of hits,” Maddox said. “Then knowing you’re looking for a twisted mind, I more or less twisted the images, adding blood and mutilated elements. Eventually I found this artist who signed his work with a V .”
Her breath caught in her throat. A single letter, but it had the same sharp tails on the top of the V as Vandemere’s signature at the bomb site. Could this be him?
The screen split in two, and on the right-hand side appeared a series of paintings in thumbnail. Most were females, all young and beautiful. She squinted at the splashes of color. All grotesque. She touched the screen, calling up the first portrait of a young woman with soulful brown eyes, her head in her lap. The second portrait showed a woman with the skin removed from her chest and blood pooling in a heart shape on the floor.
Evie forced herself not to recoil. Worse than the blood and gore were the faces. Mouths twisted in pain. Eyes glazed with terror. She closed her eyes and pictured the same pain and terror on the third bombing victim’s face in the photos by Freddy Ortiz. She breathed in the char of twisted rebar, hot smoke, and metallic tang of blood. This had to be the work of the same twisted mind. Work of a killer.
“There’s more,” Maddox said. “The IP address this guy used in this forum was from a coffee shop in L.A.”
Evie reached out and set her hand on Jack’s arm. “Jack, you know the L.A. art scene. Does any of this stuff look familiar?” When he didn’t answer, she turned to him. His face was as pale as bleached marble. “Jack?”
“Enlarge the portrait of the woman in the blue dress,” Jack said. Maddox must have heard the urgency in Jack’s voice, because he moved swiftly. “Zoom in on her purse. There.”
Maddox zoomed in on the purse clasp, a silver sun with intricate swirls forming a smiling face. Evie’s skin prickled. She’d seen something like that. Before she could say anything, Jack pointed to a portrait of a woman standing on a balcony with fancy ironwork. “Now get a close-up of the balcony.”
Centered in the ironwork the artist had painted another sun, same smiling face. Maddox quickly scrolled through the gruesome images, and each one featured a smiling sun. “Appears to be a recurring and significant motif for him.”
Evie pushed back from the computer and paced. “I’ve seen that somewhere before.”
“The second bombing,” Jack said, his voice couched in a hush.
“Yes! The woman wearing the bomb wore an earring that looked something like that, but it had been damaged in the blast.”
Jack was now inches from the computer, watching as Maddox scrolled through and found the sun motif in each piece of art. “It’s the same design.”
Warning bells, the ones that had been echoing strong and steady at the back of her head ever since Jack Elliott planted himself in the middle of her investigation, clanged faster. “How can you be so sure?”
“I’ve compared it to this.” His gaze still glued to the screen, Jack dug into his pocket and pulled out his key ring, the metal jangling. On his key ring was a small silver sun with intricate swirls forming a smiling face, the same sun that appeared in the gruesome online gallery by a man named V who used an IP address in L.A.
I’m guilty , Jack had said. But there was more.
She took the keys, the points of the silver sun digging into her palm. “Jack, where did you get this?”
“At an art fair in Pennsylvania. I bought it for my—stop!” Jack’s voice was so loud, she jumped. “Click on the girl in the white dress.”
Maddox called up a portrait of a girl in a white sundress sitting on a yellow chair.
Still, stoic Jack was shaking so hard she swore she could hear his bones rattling.
“Jack, what’s going on?” Evie asked. “Who is the girl?”
“Abby. My sister.”
Abby, as in Abby Foundation. Jack had been so passionate about this case. The reward. The leads. The laser-beam focus. Her gut tightened.
“Jack.” She
Her breath caught in her throat. A single letter, but it had the same sharp tails on the top of the V as Vandemere’s signature at the bomb site. Could this be him?
The screen split in two, and on the right-hand side appeared a series of paintings in thumbnail. Most were females, all young and beautiful. She squinted at the splashes of color. All grotesque. She touched the screen, calling up the first portrait of a young woman with soulful brown eyes, her head in her lap. The second portrait showed a woman with the skin removed from her chest and blood pooling in a heart shape on the floor.
Evie forced herself not to recoil. Worse than the blood and gore were the faces. Mouths twisted in pain. Eyes glazed with terror. She closed her eyes and pictured the same pain and terror on the third bombing victim’s face in the photos by Freddy Ortiz. She breathed in the char of twisted rebar, hot smoke, and metallic tang of blood. This had to be the work of the same twisted mind. Work of a killer.
“There’s more,” Maddox said. “The IP address this guy used in this forum was from a coffee shop in L.A.”
Evie reached out and set her hand on Jack’s arm. “Jack, you know the L.A. art scene. Does any of this stuff look familiar?” When he didn’t answer, she turned to him. His face was as pale as bleached marble. “Jack?”
“Enlarge the portrait of the woman in the blue dress,” Jack said. Maddox must have heard the urgency in Jack’s voice, because he moved swiftly. “Zoom in on her purse. There.”
Maddox zoomed in on the purse clasp, a silver sun with intricate swirls forming a smiling face. Evie’s skin prickled. She’d seen something like that. Before she could say anything, Jack pointed to a portrait of a woman standing on a balcony with fancy ironwork. “Now get a close-up of the balcony.”
Centered in the ironwork the artist had painted another sun, same smiling face. Maddox quickly scrolled through the gruesome images, and each one featured a smiling sun. “Appears to be a recurring and significant motif for him.”
Evie pushed back from the computer and paced. “I’ve seen that somewhere before.”
“The second bombing,” Jack said, his voice couched in a hush.
“Yes! The woman wearing the bomb wore an earring that looked something like that, but it had been damaged in the blast.”
Jack was now inches from the computer, watching as Maddox scrolled through and found the sun motif in each piece of art. “It’s the same design.”
Warning bells, the ones that had been echoing strong and steady at the back of her head ever since Jack Elliott planted himself in the middle of her investigation, clanged faster. “How can you be so sure?”
“I’ve compared it to this.” His gaze still glued to the screen, Jack dug into his pocket and pulled out his key ring, the metal jangling. On his key ring was a small silver sun with intricate swirls forming a smiling face, the same sun that appeared in the gruesome online gallery by a man named V who used an IP address in L.A.
I’m guilty , Jack had said. But there was more.
She took the keys, the points of the silver sun digging into her palm. “Jack, where did you get this?”
“At an art fair in Pennsylvania. I bought it for my—stop!” Jack’s voice was so loud, she jumped. “Click on the girl in the white dress.”
Maddox called up a portrait of a girl in a white sundress sitting on a yellow chair.
Still, stoic Jack was shaking so hard she swore she could hear his bones rattling.
“Jack, what’s going on?” Evie asked. “Who is the girl?”
“Abby. My sister.”
Abby, as in Abby Foundation. Jack had been so passionate about this case. The reward. The leads. The laser-beam focus. Her gut tightened.
“Jack.” She
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