Cursed by S.J. Harper Read Free Book Online

details, well . . . they’re slipping my mind these days.”
    “Do you recall what day it was that you last saw her?” I ask.
    He pauses, thinks for a minute. “The twenty-eighth of March? Maybe the twenty-ninth. I think it was a Tuesday. We could probably check my phone. I rang her before going over. She didn’t answer at first, but then she returned the call. Left a voice mail. I went right over to her studio. Took a cab. I don’t drive myself anymore. I’d guess I was there within thirty, forty minutes of getting her voice mail.”
    Remembering that SDPD’s check of local taxi and car services showed no record of a pickup at Amy’s address, I follow up with “Did you return by taxi as well?”
    Dexter nods. “I had the driver wait for me. We made a couple stops on the way back. The pharmacy. Then the corner market for some ice cream. I’m eating whatever I want for dinner these days. I figure I’m dying, so fuck it.” He pauses. “What’s this about?”
    “Amy has been reported missing,” I reveal.
    A shadow crosses his face but quickly passes. He shakes his head. “She has a showing in New York. I think it started two days ago. There’s an invitation on the desk over there.” He gestures toward an old rolltop in the corner. “Have you spoken with her manager?”
    Obviously Dexter hasn’t seen the news in the last couple of days.
    Before I have a chance to respond, Zack fires off another question. “Can you tell us what happened when you went to see Amy?”
    Dexter leans forward, his expression earnest. “Sure. Sure. She said on the voice mail she’d be in the studio, to let myself in. So I did.”
    “Did she often leave her apartment unlocked?” I ask.
    He shrugs. “I couldn’t tell you. It was that day. Amy was trying to finish a major piece for the show. She’d been up all night working on it, and was running on pure adrenaline. Music was blaring in the studio. I’m afraid I scared the shit out of her. I wasn’t there long. There just wasn’t any way she could do what I asked. I understood. I left. Wished her luck with the show.”
    As unlikely as it is that someone in Dexter’s condition would overpower a healthy woman on his own, get rid of the body, and tidy up a crime scene, that doesn’t explain how his fingerprints got on the brush.
    “What is it you wanted?” Zack takes a sip of his tea.
    I’ve finished mine and set the glass on the coffee table between us on a coaster.
    “The piece I’m working on out back is for charity. I was hoping she might be able to donate something for the same auction. I’d contacted her gallery manager a week or so prior. Haskell suggested I speak with Amy directly. It was a few days before I felt up to calling her. It turned out everything in her studio was spoken for. We chatted for a few minutes.” He sits back, sinking into the sofa. “She was excited about some new techniques she was experimenting with. She was planning a series incorporating gouache.”
    “What’s that?” Zack asks him.
    He points to a painting on the wall. “Think watercolor, only far more vibrant, bright. She’d just purchased a few series seven Kolinsky sable brushes, very expensive.”
    Zack pulls out his phone. “Is this one of them?” He shares the image from evidence with Dexter.
    For the first time he’s hesitant. “I think so.”
    “You handled it?” I ask.
    “Yes. Should I call a lawyer? Am I under suspicion again?”
    Again?
Zack and I glance at each other.
    “When I first saw you, I thought maybe you had news of Isabella,” Dexter says.
    Zack asks Dexter the question that’s sprung to both of our minds. “Who is Isabella?”
    Dexter looks confused. “So you’re not here because you think my knowing two missing women was too much of a coincidence?” His eyes are drawn to a photograph on the end table next to where he’s sitting. It’s of an attractive brunette. She’s barefoot on the beach, hair blowing in the breeze, smile radiant. He