"Go. I'll wander around and see if I can learn something about art or maybe find an attractive, single, art collector."
He smiled, doubting she'd have any trouble doing that. He headed across the room but was almost immediately waylaid by his father's former assistant, Gretchen Vale.
"Flynn, is that you?" she asked, surprise in her eyes.
"Gretchen."
She gave him a confused look. "I can't believe you're here, at an art museum. I thought you had given up your love of art after your dad…"
"That was a long time ago. You look well. Are you still running the gallery in Laguna Beach?" After his father's departure, Gretchen had taken over his gallery, changing the name but keeping some of their customer base.
"Yes. I'm here with my husband, Stephen, although I don't know where he is at the moment. You remember Stephen."
"I do."
"How have you been, Flynn?"
"I'm good."
"What are you up to now?"
"I'd love to chat, but I have to meet someone. Excuse me."
"Of course. Maybe we can catch up later, Flynn. There are things we should talk about."
He couldn't imagine what those things could be. "That would be great," he lied. The last person he wanted to talk to was Gretchen. He didn't know what he really thought about her, but the one thing he did know was that he couldn't trust her.
Moving across the room, he turned down the hallway where he'd seen Arthur go. As he came around a corner, he ran smack into Arthur's stepdaughter, Callie Harper.
He caught her by the arm as she stumbled. "Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't see you."
"It's fine," she said quickly.
She glanced away, but not before he saw what looked like tears in her dark eyes.
His gut clenched at her beauty, at her inexplicable sorrow. Before he could ask her if she was all right, she slipped past him. He thought about following her, but he needed to focus on finding Arthur. He checked the nearby restroom, but it was empty. He wandered down the hall, scanning the two nearby exhibit rooms for any sign of Arthur, but he was not among those admiring the work of German sculptor, Heinrich Schmidt, or in the crowd viewing the erotic art of Sylvia Plum.
When he stepped into the corridor, the museum speaker announced that the exhibit would be opening shortly in the grand hall. He joined the throng of guests making their way back to the center of the building.
He scanned the hall for Arthur, but there was no sign of him. Nor did he see Juliette or Callie. The absence of all three was somewhat disturbing.
Savannah came up next to him. "Did you find Judge Corbyn?"
"No. And I don't see him now."
"Neither do I. Maybe he's on one of the other floors. The entire museum is open tonight, right?"
"I believe so. But why wouldn't he be here now, supporting Gerard?" His bad feeling grew as Victoria Waltham stepped up to the microphone. After welcoming the guests, she directed their attention to a large screen for a short video of Gerard's life and work.
As the video ended, Callie came back into the hall. She took a glass of champagne from a waiter, her attention on the stage as Gerard stepped onto the stage. The artist thanked everyone for coming and talked about his inspiration for his latest collection.
Flynn barely heard what Gerard was saying, every nerve in his body on high alert. Something was wrong.
Where the hell was Arthur?
He heard a crashing noise overhead. It was so loud that Gerard paused, and the entire crowd looked upward just in time to see a body come over the fourth-floor railing.
A woman screamed. The guests scattered as the body crashed to the ground. People ran for the doors, diving for cover behind statues, not sure where the danger was coming from.
He pushed through the crowd, the first to run toward the body and not away.
When he saw the crumpled body of a man, his brown eyes wide open, his gaze fixed in disbelief, the breath left his chest.
It was Arthur Corbyn. And he was dead.
Chapter Two
Flynn squatted down next to Arthur's body, wondering if there was anything he could do to help him, but it was clear from the positioning of his body that Arthur's neck was broken. There was a pool of blood gathering under his head, spreading across the stage in an alarming amount. Arthur's pants were halfway down his thighs, revealing white briefs. Only his face was unmarred by the violence that had taken his life.
Savannah came up behind him. He gave her a grim look. "He's gone."
"I'm sorry," she said, concern in her eyes.
He stood up, glancing overhead. "I'm going upstairs."
"I'll stay here."
He jogged over to the stairway, taking the steps three at a time, until he reached the top floor. A broken vase and a champagne glass were on the ground near the spot where Arthur had gone over the railing. As he looked over the rail, he could see the chaos in the grand hall. The small stage had emptied. There were broken champagne glasses on the floor, trays dropped haphazardly, some personal items strewn about in the rush toward the exits.
And there was Arthur's body in the middle of everything. Savannah and a security guard stood next to the body.
Then Juliette ran forward, screaming in anguish, her daughter, Callie, right behind her. The guard held her back to maintain the integrity of the crime scene, getting some help from the museum director Victoria Waltham, who was trying to comfort Juliette.
But he doubted Juliette could hear or see anyone but Arthur. He couldn't blame her for her hysterical screams. She'd just witnessed her husband's death.
Beyond the small circle surrounding Arthur, he could see that most of the guests had already fled the building, with probably the killer among them. Anger and frustration ran through him.
He should have pressed Arthur for more information. He should have insisted they talk immediately. But regrets would get him nowhere. He might not have been able to save Arthur, but he would find his killer. He would get him justice.
Pulling out his phone, he snapped several photos of the scene below, then did the same for the broken vase near his feet. He moved down the corridor. There were two exhibit rooms on this floor as well as two restrooms. He moved in and out of those rooms, but they were empty and there was no sign of a struggle or an additional crime scene. There were, however, security cameras, so hopefully there would be helpful footage.
He snapped several more photos and then made his way back into the hallway as Savannah came up the stairs, with a man in a dark suit, who was wearing an earpiece.
"Flynn, this is Rand Bentley, director of museum security," Savannah said.
"Mr. Bentley. I'm Agent MacKenzie."
"Did you find anything up here?" Rand asked.
"Just a shattered vase and a broken champagne glass. No obvious trace of blood on the railing. I'm hoping the cameras caught the judge's fall."
Rand's lips tightened in anger. "Unfortunately, the system went down several minutes before Judge Corbyn fell over the railing. My tech guy believes the system was hacked."
His stomach twisted at that piece of information. "Then this was planned. It was no accident."
"It doesn't appear to be. Can you tell me why you and Agent Kane were here at the event? Was there a concern I wasn't aware of?"
"We were simply here for the exhibit." He preferred to keep Arthur's request to himself for the moment. "But I do know the victim. He's a federal judge."
"I'm aware. Judge Corbyn has been a patron of the museum for many years. And with his wife, Juliette, working here, the judge is part of our family. This is a tragedy." Rand cleared his throat as emotion thickened his voice. "The police have arrived. I'm sure you'll want to speak to them."
"Yes." When he returned to the ground floor, he met up with Detective Miles Gage, a balding, dark-eyed man who appeared to be in his late forties.
"I'm Agent MacKenzie. This is Agent Kane," he said. "The victim is a federal judge, so we'll need to work together."
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"Fine with me. I'm not into turf wars," the detective replied. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"All I know is that Judge Corbyn was thrown over the fourth-floor railing. There's a broken vase nearby. The security cameras were hacked and apparently off-line during the incident. But we'll need to look at the footage up until that point."
"You're sure he didn't just fall?" the detective asked. "Was he drinking?"
"He wasn't drunk, and he didn't fall."
"How did you happen to be here?"
"I'm an art lover."
"Both of you?" Gage asked, his sharp gaze drifting to Savannah.
She gave him a brief smile. "I came for the champagne."
The detective smiled at her, as most men did when Savannah turned on the charm. Flynn was more than happy to let her take the lead with Gage. She was great at forging relationships that could be helpful to the team.
"The medical examiner and forensics investigator are on their way," Gage added. "I've called in additional officers to take witness statements. There's a large crowd outside."
"Good. Because the killer could be among them."
"That's the family?" Gage tipped his head toward Juliette, who was weeping in her daughter's arms. Other museum staffers looked on with uncomfortable sympathy.
"Yes, the judge's wife, Juliette Corbyn, is the events director. Holding her is her daughter, Callie Harper."
As Callie wrapped her arms around her mother, she glanced over at Arthur's body, and her expression was not one of anger or sadness; it looked like relief. He frowned at that errant thought.
"I'll get their statements,” Gage said. "Looks like it's going to be a long night."
"I'll be right with you," Flynn said, as Savannah and Gage moved toward Juliette.
He punched in Damon's number.
"What's up?" Damon asked.
"I just caught a murder case. It will be headed to your office, but I want it."
"What happened?"
"A federal judge was murdered at the Piquard Museum tonight—Judge Arthur Corbyn. He's someone I used to know. In fact, I was at the exhibition at his request. He said someone was watching him and he was in a tricky situation. He needed my help, but he didn't have a chance to tell me anything else before he was killed."
"I'm sorry. But if this is personal, Flynn, we should run with it. The murder of a federal judge is going to put a lot of eyes on this case."
"I'm aware. I'm also extremely motivated, and I'm already working the case. Savannah is here as well."
"Got it. I either get out of your way, or you'll be in mine," Damon said dryly.
"Then we understand each other."
"All right. You're in charge but keep me in the loop."
"Will do."
As he hung up, he saw Juliette, Callie, Detective Gage, and Savannah walking toward the executive office suite. Juliette was still crying, but maybe she could pull herself a little more together when she didn't have to look at her husband's body.
While he wanted to join them, he headed first to the security center. Rand Bentley was there and was happy to pull up the camera footage.
"We picked up Judge Corbyn on the second floor approximately eight minutes before he fell," Rand said. "He walked into the Monet exhibit, as you can see."
He nodded, feeling a tightness in his chest as he watched some of Arthur's last moments. He moved around the exhibit without glancing at any of the paintings. There was no one else in the room, but he appeared to be looking for someone. He checked his watch and then a woman came into view—Juliette.
His gut clenched. Juliette looked angry. She was talking fast and waving her hand in the air. Arthur seemed to be trying to tell her to calm down. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away and left the room. Arthur glanced at his watch once more, waited for several seconds and then moved back into the hall. An elderly couple walked past him. Then Arthur headed toward the stairs, where he ran into Stephen Vale, Gretchen's husband.
He'd known Stephen a very long time ago, when he was a struggling painter and part-time delivery person. That was years ago, before he and Gretchen had gotten married and taken over his father's gallery. Stephen exchanged a few words with Arthur and then he went downstairs while Arthur headed up. A moment later, the footage stopped.
"That's it," Rand said. "We just got the cameras back online a few minutes ago."
"I'd like to get one of my techs over here to work with your guys, see if we can figure out where the hack might have come from."
"We'll take all the help we can get."
He texted his cyber expert, Lucas Raines, explaining what he needed and asking him to come down to the museum as soon as possible. Then he went to find Juliette.
She'd spoken to her husband only minutes before his death, and they'd argued about something. He needed to know what that was about.
Callie and Juliette were seated on a couch in the director's office, but there was no sign of Victoria. Savannah and Gage were on their feet in front of them.
Juliette was still crying, constantly rubbing a wad of tissues across her dripping eyes and nose.
"I need to see Arthur," Juliette sobbed. "I need to go to the hospital."
"Mom, he's gone," Callie said gently, her arm around her mom's fragile shoulders.
"He can't be. He just can't be."
"Are we done here?" Callie asked sharply. "We've told you everything we know, which is nothing. We didn't see who pushed Arthur over the railing. We don't know anything. I need to get my mom home. She needs time to process everything."
Before either Savannah or Gage could answer, he said, "One moment." Her gaze flew to his, and he could see the anger in her eyes.
"What?" she snapped.
"I have a question for Juliette," he returned.
Juliette gave him a teary look. "You're Arthur's old friend."
"Yes, and I want to help you."
"No one can help me. Arthur is…dead." She finished that sentence with a sob.
"You spoke to Arthur in the Monet room on the second floor a few minutes before he went upstairs. It looked like you were arguing. What was that conversation about?"
She gave him a blank look. "What?"
"You spoke to your husband shortly before he was killed. You seemed angry. I'd like to know what you were talking about."
Juliette glanced at her daughter, as if seeking help from her.
Callie lifted her chin as she faced him. "My mom is very upset. Can this wait?"
"It really can't. It's a simple question."
Callie's gaze moved back to her mother, then she said, "Were you and Arthur still arguing about your weekend plans?"
"Yes. That's right. I wanted Arthur to go to a party with me tomorrow night, but he wanted to head down to Palm Springs again. January is too cold in the desert. I didn't want to go. Is that what you wanted to know? I'm sorry if I'm not making sense. I'm so shocked. I feel like I'm in the middle of a nightmare. Is this a dream? Am I going to wake up?"
He wasn't sure what to think of Juliette. She was definitely a mess of emotion, her eyes bloodshot, her nose red. She seemed genuinely shattered, but his simple question had confused her, and Callie had led her mother to an answer. Was there more going on than just runaway shock and grief?
"My mother and I are happy to answer questions tomorrow," Callie said. "But I need to get her home now. Can we please leave?"
He glanced at Savannah and Gage. Gage shrugged, and Savannah gave him a subtle nod, as if to say there was nothing more to be gained at this moment.
"All right," he said. "We'll have a police officer take you home."
"That's not necessary. We hired a limo for the night. I'm sure it's outside," Callie said, pulling her mom to her feet.
"I'll make sure you find it," he said, leading them out of the room.
Callie tried to hurry her mother along, but as they entered the grand hall, Juliette hung back, her gaze returning to Arthur, although his body was surround
ed by security and crime scene investigators.
"I still can't believe it," she said.
"Let's go, Mom," Callie said, determination in her gaze as she pushed her mom in the direction of the entrance.
He kept the crowd at bay as they made their way out to the circular drive. A few staff members offered condolences to Juliette, but Callie didn't seem inclined to let her mom stop and talk to anyone.
Finally, they got to the limo. The driver was standing next to the vehicle. He gave them a compassionate look as he opened the doors. He'd apparently heard the news.
Juliette got in first. Callie paused, glancing back at him. "Are you really Arthur's friend?"
"Yes, and I will do everything I can to find his killer." He didn't know if she took his words as a promise or a threat, because while Juliette was a ball of emotion, Callie was completely unreadable. There were dark shadows of worry in her eyes, but he didn't know if that worry was for Arthur or for her mother.
"I hope you succeed," she said.
"I will. No doubt about it."
"How do you know that my mom and Arthur were having an argument?"
"Because their discussion was caught on the security camera." He paused. "What are you worried about?"
"Right now? Everything. My mother's husband died right in front of me."
"Are you concerned for your mother's safety?"
"Should I be?" she countered.
"I don't know," he said honestly.
She frowned. "Arthur's house has a security system."
"Make sure to use it."
"I will."
"And Callie—"
"What?" she asked shortly.
"Why were you crying earlier tonight? When I ran into you in the hallway, there were tears in your eyes."
"I was having an allergy attack."
He gave her a hard look. "I don't believe you."
"I don't care if you believe me or not."
"You should care. I could be your best friend or your worst enemy. Think about that before we speak tomorrow."
"My mother and I have said everything there is to say. I'm not trying to be combative, but we spoke to the police detective and the other agent before you came into the room. You should check with them if you want more details. I don't have anything else to tell you."
Ruthless Cross Page 2