Page 25 of When You're Lost

He shrugged helplessly.“No direct threats, but how else can I interpret these murders?They’re obviously staged to point at me or my gallery.Why else replicate paintings we’ve recently showcased?”

Finn exchanged a glance with Eleanor.If Harrison truly had an airtight alibi for each murder, it posed a serious complication.They only had circumstantial evidence tying him to these crimes.

“Look,” Harrison continued, weary frustration creeping into his voice, “I don’t want any more people dying, especially if this psycho is using me as a scapegoat.But you can’t pin these murders on me.Check my alibis.You’ll see.”

After a beat, Finn nodded.“We will.And if they hold, we have to let you go.But we’ll be keeping an eye on you—because if you’re not guilty, you may indeed be in danger.”

“Danger?”Harrison let out a hollow laugh.“That’s an understatement.”

"Who might want to kill you or destroy your reputation?"Finn asked.

“Half the bloody art community in London,” he let out a sigh.“The truth is, I make more enemies than I do friends.But I can't think of any single one person who might want to go to such lengths.”

“And what about the question of a forgery?Have you been displaying fakes at the gallery?”Finn asked.

“No!”

“I wonder if all of the paintings in this case went through your hands at some point,” Finn added.

“I swear,” he replied, his eyes sincere.“I’ve got nothing to do with this.”

At last, a knock on the door signaled an officer stepping in.He murmured to Finn, “Mary Whitmore at the gallery has verified some of Mr.Blackthorn’s whereabouts today during the Townsend murder.”

Finn ran a hand through his hair in frustration.“I'll need to know the exact time of death to verify that...All right.Let’s call it a night, then.”

Finn looked at Harrison.“Looks like you’ll be spending the night in a cell until we check out your story.”

“But…” Harrison looked defeated.

“No buts,” Finn said.“I it all works out, you at least know you’ll be out tomorrow.If it doesn’t, well...”

Eleanor flicked off the recorder.With a final glower, Harrison rose.Finn told him bluntly, “Have a good night.”

Harrison soon limped away on his sprained ankle, accompanied by a constable, occasionally spitting curses about the police hounding him.His complaints faded away as he was led downstairs to the cells.

"It occurs to me," Eleanor said, "that you might be right.Perhaps all of the paintings involved have been at the Blackthorn gallery.Remember the printout David gave us at the gallery with the names of all the paintings?"

“Yeah,” Finn said.“You’re right.So far, it contains the names of the paintings used by the murderer, as well as others.”

“I wonder if they are all fakes,” Eleanor pondered out loud.

Finn lingered in the corridor, fatigue settling deep in his bones.The overhead lights harsh on his eyes, and a faint rumble of activity from other offices wrapped around him.He caught Eleanor’s eye.She looked equally spent, hair mussed and jacket rumpled.Their chase and interview had drained them, and they were no closer to identifying the real killer.

“You're not used to the hunt, are you?”Finn asked with a smile.

“I can keep up,” she said.

“No doubt.”

She sighed.“We have to keep digging for a link.If Harrison’s telling the truth, we’re missing something else connecting to those paintings.”

Finn rubbed the back of his neck.“Agreed.But for now, let’s get some rest.It’s been a day.”

She nodded, then parted her lips as if to say something else, but nodded and said “good night, Finn.”

“Do you need a lift?”Finn asked.

“No,” she said.“Rob has organized something for me.See you tomorrow.”

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