Page 100 of Savage Justice

I roll over in bed and prop myself on my elbow. Molly gazes up at me, her phone in her hand.

“Let me see.”

She hands me the device, and I scan the short text message.

I need to interview you again in connection with the theft of Death of Atalanta. When would be convenient?

She’s already starting to panic. “What if he found out, somehow? What if he locks me up again?”

“He won’t have. We covered our tracks.”

“What if he could prove that Marlowe McGuinness did the copy? He could link him to me, through Tristram, and Lucy.”

I stop her panicked chatter with my mouth, slanting my lips across hers.

“He can’t and he won’t,” I assure her. “Even if he suspects, that’s all it can ever be.”

“Do I have to go and see him?”

“He’ll be persistent, but we can set up the meeting on our turf this time. We should have done that before. We’ll be lawyered up, we’ll have Lynne Meadows there. He won’t be able to touch you again. I promise.”

“I’m scared. What if—?”

“I know. Trust me, it will be all right.”

We meet with the bent detective in the offices of Savage and Southern, Lynne Meadows’ practice. He has his trusty sidekick with him, Detective Constable Ian Fletcher. The pair of them perch awkwardly on plush, low sofas in the solicitors’ waiting suite. We arrive five minutes late.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting, gentlemen.” Lynne hurries in and takes a seat opposite them.

Molly and I follow her in and make ourselves comfortable as well.

“Since we are all acquainted with one another, perhaps we can get right on with whatever has brought you here today. Are we to assume there has been a development in the case.”

“You know there has,” Norris snarls.

“Perhaps you could enlighten us, since my client is not aware of any developments concerning her.”

“She knows who forged that picture,” he rumbles.

“Which picture might that be, Detective Inspector?”

“Death of Atalanta. It turned up in Riyadh.”

“Did it? My goodness, that must be a weight off your mind.”

“It’s a forgery. A copy. The original is still out there, somewhere. Lost.”

“I see. That is… disappointing. But how does this concern my client? She has never been to Riyadh. Isn’t that right, Miss Lowe?”

“Quite correct,” Molly murmurs.

“Forgive me,” Lynne purrs, “but did you not explicitly state that Death of Atalanta was stolen? If this is the case, when that same picture mysteriously surfaces in Riyadh, why would you not simply seize it and restore it to its proper owner?”

“It’s not that simple, Miss Meadows.”

“Indeed? Why not?”

“Because it’s not the same picture. The Riyadh one is forged.”

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