Drawn Read online

  “You may have forgiven him,” she told her mother, “but I’m not there yet and I don’t know if I ever will be.” She watched her mother tear up and instantly experienced a sting of remorse, but not enough to change her mind. “Let’s talk about something else. Have a seat. Do you want a cup of tea?”

  “I can’t stay.” Her mother glanced toward the door.

  Riley’s stomach dropped. “He came with you, didn’t he?” She walked to the window that overlooked the parking lot. “Is he waiting in the car while you’re in here trying to smooth the way?”

  “What did you expect? You won’t talk to him, but I’d thought you’d do this small thing for me.”

  Riley pushed past the manipulation, but it galled her all the same. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t ever talk to him, but no, I’m not ready to talk to him right now, and you trying to push me into it isn’t going to rush things along.”

  “I don’t understand you, Riley.”

  “That makes two of us because I don’t understand you either.” She glanced back at her easel. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I have to get back to work. I’ll think about getting together with him. I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise.”

  Her mother stared hard, like she was trying to divine if Riley was lying to get her to go away. She definitely did want her to go away, but she was also willing to sleep on her mother’s request rather than continue to reject her father’s overtures if only to keep the peace.

  “Okay, but if you don’t call, I’m going to stalk you.”

  “Deal.” She watched her mother walk down the stairs and out the door into the rain, but quickly shut the door. She wasn’t in the headspace right now to meet Frank’s pleading look. Let him be the one to watch and make sure her mother didn’t slip on the sidewalk. Lord knows she’d done her share of taking care of her mother in his absence.

  Her tea was cold, and she’d neglected to leave the kettle warming, so she started her ritual over again, selecting a brew with less caffeine this time. When she’d fixed the perfect cup, she carried it to the easel and stared at the work in progress, making mental notes to assess her next steps. She’d finished half of her tea and had a solid plan when the doorbell rang again. Cursing silently, she strode to the door, ready to tell her mother or her father or whoever thought it was okay to constantly show up unannounced, that she was fucking working, but when she opened the door, words failed her as she met the intense blue eyes of Detective Claire Hanlon, and her partner, what’s his name.

  * * *

  Claire looked up from her desk at Nick who was waving a sheet of paper at her head. “What’s up?”

  “Buster Creel, the guy who runs that sketch club? He sent the list.”

  “Really?” Despite what she’d said when they were leaving the bar yesterday, she was a little surprised Buster had complied with their request. “Let me see.”

  He handed her a copy and stared at his own, running a finger down the list. “There are a couple of dozen names on here, but he underlined a few that rarely show up to their meet-ups, and he put stars by the names of the ones who were in Deep Ellum last Saturday. Should be easy to find your muscled-up friend on the list.” He stabbed at the paper. “Here we go, Riley Flynn. This has to be her.”

  Claire ignored his “friend” remark. Nick had made it clear several times he thought her focus on a woman as the perp was off the mark. He might be right, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious Riley and she was determined her distraction was because Riley might have some connection to the murder and not because she wasn’t able to control her own impulses. “Let’s run a background check, and then find a time to talk to her when she’s not with her friends. We should go ahead and talk to the rest of the people on the list too, and—” A sudden realization stunted her ability to speak.

  “And?” Nick rolled his hand to urge her on. “What’s up?”

  “Hold up. What did you say Riley’s last name is?” She grabbed the paper with the list of names off her desk.

  “Flynn, why?” Nick asked. A second later, his face scrunched into a frown. “Oh, wait.”

  “That would be too much of a coincidence, right?”

  Nick tapped away on his phone. “It should be, but it’s not. She’s Frank Flynn’s daughter.”

  “Holy hell.” Claire groaned. “This case just turned into a hot mess. Everything we do from here on out has to be discreet. If word gets out we’re talking to Frank Flynn’s daughter about a murder, we’re going to have press crawling all over us, not to mention those Innocence Project watchdog groups.”

  “Where do you want to start?”

  Claire stood and put on her suit jacket. “Let’s go pay her a visit. Right now, before there’s any chance of a leak.” She tossed him the keys and led the way to the car before he could comment on how out of character it was for her to relinquish control of the wheel twice in one week. He’d be wrong anyway. She wanted complete control of any information she could find out about Riley Flynn before they showed up on her doorstep, and the internet was going to give it to her.

  A few minutes later, she was wading through page after page of search results from typing in the simple search “Frank Flynn’s daughter Riley.” Riley had been fourteen when her father was arrested for murder. Fifteen when he went to trial, and she’d turned twenty-nine two months before his release. Claire clicked on Google images and scanned photos of teenage Riley accompanying her mother into and out of the courthouse during her father’s trial.

  Had Riley been close to her father? Had they kept in touch? How did she feel about his release? She’d never given an interview, never published anything in print or online about her father. Whatever opinions she had about his case weren’t in the public realm.

  “We’re almost here,” Nick said. “You find anything interesting?”

  Claire looked at him and tried to compute his words. They were driving down a tree lined street in Uptown, and a glance at the dashboard told her twenty minutes had passed, but she felt like it had only been five. “Not a lot. She doesn’t appear to have a social media presence, and after Frank went to prison, it’s like she disappeared completely from the web. There are some photos of her and her mother from the trial, but other than that, nada. Apparently, she’s debuting her work at the Lofton Gallery next month, but I haven’t been able to find any examples of her artwork online. The write-up on the gallery’s website says her work will be shown in public for the first time on the night of the opening.”

  “So, the drawing thing is definitely not just a hobby for her?”

  “Appears that way. She teaches a few art classes at Richards,” Claire said. “But that can’t pay a ton, so she must be making some money some other way.” She pointed at her phone. “Not much on here about her relationship with her father. She doesn’t give interviews and the only quote I could find was ‘no comment.’”

  Nick pulled over in front of a large brownstone. “How do you want to play this?”

  Claire hated ceding control, but Riley’s angry reaction to her when they’d first met was a sign they needed to take a different approach. “It’s pretty clear I rub her the wrong way. Guess you better pull out your sensitive guy magic and charm her into talking to us. Maybe emphasize she’s not a suspect right now, that we’re talking to everyone in the sketch club to gather info for the investigation. If we press too hard, she may lawyer up, especially since her dad’s been in the system and knows the drill.”

  Nick gave her a mock salute. “Roger all that. Be nice, don’t press, but get her to confess.”

  Claire ignored his mocking. They both knew she was a hyper control freak, and she’d long since given up trying to change. Her methods meant they closed more cases than any other team on the squad, and her theory was don’t mess with success. As for confessions, she didn’t expect Riley to break down and admit to killing Jill Shasta, no matter how they handled the situation. Deep down, she was wavering about whether Riley was involved. Rile
y’s reaction to them at the bar could be explained as a natural distrust for law enforcement, a by-product of her father’s case. But Claire sensed there was something deeper, and Claire was determined to find out what it was, even if it meant she had to play second to Nick’s lead.

  The front door to the brownstone was about one-third glass panels, allowing them to see into the foyer. There was a door on either side and a set of stairs that likely led to two more apartments upstairs. Neither of the numbers on the downstairs doors matched the address they’d obtained, which meant she must have an apartment upstairs. Claire filed that fact away with a note to talk to the downstairs neighbors about Riley’s comings and goings. She tried the door to the foyer and was surprised to find it unlocked. A newer apartment building would have security in place or at least an intercom, but not here, thankfully. She started up the stairs but paused at the first landing and motioned for Nick to go first. When they reached Riley’s door, she took a moment to assess the second level of the building. There wasn’t another door opposite hers like there was downstairs, which she took to mean the entire second floor was one apartment, which meant it was larger than most in this part of town. Riley must be doing okay to have this kind of space.

  Quit jumping to conclusions. For all you know she has a roommate or… Claire shook away the idea that Riley was part of a couple and actively ignored why she didn’t want to go there. She was saved from further examination of her motives when Nick knocked on the door. Claire fixed her face in what she hoped was a friendly, talk to us because we just want to see justice done expression, and waited for Riley to answer the door.

  “Mom, seriously—” Riley froze in the doorway and stared them down. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’d like to talk to you,” Nick said. “Buster mentioned you know the city better than most and you have an eye for detail. We need all the help we can get.”

  Claire nodded along with him, both proud and surprised at how smoothly he was able to lie. Judging by the slight relaxation of Riley’s features, he’d hit exactly the right note. Riley hesitated for a moment, but then she invited them in.

  “I don’t have a lot of time,” she said, standing in the middle of her apartment. “What do you need?”

  Claire looked around, in awe of the large open space. A room screen on the far side of the room likely hid a bedroom, and directly in front of it was a weight bench and a small rack of various weights. Floor to ceiling windows let in tons of light, and easels were scattered around the room, all covered except one. She zeroed in on the painting, a few feet from the door. A work in progress judging by the paint palette and jars of water on a high table next to it. She stepped closer. It was a painting of the Eye, a three-story sculpture of an eyeball in the middle of downtown. She’d seen several renderings of the funky sculpture in galleries around town, but this one stirred a feeling in her none of the others had. Riley had used oil paints to depict the eye, set against a backdrop of a brewing thunderstorm with rolling black clouds and shards of lightning piercing the dark sky. Had Riley been standing outside painting when the storm came up? Had it chased her away or had she stood her ground to document the incredible scene?

  Riley stepped closer and stood in front of the easel, blocking her view. “You have questions?”

  They were standing close now and Riley’s nearness made her agitated. Claire rarely blinked, but disconcerted, she filed away her questions and took a step back. She shot a look at Nick who was watching them with a curious expression.

  Nick motioned to the couch and chairs in the middle of the room. “Mind if we have a seat?”

  Riley looked hesitant, but not many people could resist Nick’s easy charm. “Okay, but I’m serious. I don’t have a lot of time. I’m on a deadline.”

  “Art show?” Nick asked as he settled into the chair, leaving the couch for Claire and Riley. Claire silently cursed him and sat as far from Riley as possible on the opposite end of the couch.

  “Yes,” Riley answered.

  “I think I read something about that. It’s your first solo show, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Claire forced a smile. “That’s exciting.”

  “I suppose.”

  Claire met Nick’s eyes and telegraphed her annoyance. It was as if Riley had been schooled in witness stand behavior by a skilled defense attorney. Or the next best thing—her criminal father. Her willingness to let someone else control the conversation was fading fast. “I get why you might not want to talk to us.”

  Riley turned slightly and fixed her with an icy stare. “Really?”

  Claire hadn’t expected Riley to warm up right away, but the total freeze was surprising. Claire knew everyone viewed her as kind of a hard-ass, but she thought she did a good job of projecting an engaging persona. She was used to people opening up, not shutting down, when she tried to engage. Back at the bar, when she and Riley had exchanged flirtatious glances, she wouldn’t have predicted being completely shut out of the conversation, but she also didn’t have Riley’s history. What must it have been like having a father who was convicted of murder when you were still in high school? Claire could only imagine the taunts and bullying Riley must’ve endured during her father’s trial, and after his conviction. If she could channel some compassion here, she might be able to get Riley to open up to them.

  “Really,” she said, not looking away from Riley’s intense stare. “Your dad’s case is fresh on everyone’s minds these days.”

  Riley kept up her stare for a few more seconds before looking away, but before she did, Claire spotted a slight twitch. Certain she’d tapped into some level of emotion, she pressed on. “Yes, we are eager for you to talk to us or we wouldn’t have found out where you live and showed up unannounced, especially after you made it clear the first time we met you weren’t interested in talking to us. But I can promise you this—we are only after the truth. Someone brutally killed a young woman yards away from where you and your friends were meeting. If it were me, I’d want that someone caught and locked up as quickly as possible for society at large and for me and my friends who value their ability to feel safe while they roam around the city.”

  Riley’s flinch was almost imperceptible, but the reaction convinced Claire her words had struck a chord. “I’m thinking it’s possible you might have seen or heard something you may not even realize is important but talking about every detail might be revelatory. Will you help us?”

  For a second, it looked like Riley was about to waver. A slight quiver of her lip, again with the intense gaze. She folded and unfolded her hands, and then used them to push up from the couch. Claire watched her every move, not even looking away for a moment though she could feel Nick watching them from his seat on the chair. Once Riley was completely upright, she motioned to the door.

  “It’s time for you to go.”

  Claire was genuinely surprised. She’d been certain she’d tapped into some emotion, that Riley would talk, but apparently the outer shell was harder than she’d thought. She couldn’t resist one more try. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Riley pointed at the door again, leaving her hand in the air. “Now.”

  Claire caught Nick’s eye and gave a slight nod. Together they walked to the door, but Claire turned back before they left and held out a card. When Riley made no move to accept it, she set it on the table next to the door. “Give me a call when you’re ready to talk.” Then she followed Nick out the door, determined that one way or another she was going to unfreeze the icy stare Riley had cast her way.

  Chapter Five

  Claire leaned against her kitchen counter and willed her coffee maker to brew faster. She’d barely gotten any rest since being rousted from bed five nights ago with the news of Jill Shasta’s death, and for all their efforts, they were no closer to knowing who had committed the crime.

  Too bad they hadn’t found anything definitive about the artist who’d drawn the sketch they’d found in Jill Shasta’s pocket. Cla
ire closed her eyes and pictured the painting of the Eye in Riley’s apartment. The stunning image stuck with her, but she couldn’t say for sure based on that painting that Riley had created the sketch of the mural in Deep Ellum. Maybe she should’ve pushed harder with Riley, shown her the drawing so they could judge her reaction in real time. Nick had wanted to, but Claire had insisted on holding back. The sketch was the only real clue they had, and keeping it close gave them control over the investigation. If the press got wind of the sketch, they’d likely make the same connections she and Nick had and quickly learn Frank Flynn’s daughter had been at the crime scene hours before the murder occurred. Every move they made would be front-page fodder and any missteps would be magnified and used by a clever defense attorney to destroy their case. Besides, Riley wasn’t going anywhere. She had a gallery show coming up, and Nick had made some calls and found out she was showing up to teach her classes with no deviations to her schedule. The best thing they could do was be meticulous in their investigation and the right clue would turn up. She shrugged off a nagging voice in her head chiming in that keeping the information about the sketch quiet also protected Riley from press attention.

  Dark liquid started flowing from the coffee maker, and Claire snagged a cup before it finished brewing, adding a dash of cream to cool it down. With the first few sips, the faux feeling of rest swept through her, and she was ready to face the day. She fired off a text to Nick, asking if he’d set up times for them to talk to some of the other members of the sketch group and whether he’d gotten the list of Jill Shasta’s customers yet. While she waited for him to respond, she skimmed the local news on her phone. Shasta’s unsolved murder was buried deep in the Metro section behind stories about newer crimes, which was fine by her. She’d prefer to do all her work under the radar, even when increased attention earned her accolades within the department. She respected the job of the press and the public’s right to know what was going on in their community, but it didn’t seem right to be in the spotlight merely for doing her job. Besides, half the time when the press nagged on the department for perceived deficiencies, they just didn’t know the whole story and they rarely seemed to care that keeping secrets was part of her job.