Page 38 of Girl, Sought

The door opened into a narrow hallway that smelled of furniture polish. At the second-floor landing, another nondescript door greeted them. Ella rapped her knuckles against the frosted glass, the letters CVG etched in blocky sans-serif font. A woman’s voice called them inside and they stepped through into a reception area that matched the building's low-key exterior. No marble floors or crystal chandeliers, just simple furnishings and walls lined with preservation certificates. The woman behind the desk had the particular bearing of someone who guarded gates for a living.

‘Agents Dark and Hawkins.’ Ella flashed her credentials. ‘We have an eleven o'clock with Vanessa Blackburn.’

The receptionist’s gaze flickered to the weapon at Ella’s hip. ‘You’re early.’

‘Better than late.’

A staring contest ensued. The receptionist lost, probably because Luca's increasingly desperate leg-bouncing was too distracting to maintain proper eye contact.

‘One moment.’ She pressed an intercom button. ‘Miss Blackburn? The FBI agents are here.’

‘Send them through.’

The receptionist stepped back and ushered them into a hallway lined with certificates and still lifes. Ella clocked the minimal staff - a few doors stood ajar, revealing empty offices and darkened computer screens. Wherever Vanessa Blackburn's employees were, they weren't here.

The last office door opened before Ella and Luca reached them. Vanessa Blackburn stood on the threshold like a queen holding court. The woman had black hair with a grey streak down one side, and she must have been six-two in those brown stiletto boots. She was wearing a black sheath dress and enough jewelry to sink a ship.

‘Agents.’ Vanessa held out a hand to both of them. ‘Please, come in. I’ve brought some chairs for you.’

She led them into her office and took a seat behind a small mahogany desk. Luca parked himself in one of the wooden chairs opposite her, but Ella took a moment to catalog the room. The place was oddly reminiscent of Eleanor Calloway’s collection room, but instead of dolls, here were what Ella could only term macabre curiosities.

A shrunken head grinned from a velvet-lined case. Victorian medical instruments gleamed under glass. A human skull, yellowed with age, wore a price tag like a party hat.

‘Don’t let my goods distract you,’ Vanessa laughed.

Ella found herself drawn to a familiar sight on the wall. A painting. Crude circus colors and childlike technique, signed with initials that made her stomach clench: J.W.G. John Wayne Gacy's prison art, displayed like a trophy between degrees and certificates.

‘You have a Pogo the Clown painting?’

'Yes, I do. When you spend your life validating other people's treasures, you develop your own particular tastes.'

'No kidding.' Ella swept the rest of the room, and thankfully, the prison art ended with Gacy's terrible drawings. But she did pick up on something else that made her heart rate double in speed.

On top of a case sat a taxidermy squirrel, but wrong in many ways. Bat wings sprouted from its back, and rusty nails circled its head like a crown of thorns.

Ella had seen it before. In a basement in Louisiana.

‘Is that one of Austin Creed’s pieces?’

Vanessa's eyebrows lifted. ‘It certainly is. You’re familiar with him?’

Her memory sprang back to that day nearly two years ago. Live animals in cages. The smell of formaldehyde. Creatures that had been Frankensteined together for no other reason than Creed’s own amusement. Luca shot her a sidelong glance but had the good sense to stay quiet.

‘Unfortunately, yes I am.’

‘Fascinating piece, that squirrel. The marriage of innocence and corruption.’

Luca sniggered. ‘Innocence and corruption? It’s a squirrel with nails in its head.’

Vanessa glared at him. Ella could sense the atmosphere changing so she was quick to get back on track, even though the squirrel’s dead eyes seem to follow her as she sat down.

‘Miss Blackburn. Do you know why we’re here?’

‘No. Please tell me.’

‘Because two people are dead. Two people who had connections to your appraisal firm.’

Vanessa's reaction hit all the right notes in Ella's mental checklist of genuine surprise. Her pupils dilated. No crossing of arms or legs - no defensive posturing. She leaned forward slightly with her hands open on the desk. She kept eye contact without that slight lag that usually meant someone was constructing lies on the fly.

---