Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

Daily? Why stop there? How about hourly?

Jason clicked off and glanced at Kennedy. Kennedy seemed to have nothing more on his mind than angling the car into one of those too-small painted slots.

They parked and got out of the car without further conversation.

Jason’s phone rang as they walked around the side of the building.

“ And another thing,” Kennedy murmured.

Jason threw him a harassed look, but it was not SAC Manning this time. It was one of Jason’s dealer contacts. Priya Ort-Rossington ran an upscale folk art gallery in New York specializing in woodcarving and sculpture.

“Agent West, what a nice surprise to hear from you. Gerda and I heard about your being shot. Oh my God . So awful. We were in shock. We’re so glad you’re back.”

Jason relaxed. He had history with Priya and her partner—business and romantic partner—Gerda Ort. Two years ago art thieves had used their gallery to fence stolen Haida argillite artifacts. Jason had managed to apprehend the thieves and recover the carvings, while keeping the gallery’s name out of the press—thereby earning Priya and Gerda’s undying gratitude.

“Thanks,” Jason said. “It’s good to be back.”

“As it turns out, I actually have information for you on the artist you were inquiring after.”

Jason stopped walking. “You know who the artist is?”

“I’m almost positive I do. In fact—this is what’s so bizarre—Gerda and I were discussing him a few days ago, wondering whatever happened to him.”

“What’s the name of this artist?”

“Kyser. Jeremy Kyser. What’s so interesting about him is he was actually a doctor. A psychologist, I think. He did these wonderful, detailed carvings in his spare time.”

Kennedy walked back to where Jason stood. He watched Jason closely.

“Dr. Jeremy Kyser,” Jason repeated. He nodded at Kennedy.

Kennedy’s expression changed.

“Yes. I don’t think he had any expectation of becoming a professional artist. He said his work was very stressful, and he found carving a way of relaxing, of centering his mind. You saw the work. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought they were traditional netsuke . A very gifted amateur artist.”

“Do you have contact information on Kyser?”

“Yes, I do, but it might be out of date. As I said, we haven’t heard from him in years. For a while he used to regularly bring us his carvings, and they always sold very well. Then all at once he stopped. He didn’t respond to phone calls or emails. That’s the artistic temperament for you, though usually when artists are selling they don’t wander off without a word.”

“No,” Jason said. “They don’t. What was that contact info?”

Rustling sounds on the other end of the line. “Here we go. Dr. Jeremy Kyser. He’s in Massachusetts. Or used to be. I remember he lived in an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. A place called Old Mill Pond.”

“In Hampden County?” He couldn’t believe it.

Priya laughed. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know that.” She rattled off the address, and Jason typed it into his notes.

“This is very helpful. Thank you, Priya.”

“Oh, our pleasure. We’re so happy to help. When do you think you’ll be in New York again?”

“It’s hard to say.” Jason chitchatted with Priya for another minute or two, tongue on automatic pilot, eyes on Kennedy. His mind raced ahead. All this time he was right under our noses .

At last he was able to disconnect.

“And?” Kennedy demanded.

Jason said, “Dr. Jeremy Kyser lives—or at least used to live—less than thirteen miles from here.”

Chapter Seventeen

“You don’t look any the worse for wear, Agent West,” Chief Gervase greeted Jason. “Glad to see you back on the job.”

“That’s youth for you,” Kennedy said.

Gervase grinned. “That’s exactly what I used to think about you, Agent Kennedy.”

Kennedy snorted.

“It’s been an interesting twenty-four hours,” Gervase said, leading the way back to his office. “We’ve had some developments you’ll want to hear about.” He called toward the direction of the front desk, “Could we get coffee, Officer Courtney?”

“Coming, Chief!”

Boxner was already in Gervase’s office going through his file cabinet. He jumped guiltily at their arrival, and Gervase said, “How many times have I told you to ask before you start pawing through my files? This isn’t your office yet, Boyd.” He sounded more resigned than annoyed.

Boxner, face red, leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “I just wanted to double-check something.”

“What?”

“It’ll keep.”

Gervase sighed and shook his head. He took the chair behind his desk. “First things first. Tony McEnroe has no alibi for the night Candy Davies was abducted.” He directed a challenging look at Kennedy.

“McEnroe is not our unsub.” Kennedy was uncompromising as usual.

Gervase’s face tightened, his eyes hardened. Jason sighed inwardly. He agreed with Kennedy, but would it kill him to occasionally soften his delivery, at least pretend he didn’t think he had all the answers?

Gervase leaned back in his chair. “Then do enlighten us, Special Agent Kennedy.” He nodded in curt thanks to Officer Courtney who had appeared with a tray of steaming coffee mugs.

Kennedy said, “West has developed a promising lead on the artist who carved the original mermaid charms. It turns out he lives locally.”

Gervase took a cup from the tray and threw Jason a startled look. “Is that so?”

Jason said, “Yes. Dr. Jeremy Kyser is one of Pink’s two permitted outside contacts. He’s supposed to be working on a book about serial killers. But as it happens, he’s also a talented amateur artist. We—I believe—we’ve got verification that he carved the mermaid charms.”

“That’s what I call a big coincidence,” Gervase said.

“What are we waiting for?” Boxner stepped away from the wall. “I’ll go talk to him right now.”

Jason opened his mouth to object. He had uncovered this lead, and this was by rights his line of inquiry.

Except…the FBI was there at the invitation of Kingsfield PD. They couldn’t take over the investigation, couldn’t even insist on conducting interviews of suspects without the permission of local law enforcement. Technically, they were there to advise and assist.

“Okay, slow down,” Gervase said. “We need to understand what we’re dealing with. Kyser’s name never came up in the original investigation.”

“But that’s it; that’s what this is about,” Boxner said, and as much as Jason disliked Boxner, he couldn’t help sounding his agreement and approval.

“Now hold on, you two,” Gervase said. “If these charms had been produced by Acme Corporation, we wouldn’t be considering Acme Corporation a suspect. Let’s not confuse cause and effect. The Corrigan girl had that mermaid for months before her death. Pink didn’t plant it on her.”

“I don’t see what you’re getting at,” Boxner said, and once again Jason was in agreement. The charms were not mass produced. They were the work of a local artist. That personal connection could not be ignored.

Kennedy said, “The Corrigan girl was the first victim. Everything that happened in her case set the pattern for the subsequent killings. It’s very possible Pink bought the other charms to match Honey’s.”

“So what?” Boxner said. “We’ve got the man who made the charms. That’s a lead.”

“Yes, it is, and I think you and West should follow it up together,” Kennedy said. He ignored Jason’s startled look. “I’m not arguing with you. I agree that this is a line of inquiry that needs to be pursued. Before you pursue it, though, we need to keep in mind a couple of facts. The first one being, that as sinister as his emergence in this case might look, so far Kyser’s involvement is tangential. Assuming he is the artist—and we’ve yet to confirm that—” He shot Jason a cool look. “He may have become interested in Pink’s case partly because Pink used Kyser’s own creations in his crimes. That is certainly going to get someone’s attention.”