The Element Case Read online

  "Deal."

  "When are you going to start?"

  "No time like the present. Well, tonight anyway. I do have to get back to the station to see if there's been any word on Travis and run a search for Mr Rivera to see if he's still alive and kicking."

  "Damn, I hope he is. I already feel guilty enough about those other men."

  "Don't. None of this is your fault. You've caught the attention of a very sick man, presuming the killer isn't Travis. I suppose you could say he is too, if it's him."

  "He may have been egotistical and somewhat possessive, but I just don't see him doing this."

  "Clay, don't write someone off just because you knew them. Everyone has a darker side they try to keep hidden."

  "That's fairly cynical."

  Quint shrugged. "I suppose so, but if you'd seen some of the things I have in the course of my job, you might feel the same way. Okay, I'm out of here but I'll be back around five thirty."

  "I'll be here."

  * * * *

  "Anything?" Quint asked when he caught the attention of Pat Thomas, the detective running the search for Travis Nelson.

  "Nope. Mr Nelson is not an unidentified victim in some killing. Not here, not anywhere, as far as the NCIC files are concerned. There are no wants-and-warrants out for him either, and no one's reported him missing. As far as I can determine, he's vanished off the face of the earth. His driver's license expired a year and a half ago and he didn't renew it."

  "A Colorado license?"

  "Yes. And he hasn't gotten one in any other state under that name."

  "So he's either dead or has changed his identity."

  "Yep."

  "Okay. Now, can you run a search for this man?" Quint handed Pat the information Clay had given him on Hank Rivera. "He was here in the city as recently as six or seven months ago."

  "Another possible victim?"

  "Probably not, but I want to be certain. He and Richardson hooked up for a one-night stand just before the first murder."

  "Any chance he's the killer?"

  Quint thought about that. "Slim, I'd say, but given the timing, it's possible. I'll add him to the list."

  "Who else is on it?" Pat asked as he began a search for Rivera.

  "Travis Nelson. More so now since he hasn't come up dead and seems to be missing. Clay Richardson was, but only because he's the one person who would have had no real problem finding the victims to kill them. I've pretty much eliminated him though, after having interviewed him several times. The guy feels guilty about the men who were murdered and blames himself. As far as I can tell, that is not an act on his part."

  "Unless he's a real psychopath."

  "I hope not," Quint said under his breath. Aloud he said, "Let me know what you find out about Rivera. I have some other things I need to take care of."

  Pat nodded, and Quint took off, heading to Clay's gallery. Amanda greeted him like an old friend when he arrived, asking if he wanted some coffee or tea while they talked.

  Quint declined then said, "Are there any artists, especially ones associated with the gallery, who might be jealous of Clay's success."

  She chuckled. "I think that comes with the territory. Artists can be very neurotic and either feel inadequate when they compare their work so someone else's, or they're certain they're the next Picasso and don't take kindly to anyone else eclipsing them."

  "Can you think of anyone who might take their resentment to the extreme?"

  "Like killing the subjects of the Element series?" She tapped a finger to her lips in thought. "Not really. The only man who comes close to being that resentful was Lamberton, just the single name as his signature. Talk about misplaced ego. He thought he walked on water when it came to his artwork and couldn't accept that we didn't want his pieces here at the gallery."

  "Who turned him down, you or Clay?"

  "Both of us. It was a mutual decision and we told him together. That boy was not happy when he left here."

  Quint took out his notebook. "Give me his address, if you have it. If he ended up with another gallery, I need their name as well."

  Amanda brought up the information on her computer and told him, adding, "His real name is Tom Chambers."

  Quint shook his head. "Not quite as flashy as Lamberton."

  "No kidding. He's the only one I can think of, but I don't know. He's a tiny thing—well, for a man. Maybe five-six, skinny as a rail…"

  "It doesn't take much to pull the trigger on a gun."

  "Yeah, I guess not."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "You're almost on time," Clay said as he let Quint into the loft.

  "And I brought dinner."

  "You didn't have to."

  "I know, but I was hungry. I drove past a restaurant I like, and—" Quint started to hand Clay the bags, then veered away, walking to the dining area on the far side of the living room. "Plates, silverware?"

  "I have some," Clay replied, going to the kitchen to get them.

  "Figured. Unless you're a real caveman."

  Clay broke into a grin. "I'm bad, but not that bad."

  Dinner turned out to be Chinese, with a variety of selections that the two men shared equally. Clay had some beer, much to his admitted surprise, which topped off the meal.

  Their talk was minimal as they ate. Confined mostly to "Pass the…" or "This is good."

  When they were finished, Clay insisted that he should clean up while Quint stayed seated, since he'd brought the dinner. Then he rejoined him at the table.

  "If you want to go paint, do so," Quint said. "I promised I wouldn't interfere with that."

  "You also promised you'd tell me what you found out about Travis and Hank Rivera."

  "True. Travis is MIA. No sign of him in any of the police or FBI files, local or national. He didn't renew his driver's license when it came due and he hasn't gotten a new one anywhere else. We did find out that Mr Rivera is still around, so the fact you haven't run into him again probably means he's just at one club when you're doing your thing at another one."

  "Whew. That's a relief. But where the hell has Travis gotten to? If he's dead…"

  "I won't say that's not possible, but he also could be the killer. Or he could just have decided to drop off the face of the earth and start a new life somewhere else."

  "On the moon?" Clay said with a weak laugh.

  "Well, maybe not that far. I have a question for you."

  "And why doesn't this surprise me?"

  Quint chuckled. "It has to do with the clubs, or more with the men who are there when you are. I presume some of them have tried to get to know you on a personal level. That is why most men go to clubs."

  "Some have, and, as I told you, I have come home with a couple of them, if that's what you mean."

  "What I was getting at is, has any one of them tried to come on to you and you shot them down? You do have a knack for that. And if so, did they try more than once, despite you rejecting them?"

  "Yeah, there've been a couple, but I make it perfectly clear that I'm there to draw and that's it."

  "They might debate that if they saw you leave with someone. And by the way, I'm talking about six or seven months ago, not recently."

  "Damn, do you really expect me to remember that far back?"

  "Yes," Quint replied firmly. "Your life might depend on it, if the killer is someone who you either turned down or just ignored when he tried to connect with you."

  "Oh boy. Okay, hang on." Clay got up and went into the studio. It took a few minutes but when he returned, he was carrying several sketch pads. "These are from around that time. Maybe they'll jog my memory," he explained as he started to thumb through them.

  Quint remained silent, watching him. He realized, not for the first time, that Clay was a good-looking man. His hair's a bit too long, but that's probably because he really doesn't care how he looks. If he was more social, he'd spend all his time at the clubs dancing instead of drawing. Of course that's presuming he knows how to d
ance. It might be interesting to find out if he does. He smiled to himself. Tonight, if he actually remembers any guy who came on to him and might be pissed at being rejected—or even if he doesn't—might as well play up the "I'm his new boyfriend" angle.

  Quint's thoughts were interrupted when Clay said, "This one," handing Quint one of the sketchpads. "I ran into him the first time at Toppers. I had just started thinking about doing some paintings that were more realistic than my norm. He has great features so I did several sketches. Of course, he thought I was doing that because I found him interesting on a personal level. I tried to make it clear that wasn't the case and he seemed to accept it. Then, a couple of weeks later, I went back there." Clay shook his head.

  "Let me guess. He was there too and tried again."

  "Yeah. I was at the bar, as always, watching and drawing. He came over, stood next to me and asked something like, 'When can I see the picture you did of me?' When I told him I hadn't done one, he said, 'Well take me home with you and I'll pose any way you want.' The implication was clear what he had in mind. I tried to be polite and told him I didn't work that way. He kept pushing the issue until I packed it in and left."

  "Have you seen him since then? And do you remember exactly when you saw him the first time? And did you get his name?"

  "He called himself Matty." Clay rolled his eyes. "The first time was April thirteenth. The date's on the sketches. I saw him a third time. I think probably in mid-May. I know it was soon after the gallery show where Woe was the centerpiece of the exhibit. It was so well received that I was definitely looking for a subject for the next in the series."

  "Did he try coming on to you again?"

  Clay snorted. "I didn't give him a chance. As soon as I spotted him, I turned around and left. Toppers isn't the only club in town by a long shot. I went to another one and, actually, I haven't been back to Toppers since then."

  "How about we go there tonight?"

  "Tonight?"

  "Unless you want to get back to the painting. I was planning on us going to a couple of clubs together so I could watch for anyone who seemed to be upset that you came in with someone. Now I'll be looking for this Matty in particular."

  Clay nodded. "That means going back to Toppers. That's the only place I've seen him. Okay. Let's do it. The painting can wait." He chuckled. "I don't believe I actually said that."

  "Definitely not the reply I expected. I was figuring I'd have to argue you into agreeing."

  "If I didn't want to stop this killer as much as you do, you might have had to. You know, I almost hope it is Matty or some other guy from one of the clubs. That would be better than finding out it's someone I know."

  "Understandable. Do you want to change clothes?" Quint laughed when Clay looked down at what he was wearing, paint-spattered jeans and an old sweatshirt, and made a beeline to the bedroom.

  * * * *

  "Still as busy as I remember," Clay commented when he and Quint entered Toppers. "And the majority of the guys are still young."

  "Says the old man of thirty-two."

  "Around here that is old," Clay replied while searching for an empty table or a couple of seats at the bar.

  Quint harrumphed. "I'm old. You're still in your prime."

  "You're what? Mid-thirties?"

  "Thirty-five and counting. There." Quint pointed to two men just vacating a table not too far from the dance floor.

  "Are we drinking?" Clay asked once they were seated. "Can you drink, since I suspect you're on duty?"

  "I can and will," Quint replied just as a waiter appeared. "Beer?" When Clay nodded, Quint ordered for both of them. After the waiter left, Quint said quietly, "Let's forget why I'm with you. If you think of me as a cop, we won't be able to pull this off."

  "What? Cops don't date or go to clubs?" Clay asked with a light chuckle.

  "We do but—"

  "I get what you were saying. Honest." Clay saw a pair of young men dancing who caught his interest and instinctively he looked for his sketchpad before realizing he hadn't brought it with him. He laughed when Quint handed him a pen and pointed to the napkin. "I think I can survive for one evening without drawing."

  "You sure?" Quint said with a straight face. "I don't want you going into withdrawal DTs."

  Clay raised his middle finger, suddenly aware that he was actually relaxed and enjoying himself. Or as much as I can, considering why we're here. That brought him down to earth and he looked around, wondering if Matty was somewhere in the club.

  "Anything?" Quint asked, obviously having picked up on what Clay was doing—then studying the men out on the dance floor too.

  "Nothing so far," Clay replied before thanking the waiter when he set down their drinks.

  For the next few minutes the pair was quiet as they drank their beers and kept an eye on the crowd, searching for Matty. Or in Quint's case, Clay knew, anyone who seemed to be paying them more attention than was warranted.

  Finally, Clay asked, repeating Quint's earlier question, "Anything?"

  "Nope. Feel like dancing? As far as that goes, do you dance?"

  "In answer to both your questions, you bet."

  Quint chuckled as he stood, waiting for Clay to join him.

  * * * *

  "I'm beginning to wonder if you're the same man I met a few months ago. Or hell, met again a couple of days ago," Quint said twenty minutes later when they returned to their table.

  Clay lifted an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

  "Meaning what happened to the anti-social, fairly uptight you? The way you were dancing was…" Quint wiped his forehead, willing his libido to return to normal. "That was way more than I expected from you."

  "I figured that we're pretending we're a couple, so…I was going for it. Was it too much?" Clay replied with a worried frown.

  "No. Not at all, although if we're really going to pull this off…" Since they were sitting next to each other, it wasn't hard for Quint to cup the back of Clay's neck and lean close enough to kiss him. As he did, he kept most of his concentration on the people around them, looking for anyone who seemed less that happy with what he'd done. Thus, despite the way Clay had come on to him while they had danced, he was taken aback when the artist returned the kiss more forcefully than it was given. "You might want to take it down a notch," Quint muttered as he pulled away. Or it might stop being pretend.

  "Sorry," Clay replied, although in Quint's opinion he didn't look the least repentant. Before Quint could say anything more, Clay whispered, "Don't look now but we have an interested bystander."

  "Matty?"

  Clay nodded. "Off to your right, heading toward the exit as we speak. He is not a happy man from the look on his face."

  Quint followed Clay's gaze, seeing a buff, blond man shove past a couple blocking his way. Moments later he was gone, the exit door swinging closed behind him. Quint was on his feet seconds later, heading after him, but he was too late. By the time he got out to the sidewalk the man was gone.

  "Fuck and double fuck," he muttered angrily as he stalked back to the table.

  "Lose him?" Clay asked.

  "Yeah, God damn it. Why didn't you see him before now?"

  "Maybe he just came in? Maybe he saw us first and kept a low profile until the last minute."

  "Could be." Quint picked up his beer bottle, realized it was empty, and asked, "Do we want to order another?"

  "I don't, but go ahead."

  "Naw. Let's get out of here."

  * * * *

  When they got back to the loft, Clay expected Quint was just going to drop him off and head home since it was already close to midnight. Instead, the man said, "We need to talk," as he stepped out of the car as well.

  Deciding not to ask about what—though Quint's tone of voice said it had to be important—Clay led the way inside. Once they were in the loft, he went into the kitchen area, asking, "Do you want something to drink? Like coffee?"

  "Coffee's good," Quint said, pulling out one of the chairs at the table an
d sitting.

  As soon as Clay had the coffee brewing, he leaned against the counter. "What do we need to talk about?"

  Quint's response was to ask, "Do you have something I can write on?"

  Clay snorted, going to the studio to get a small sketchpad. He heard Quint chuckle and knew he'd gotten how inane his question had been, considering where they were. He came back, handed the pad to Quint then poured two coffees. "Cream?"

  "No, I'm good." Quint sipped it before he took his pen from his pocket and flipped open the sketchpad.

  "What are you doing?" Clay asked as Quint began to write, taking a seat beside him.

  "Making a list of suspects. For starters we have Travis, Mr Rivera, Matty, and possibly Tom Chambers, aka Lamberton."

  "Lamberton? Why?"

  "According to Amanda he was very upset that you didn't want to show his work in the gallery."

  "True, but come on. Killing those men? Yeah he was pissed but that would be carrying his resentment to the extreme."

  "People have killed for less. And so far every murder has ties to you and the gallery."

  "I guess so. Why Hank Rivera? He was just a one-time thing. Besides, I thought you had him figured as a potential victim, not the killer."

  "I did. It's mainly the timing. The killings started just after the night he spent with you, from what you said. Yeah, it's pushing it to add him to the list, but better safe than sorry."

  "Matty I can understand," Clay said acerbically. "And Travis—presuming his being missing doesn't mean he was the first victim."

  "If he was, his body was never found. Besides which, if he's a victim, why would the killer have waited three years before starting up again with the first Element man?"

  "You're asking me?" Clay shook his head. "I just… The same thing holds true, as we've said before, about Travis being the killer. Why wait three years? You'd think he'd have cooled off and moved on long before now."

  "Maybe something set him off. Like another breakup, coming back here—if he ever left—and seeing you, or reading something about you in the papers. You are fairly well known in the art world."