The Art of Violence: A Lydia ChinBill Smith Novel by S. J. Rozan

Author:S. J. Rozan [Rozan, S. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, General, women sleuths
ISBN: 9781643135328
Google: zYfSDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2020-12-01T00:28:11.119016+00:00

19

As we rolled over the bridge, I caught glimpses of Sam in the rearview mirror, oscillating his fascinated glance from the windshield to the windows on either side as though he’d never seen the Manhattan skyline before. If he remembered the dread that was taking us there, I didn’t see it. No one spoke, but Lydia, with a look, conveyed her question to me: Had anyone really been in Sam’s apartment? I shrugged my answer. Given Sam’s OCD, it was possible that the items he saw as having been moved actually had been. Given the lunacy of last night and this morning, it was also possible that he had been less assiduous than usual and what he was seeing—and reacting to with fear—were marks of his own loosening of control. As usual with Sam, what you saw depended on where you stood.

At the studio building, I parked in another loading zone, this time sticking the DELIVERY sign in the windshield. It’s surprising how often this gives me half an hour or so before some traffic cop begins to question why an Audi would be making a delivery. Lydia and I took the elevator up with Sam. Before he could get his studio unlocked, the half-opened door down the hall flew wide and Ellissa Cromley rushed out.

“Sam!” She threw her thin arms around him. Sam staggered, but he looked pleased. “Are you all right? Oh my God, look at your face! Why didn’t you answer my calls? Where did you go?”

Sam tilted his head.

“I called you!” she said. “Like a million times! I was so worried last night, that mob! You shouldn’t have gone out there. By the time I got out I couldn’t get to you, and people said you’d run away. Then the police came. And then some woman got killed. Everyone in the building is talking about it. But I know you didn’t do it.”

Cromley gave me a reproachful glare, including Lydia in it in case she was guilty of Criminal Disregard of Sam, too. I answered with a steady gaze, Lydia offered a warm smile, and Sam, missing all this, took out his phone and poked buttons.

“Oh,” he said. “You did call. I guess I had it off since last night.” He looked at me. “Hey, you called today, too.” I didn’t know if I was supposed to respond to that, but before I could he said, “Oh, look! Tony called, too! And Peter.” He looked at Cromley. “I think I did kill that woman.”

He turned to the door, and before Cromley could respond, he’d managed to punch the right numbers into the keypad. He ambled into his studio, leaving the door open for the rest of us to trail in his wake. Lydia and I did, but Cromley apparently wasn’t in a sociable mood.

“Don’t call them back!” she yelled from the hallway. “Tony or Peter. Do not call anyone back. You didn’t kill anyone. I need to tell you something. Come over later.” She swept me and Lydia with the glare again.

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