“We’re not here about fundraising,” Jack said. “We wanted to talk to you about Juliet Dunnegan.”
Trest looked sheepish again and his smile was half guilty, half scoundrel. “Well, if you’re here about Juliet then I’m guessing you already know we have a relationship of sorts. Come on and let’s sit down. The adrenaline rush of finishing the painting is fading fast and I’ll crash soon.”
He led us over to a couch and a couple of straight-backed chairs—he sat in one of the chairs.
“If I sit on the couch I’ll fall asleep and you won’t get any answers to your questions,” he said good-naturedly.
I could see the exhaustion in the lines of his face now, and he had a lazy, contented look to him—not at all like someone who’d just murdered his lover.
“We won’t take up much of your time,” Jack said.
“It’s no trouble,” he said. “Really. I’ve been meaning to maneuver a meeting with you and your wife. I’ve read about you in the papers.”
“Not always the best source of information,” I said, thinking of Floyd Parker.
Trest laughed and said, “Definitely not. I’ve had more than one go-around with them. I always take the motto of using them when you can and ignoring them the rest of the time.”
“That’s a good motto,” I said. “Why did you want to meet with us?” I was curious, and I knew Jack was watching him closely. It seemed unlikely to me that no one had mentioned that someone had been murdered in the alley behind a theater he owned. Not to mention the victim was his lover. But stranger things had happened.
“My art has started to take off,” he said. “I’d started it as a hobby—a way to blow off steam and relax outside of the business world. But galleries have started buying pieces on commission and I’ve been asked to do a show in London next fall. I’m always looking for inspiration. I did an entire series on life, beginning with conception. You might have seen some of those paintings downstairs.”
I nodded politely and prayed he didn’t want me to contribute to the conversation, especially since it had looked like nothing more than a school of fish and a boat. I clearly didn’t have an artistic eye.
“It’s been very popular,” he said. “I was hoping to do a complementary series on death. I thought you might share some of your darker cases. Or nightmares even.”
There was a morbid curiosity in his question that was unsettling, but Jack had said Trest was eccentric.
“Please don’t think me gruesome,” he said as if reading my mind. He smiled again, totally at ease with himself, and he ran his fingers through his hair. “I find that dreams and nightmares give some of the best inspiration for what I put on canvas.”
“I don’t dream,” I told Trest.
“Never?” he asked.
“Never,” I lied.
“Interesting,” he said. “It almost seems unnatural. Maybe you should try hypnosis and see if you can unlock your subconscious.”
The thought terrified me. I’d done a lot of healing over the last couple of years. I’d be damned if I purposefully took myself back to those dark places.
“It’s probably best it stay locked,” I said, firmly.
“There was a murder in the alley behind your theater last night,” Jack said. “I thought you might have been notified already.”
“What?” Trest asked, leaning forward in his chair. “What happened? I haven’t had the TV on in days, and Lina knows not to bother me unless it’s an emergency.” He looked back and forth between the two of us. “I guess this counts as an emergency. When she came up to check on me this morning she just happened to catch me at the end of my work. I didn’t put it together when she told me the detective wanted to meet with me.”
“It happened sometime after midnight,” Jack told him. “The theater had just let out and everyone was distracted by the fireworks.”
“That’s terrible,” he said, his gaze wandering out the window toward the park. I wasn’t sure whether it was exhaustion or he was a space cadet, but he didn’t seem to be able to focus well. “They were beautiful fireworks. I think it’s what gave me an added boost of inspiration to push through to the finish.”
His head jerked, as if he were coming back into himself and he said, “Wait a minute. You said you wanted to talk to me about Juliet. Why would you say that?”
“Juliet Dunnegan is our victim,” Jack said, and I watched as Trest’s face went pale with shock.
“That can’t be possible,” he said. “We were supposed to meet. Tonight, I think. What day is this?”
“Monday,” I said.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow, measured breath. “Last night. We were supposed to meet last night after the performance. She was supposed to stop by and we were going to watch the fireworks from here together.”
“When was the last time you talked to Juliet?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “Sometime last week. We both get busy. She was doing the play all week, so it was before that when we made plans. A week ago, I guess. She stayed the night at my place and then had to be at the theater early the next morning. I told her on closing night to meet me here for fireworks.” He laughed to himself, but there was no joy in the laughter. “Double entendre intended.”
“How long had you and Juliet been seeing each other?” Jack asked.
Trest looked at Jack and asked, “Are you sure it’s her? It just doesn’t seem possible. I mean, Juliet is so full of life.”
“Someone ended her life for her,” Jack said. “It’s up to us to find who did this to her.”
“Her husband,” Trest said automatically. “He’s a real piece of work. Rigid. Controlling. He never understood Juliet.”
“You two have issues?” Jack asked.
“We’ve never met,” Trest said. “He knew about us though. Juliet told me he knew. I try not to get into people’s personal business. If it had bothered Juliet too much she would’ve broken things off and I would’ve stepped back. It wasn’t a big deal. We had fun with each other. She’s a creative too. Very passionate about her work. High drama. It makes sense that we were attracted to each other. It was fireworks all the time. From fighting to making love. It fueled both of our work.”
“Did her husband ever threaten her?” Jack asked.
“Juliet always said his bark was worse than his bite. He threatened to cut her off a time or two, but they’ve been married a while and from what I understand he’s pretty successful at whatever he does. She would’ve walked away with a sweet deal if he’d divorced her.”
“It doesn’t sound like you know much about her,” I said.
“Well,” he said, his grin attempting to be charming. “I know her very well in some ways. But we didn’t have that kind of relationship. We had sex. It was fun. And it would’ve eventually ended with no harm, no foul. It’s not like she would’ve left her husband for me, and I have no plans to ever get in a long-term relationship. She could’ve had other lovers for all I know. I wasn’t exclusively seeing Juliet either. We hooked up when it was convenient with our schedules.”