“Did his lawyer show up?”
Cartright shakes his head. “Not that I’ve seen.”
It’s been more than enough time now for a lawyer to get here from the city. Which means Finch has decided not to call one. That seems reason enough to see what this statement is all about.
When I come in, Finch has his head down on the table, eyes closed. For a second I worry he’s bled out internally, but he shifts slightly when I close the door.
“Jesus,” he grumbles into the tabletop. “Took you fucking long enough.”
“I hear you have something you want to tell me?”
He lifts his head off the table. “You do know I’ve got a show? You heard that part, right?” He checks his watch dramatically. “Back in the city, tomorrow. I’ve got to set up.”
“I thought it was tonight?”
“Tonight, tomorrow, I’ve still got to go.”
“Don’t you think it would be better to postpone the show— I mean, given that your agent is either missing or dead?”
“Dealer, former dealer,” he says, then smirks. “Ironic, with all the drugs, that he was my dealer, isn’t it?” He goes to lean back in his chair but winces again. “Anyway, even Keith would want the show to go on. And just to reiterate— if my show gets fucked because of this, I am going to sue the shit out of you, personally.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Just want to be sure you’re aware how much my art is worth— how much you could be costing me, and so how much it’ll cost you.”
“And just so you’re aware: obstruction of justice is a crime.”
“Obstruction of justice. Bullshit.” Finch laughs. “How did I supposedly obstruct justice?”
“Well, it’s all the things you’ve been leaving out, then there’s also the gun you had up here. There’s no permit in your name in New York State.”
“What gun?” Finch raises his hands and smiles.
“We’ll find it, Mr. Hendrix. And I’m sure your prints will be on it. You also weren’t passed out in the train station for fourteen hours. We have a witness who saw you go into the hotel across the street. But what I’m most concerned about, at the moment, is how Crystal died.”
“Died?” His eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“Apparently she’s dead, Mr. Hendrix,” I say. “You know anything about that? Maybe she was even with you in that hotel room when it happened.”
“I was working in that room, that’s all. I’m using it as a temporary art studio. My work is a combination of video, sculptures, and paintings re-created from memory,” he says, tone smooth and practiced now, like he’s being interviewed for a magazine profile. It’s extremely aggravating. “That’s why the hotel. I have to go right back and start, while the scenes are fresh in my mind. But I can’t get into too many details because there’s always a lot of anticipation around my next— ”
“Mr. Hendrix, I don’t give a shit about you or your art.” I rise. “I’m trying to find out what happened to Derrick Chism, Keith Lazard, and Crystal Finnegan. If you don’t have anything useful that you’d like to share— ”
“Okay, okay. Their friend from Vassar, Alice, killed herself. It’s why that whole group is so fucked up.”
“Yes, they mentioned their friend Alice. I don’t see how that’s relevant, Mr. Hendrix.”
“It’s why she killed herself that’s the thing.” He rubs a hand over his face, considering. “I can get into some details, but only if you promise not to tell anyone about my current proj— ”
“Mr. Hendrix!”
He holds up his hands. “Fine, fine. There’s a journal. This woman I was seeing, Rachel, she made this podcast about some other murder, and she included Alice’s suicide in one of the episodes. Seemed pretty unrelated to me, but I guess they both happened near the Hudson River. Anyway, the girl’s mom died, and her housekeeper was a fan of the podcast. She mailed the journal to Rachel and Rochelle and— ”
“Wait, Rachel and Rochelle?”
The River. The episode with the Vassar girl. She was Alice?
“Yeah, the two of them made the podcast. Rachel told me about the journal, and she mentioned a Keith and Vassar. I knew about Keith and Alice because he’d told me. So I asked to take a look at the journal. I knew as soon as I read it that I had my next project. Well, not right then. First, Keith screwed me over, and then Stephanie, well— let’s just say she let me down.”