American Crow (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘the benefactor’

Downtown Lexington. Early
Evening.

W
e parked discreetly in a side-street then headed straight to
the gallery, both of us seemingly as anxious as each other now we were finally
getting close to Corrigan. I could see the rage in Nancy’s face too, and in the
way she carried herself.

I just hoped she didn’t completely lose
it when we got inside. She’s said that she held Corrigan personally responsible
for everything that had gone wrong in her life. The death of her husband, the
death of her child and the lives of her friends who’d lived close to the mines
and had suffered horrible illnesses. It was going to be intense...

‘You going to be alright in there?’ I
asked again, concerned.

She looked at me with laser eyes

‘I told you I would, didn’t I?’

‘Just checking…Look, I need to find this
girl, Nancy. Causing a commotion in there is going to blow everything wide
open, you know that. You can kill him after I’ve found Olivia, and I’ll
damned-well help you do it, okay?’

‘Sure,’ she replied curtly, teetering on
heels that she obviously hadn’t worn since the college ball.

‘You look amazing by the way,’ I said
trying to soften her edges.

‘Some of the sequins have fallen off the
hem,’ she said looking down. ‘And these shoes don’t match the dress either.
They’re a shade lighter.’

‘Look at me,’ I said laughing. ‘I’ve
borrowed a suit from a friend of yours that is way too small, and that went out
of fashion in the eighties. And as for my footwear...’

She stared down at the grey brogues and
joined in the laughter.

‘You’re supposed to say, hey darling, it
doesn’t matter, not go on about yourself.’

‘I was trying to make you feel better.’

‘Men…’ she said raising her eyebrows in
exasperation, before walking on ahead.

When we both rounded the corner we saw a
line of well-attired guests, queuing up patiently outside. The gallery looked a
high-class establishment and probably as expensive on the inside as its
elaborate façade.

Through the windows I could just make out
waiters serving flutes of champagne and fancy snacks on silver platters, as
Lexington’s glitterati wandered around admiring the artist’s latest works.

After a good ten minutes of shuffling, we
finally edged into the glass lobby ourselves, passing a glamorous misty-eyed
picture of the painter fixed to an enormous easel, informing us she called
herself Reya Tolley, and that she was from Louisville, Kentucky.

‘Do you know what
he
looks like?’
I said in a whisper as we neared the main door.

‘Sure, I’ll point the bastard out as soon
as I set eyes on him. But hey, I’m not sure we’re going to get that close. It’s
ticketed…’

I clocked the couple ahead handing in
some large gold invites to an assistant and tried to think of a plan.

‘Have you got your tickets please?’ the
sharply-dressed girl demanded as we reached the desk.

‘No, we haven’t unfortunately. We left
them at home...’ I replied, trying to sound genuine.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s strictly by invitation
only. We really must see a ticket, unless you’re on Reya’s guest list.’

The young girl tilted her immaculate hair
to one side as if confident she wasn’t going to get a positive response. I
changed tact.

‘Look, we work for Hal Dickinson who’s
been helping Reya out with some of the frames that got damaged. He said that it
was okay to come along and represent him if we were passing...’

I felt Nancy’s hand tighten around mine
as she squirmed. I hoped the guy wasn’t planning on coming himself, or worse,
that he was already inside...

‘Well that might be the case, but…’ the
assistant continued unsure.

A tall redhead with a sophisticated face
interrupted her suddenly.

‘I did say to Hal that he could invite
some friends. Please, come on in. You’re more than welcome. I’m Reya. You
really saved the day with your expertise. Some of my frames were in a terrible
state.’

‘Thank you, we really wanted to see your
work close up again, Miss Tolley,’ I replied in a flash. ‘We love it...’

‘I’m flattered. Please enjoy yourselves.
You must excuse me though…I have to do the rounds.’

As swiftly as she’d guided us in, she’d
melted back into the admiring crowd. I looked at Nancy and she smiled back
nervously.

‘What now?’

‘Let’s have a wander, see if we can pick up
snippets of conversation about Corrigan, get a feel for what he’s really like,’
I whispered.

‘I know what he’s really like, Blake.
He’s a megalomaniac and a murderer,’ Nancy growled, grabbing the glass of
champagne being offered in front of her.

We worked our way around the large
exhibition space, weaving our way through the excited guests who were now
wedged between elaborate flower displays and rows of sizeable abstract
paintings, their broad flashes of colour thoughtfully matching each stand of
exotic blooms positioned next to them.

I scanned the room carefully then picked
up a folded leaflet from a nearby table introducing Tolley works more fully.
The entire exhibition had been entitled ‘Elements of Appalachia’ and was a new
collection aimed at celebrating the region’s diverse landscape.

On a personal level, it revealed that she
was fifty-two years old, from Louisville originally, but had spent her early
years in Lexington and now lived most of her time in New York. She described
her passion for the mountains and the diversity of nature and wildlife in her
home state and how it had inspired her latest work.

‘What in the hell Corrigan sees in all
this, god only knows,’ Nancy whispered over my shoulder, ‘he’s only interested
in what’s underneath the damned mountains and her skirt probably...’

We worked our way along an aisle then
mingled into a sizeable crowd buzzing with anticipation. People were beginning
to gather between two main sections of artwork, in front of a small stage,
where a couple of intense-looking musicians were playing classical guitars as
if they waiting for something. Nancy nudged me.

‘That’s him.’

Nancy pointed discreetly at a small group
of guests talking to some thickset guy, with wavy grey hair, who appeared to be
holding court. I reached out for Nancy’s hand and edged nearer to the group,
then felt hers grip mine tightly again.

‘You see, within the juxtaposition of
colour I see a lot of the conflict that is inherent in Appalachia,’ one tall,
well-spoken gentleman declared to the group.

Corrigan nodded politely, his suspicious
blue eyes eyeing those around him.

‘The collection reminds me of some of the
works of Stephen Clarke, I have to say. ’

A few of the group uttered their
agreement in between polite sips of champagne before Corrigan finally entered
the conversation again.

‘I think it’s her best yet, and all being
well, we’re going to take this one to New York like some of the others. Maybe
Paris and London later in the year too...if I can pull her away from the canvas
that is...’

Polite laughter greeted his words, which
he enjoyed for a little too long before carrying on confidently. I eyed him up
and down as he continued, trying to get a feel for the man who was at the root
of so much misery. Corrigan looked to be in his early to mid-sixties and the
sort who would have been useful on the football pitch back in his prime. He
also looked like he could take a punch, as well as land one in return, twice as
hard...

I moved in closer, this time alone,
squeezing in between the huddled group and the stage, wanting to hear every
word. Corrigan had a strong southern accent indicative of the region and spoke
with charm and authority. In short, the guy had presence, like a lot of the
megalomaniacs I’d come across over the years, who enjoyed wielding their power
over anyone and everyone.

‘Is she working on anything new at the
moment, Lyle?’ a portly female in an expensive ankle-length dress interrupted,
confirming his identity.

‘She’s having a break now, what with
organizing the exhibitions and all,’ he replied, turning to answer her
question. ‘But she’s planning to do some new pieces, specifically about our
rich mining heritage, later in the year. Of course I’m only too happy to inform
her about that...’

There was more polite laughter again
before Corrigan excused himself and walked up the steps onto the stage where
the guitarists were now playing a melodic arpeggio. He bid them silent with a
nonchalant sweep of his hand, halting them instantly.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, good friends of
Lexington,’ he announced boldly into the microphone. ‘It gives me great
pleasure to introduce this wonderful new collection by Reya, which I think
you’ll all agree, is simply awe-inspiring...’

A sustained round of applause met his
words. He waited a moment for it to die down then continued. ‘This is Reya’s
twenty-third exhibition in Lexington. We are humbled and touched that she
hasn’t forgotten her roots and continues to put our city on the map by showing
her work here, especially as one of her recent pieces, “Rebel River” has just
sold to a private buyer for nearly two hundred and thirty thousand dollars.
Yes…’

Another round of generous applause
greeted the announcement.

‘Tonight maybe will be the last chance
you’ll get to see many of these stunning pieces before they head into private
hands.’ Corrigan looked down at the artist who had worked her way to the edge
of the stage and was smiling up at him bashfully. ‘So I would ask you to raise
your glasses and offer a toast to Reya Tolley, one of our own, and an ever
brightening southern star...’

Tolley’s smile widened as the murmurs of
appreciation rumbled across the room to the chinking of glasses, until Corrigan
raised a hand and beckoned her on stage to a wave of sustained applause that
took a while to fade.

‘Thank you friends…’ she said in a softer
refrain than Corrigan’s. ‘I’m flattered in the extreme to have so many of you
here this evening on the opening night of my Elements collection.

‘As you can see as you’ve wandered
around, all of these paintings have been inspired by the power of nature, the
rocks, the rivers and the forests and the divine majesty that permeates all of
them and affects and inspires us daily. I hope they speak to you as much as
they have done to me, and give you as much enjoyment as I’ve had in executing
them.

‘Some of the paintings are still
available to buy you’ll be glad to hear, those that don’t have a green sticker
by them...So feel free to ask myself, or my assistant, Harriet, if anything
grabs your attention. You won’t be pressured into buying anything, I promise,
not even by Lyle...’

Gentle laughter broke out around the
room, then applause, as Reya walked off stage and merged with another band of
willing admirers to answer a surge of questions, that were fired at her from
all directions.

‘What do you think?’ I said turning to
Nancy.

‘Of her?’

‘Sure. There’s something about her that I
can’t put my finger on, a falseness beneath that cute smile of hers. But then again,
that’s why her and Corrigan are drawn to each other I suppose.’

‘You think that they are sleeping
together?’ Nancy said, sounding surprised.

‘Definitely. Is Corrigan married?’

‘Yes, I think so, but you never see his
wife at official functions. She doesn’t like this sort of thing people say.’

‘Obviously...’ I said, eyeing Tolley’s
curves up from behind.

She was a good-looking woman, at least
ten years younger than Corrigan, and she was talented and going places too. In
return for his patronage, he got a slice of the prestige of it all and probably
his hands on the goods too. No wonder his wife was nowhere to be seen. She
probably knew what was really going on and was too embarrassed to be seen out
with them.

A commotion near the entrance drew my
attention away from Tolley’s crowd suddenly. A couple of people it seemed were
having the same problem getting in too.

I squeezed my way past a cluster of
guests admiring some large splash of aquamarine and charcoal entitled “The
Waterfall” to see what was going on. When I saw the flash of the detective’s
badge I knew it was trouble.

I pushed my way back to Nancy who was now
being chatted up by some guy in a Stetson and politely interrupted.

‘Excuse me, do you mind if I speak with
my wife for a second?’

The old cowboy, realizing his efforts
were in vain, tipped his hat and melted away diplomatically.

‘We have to go…’

‘What?’ Nancy said, flush-faced from the
champagne.

‘Cops. They might be here for us...’

‘What...’ she mouthed silently.