She could be absolved.