Calliope added sheepishly, “The alarm isn’t hooked up to that door.”
Tox nodded. “We’ll fix that.” He glanced over at the corpse being loaded into a body bag. “A hitter followed her from Boston?”
Brigger met Tox’s gaze.
“She’s five-eight, dark hair, and based on the entry wound, she had her back to the window.”
Tox briefly closed his eyes. He had thought the body in the living room was Calliope when he first arrived on the scene. The assassin must have thought that same thing. He steeled his resolve. If he had to remain by her side day and night, he would. Nobody was touching a hair on her head.
Calliope broke the strained silence. “Where’s your partner?” She asked Brigger.
“Outside. She’s asking if any of the neighbors saw anything.”
“She?”
“Ronny Garcia,” Brigger confirmed.
“What happened to Costello?”
“Who’s Costello?” Brigger and Tox both awaited her reply.
“Um, the detective who came to my house the other day. Said he was your partner. He had I.D.”
Tox growled. “What did he want?”
“He said he was working on the Van Gent murder investigation and was just going over some facts to clarify…” Calliope’s eyes widened.
“What?” Tox squeezed her hand to mitigate his impatience.
“He wanted to know about the tube the painting came in. Why it wasn’t at the scene.” She turned to Tox. “I told him I gave it to you. He just asked so matter-of-factly, I didn’t even think about it.”
“What tube?” Brigger asked.
“It’s irrelevant now. Calliope took a container with her when she left Van Gent’s office that night. There were some valuable sketches hidden inside that a lot of people seem to want to get their hands on.”
“And where is it now?”
“In a vault. The art was stolen. The Feds are going to handle returning them to the museum that owns them.”
Seeing Brigger’s look of frustration, Tox was quick to mollify him. “It doesn’t play into your murder investigation. Van Gent came into possession of the art that night. Your killer wouldn’t have even known about it.”
Brigger nodded. “Good. This case is already hairier than a barber’s floor. Between the Feds, the SEC, the IRS, and a handful of bean counters, I’m about to start day drinking. A murderer is going to walk because I can’t do my job.”
“You’ll figure it out, man. You always do.”
“I don’t know this time. It’s like there’s this big piece of the puzzle that fell on the floor and nobody can seem to find it.”