He shook hands with both detectives, but the entire time his gaze was on Sweeney, and when he saw how she was bundled in her coat, he made no effort to hide his worry. She had stood when she saw him, and now he stepped toward her, unobtrusively opening his suit jacket. When he folded her in his arms, she was wrapped inside the warmth of the garment, her cold hands sliding around to rest on his back at waist level. She buried her face in the curve of his shoulder, so relieved by his warmth and presence, the knowledge she was no longer alone, that she almost sagged against him.
“You should have called,” he murmured.
“And you should have told us about the painting yesterday” Aquino pointed out.
“I would have, if I had thought it would spare her this.”
“Do you verify you saw the painting in progress, days before Mrs. Worth was murdered?”
“Yes. I saw it from the first, when she had completed only two shoes.” He glanced up at the detectives. “I wasn’t at the scene, and you still have what Candra was wearing that night, so you’ll have to tell me if the clothing Sweeney painted was accurate. The dress was black, full-skirted, and the shoes were black pumps with little gold balls set in the heels. Right?”
“Right.”
He had just verified everything she had told them, Sweeney realized. He hadn’t been to her apartment since Candra’s death, so there was no way he could have seen the painting after the murder. What he had just described had been painted prior to the murder. They knew he hadn’t seen the clothing anywhere else.
“Okay, okay,” Aquino said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “Unless you two conspired to commit murder, for God only knows what reason, since you have no motive that I’ve been able to find, Ms. Sweeney is clear.”
“What about the painting?” Richard asked. “Do you want her to finish it?” She felt his arms tighten around her as he asked the question, and knew he worried about what she went through but couldn’t see any other option.
“By all means,” Ritenour said, after an agreeing nod from Aquino. “The painting is in no way admissible as evidence, but we do have some trace evidence that would provide the link, if we can identify the guy.”
“What if neither of us recognizes him?” Sweeney asked.
“With a good physical description, we should be able to match him to the surveillance tape, which shows the date and time. By matching the time to the guard’s signature log, we’d have him cold.”
Richard looked thoughtful. “I might recognize someone, if I saw the tape.”
“We didn’t,” Aquino said. “We’ve managed to get photos of most of the guys on the list—”
“What list?” asked Sweeney.
They ignored her. “—but the guard didn’t recognize any of them, and we couldn’t match any of them to the tape. We’re still tracking down the people who did register as visitors, but so far they’ve all checked out.”
“The painting’s our best bet right now,” Ritenour said.
Richard nodded. “I’ll stay with her tonight. I don’t want her to be alone. Kai has probably spread the news about the painting all over town, and whoever killed Candra could already know about it. Not only that, I can call you immediately if she finishes the face.”
Something in Richard’s voice must have alerted the detectives. “Mr. Worth,” said Aquino, “if you’re thinking about any heroics, I have to tell you I don’t think that’s such a good idea. If by any chance Ms. Sweeney should be in any danger, you should concentrate on getting her to safety and leaving the apprehension of a criminal to us.”
“Taking care of her is my prime consideration,” said Richard, and Sweeney wondered if they noticed he hadn’t necessarily agreed with them.
* * *
Edward was driving that night. “We’re taking Ms. Sweeney home.”
“Very good, sir.”
The detectives had given both paintings back to her, and Edward stored them up front with him. The paintings startled him enough that he actually looked taken aback for a moment, then his expression smoothed out and he handled them as matter-of-factly as if they had been landscapes.
When they were seated, Richard reached for Sweeney’s hand and twined his fingers with hers. “You’re cold,” he said.
“I was scared.” She squeezed his hand. “This wasn’t as bad as the other episodes. As long as they kept the coffee coming, I managed.”
“If you had called me immediately, a lot of this could have been avoided.”
“On the other hand, once they witnessed my prowess at Jeopardy!, they were a lot more inclined to believe me.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Jeopardy!?”
“One of my new skills. I’ll show you someday.”
Their entwined hands were resting on her right thigh. His knuckles rubbed lightly back and forth.
“Candra’s parents and some of their friends are at the house,” he said. “We’ve settled on the arrangements for the service—they want her buried close to where they live—but they’re ready to go back to the hotel. I’ll have Edward drive them, and I’ll grab a change of clothes then take a taxi to your place.”
If she were noble, she thought, she would tell him she knew he had a lot to do and she would be perfectly all right by herself. She must not be the least bit noble, because she was tired of facing the nights by herself and she wanted him with her.
Besides, Richard’s comment that Candra’s killer could now know about the painting hadn’t gone unnoticed. Part of her couldn’t believe she was in any danger, but the logical part of her pointed out it would be smarter not to take any unnecessary chances. She slept very soundly; she might not hear anyone breaking into the apartment, unless they crashed, movie-style, through the window beside her bed. After being awake all the night before, she was so exhausted now even a crashing window might not wake her.