Honor Role by Tim Hoy

Author:Tim Hoy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2019-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

“You’re joking,” Greg Shafer said. He leaned forward in his chair, seriously agitated. I stayed in mine, calm. We were in his studio. My return visit was both unscheduled and, apparently, unwelcome. I got straight to the point.

“You had access to cyanide, Mr. Shafer.”

He looked astonished. “You can’t be serious!”

“I couldn’t be more serious, Mr. Shafer. Cyanide is a highly regulated substance. It’s not easy to obtain, and when you do get your hands on some, there’s usually a record of the purchase. But every time you went to Artographia, it was right there for the taking.”

“I didn’t take anything. Look, Detective Inspector, lots of people have access to the workspace at Artographia. Every artist who’s ever worked with them, including the one whose print you now have hanging in your home.”

“She didn’t know Freddy Hayworth. You did.”

“How the hell do you know? Did you ask her?”

“I can,” I said.

“Be my guest. Maybe you should have done so before coming here and making offensive accusations.”

“I’ll get a list of artists who’ve used the place in the past year. Not a problem. You and I both know what I’ll find.”

“Ms. Grantley, you’re not the only person I’ve sent to Artographia. They’re open to the public, you know.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a pen and pad of paper from my bag, “I’m all ears. Name names, Mr. Shafer.”

“Well, at some point, lots of my friends have been there. A print for a mum’s birthday and so on. I get them a deal.” He rattled off a dozen names, some of which I knew. Mungo Kenroy, for example. And Freddy Hayworth, on more than one occasion, apparently. “He loved a deal,” Shafer said.

“But they wouldn’t have been allowed in the work space unaccompanied; that’s what Mr. Esterhazy told me. And how would anyone know there’d be poison in the workshop for the taking?”

“Isn’t that a question for you to answer?” Shafer asked. “First I knew was when you barged in here like a woman possessed. They make the paper, Detective Inspector; I don’t. They run the chem lab downstairs, not the artists.”

The Artographia workspace was indeed like a messy lab, or rather a part of it was. Most of the area held long tables on which the artists worked, preparing their creations to be printed. I went there directly from Shafer’s studio. He must have told them to expect me. The welcome mat was not out this time. Jan answered my questions but didn’t offer me a cup of coffee.

“It’s possible someone could have snuck in there unannounced, Detective Inspector,” said Esterhazy, “but I seriously doubt it. We do get patrons here, but not so many that the place is crawling with them. I keep a good eye on things, as does my staff. Of course, there’s the infrequent special occasion when we draw a crowd—”

“Describe ‘special occasion,’ please,” I asked.

“Exhibitions mostly. Opening night receptions. If an artist is working with our paper, and we like what we see, sometimes we give them a little party.

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