Read Online The Death Artist by Jonathan Santlofer - Free Book Online Page B

dead.
    Emotion rippled through like a spider crawling along her arm. Or was it simply fear, knowing that someone had taken this photo from Elena and planted it on her?
    Kate knew that some psychopaths had a need to participate–the ones who stood in the crowd as the police found the body, watched the TV news to see what was said about their crimes, had scrapbooks filled with newspaper clip-pings. Was he one of those?
    Kate would have to show this to Tapell.
    The phone was ringing in her hand.
    “Oh, Blair.” Kate couldn’t hide the fact that she was in no mood to talk with her benefit co-chair.
    “Kate, darling. I tossed and turned all weekend. Didn’t sleep a wink. I’ve exhausted my supply of Valium. I look a wreck. Oh, it’s so awful. Awful, awful, awful.” She took a breath. “But how are you doing?”
    Kate wanted to say: It’s not about you, Blair! Can you possibly understand that ? But she said, flatly, “I guess you could say I’m coping.”
    “Kudos, darling. That’s the Kate I know.” Blair waited a beat. “Now. You know I hate to bother you at a time like this, but we need to tie up a few things. Let There Be a Future’s benefit is practically upon us and there are still lots of little details to discuss.”
    Kate heard it all–seating arrangements, flowers, party bags–but none of it registered, let alone mattered. Sure, the benefit had to go on, and other kids needed their help, but party bags ! Jesus. Blair was lucky Kate didn’t take her head off. Sure, it was Blair who had first welcomed her into New York society, rough edges and all, who had given her a few select pointers along the way, and had signed on when Kate chose Let There Be a Future, giving it a lot more cachet than it would have had without her. But flower arrangements? At a time like this?
    No way.
    No matter how many times Kate had seen Arlen James, the founder of Let There Be a Future, he never failed to impress her. Even leaning on a cane the man was larger than life.
    Six feet three, a full head of bone-white hair, clear blue eyes. His fine wool suit was English, his shoes Italian, but the back story–son of a poor tenant farmer who likes to build model planes grows up to create an airplane construction company and makes millions–was pure American corn. Yet Arlen James was no ordinary capitalist. The man had a conscience, and put it to work. Let There Be a Future was his payback, his dream-child: educational money for any poor kid who wanted it.
    Ten years earlier, on a rainy Saturday night, only three months after becoming Mrs. Richard Rothstein, Kate had been introduced to Arlen James at a cocktail party. Monday morning she was in his office. On Friday, she was in the South Bronx, walking into that seventh-grade classroom, kneeling beside desks, asking each kid what they wanted to be when they grew up. The answers? Well, a few Michael Jordans, but for most of the kids Kate’s question seemed merely to puzzle. Growing up was enough of a challenge. Of course, Willie had an answer. “An artist,” he said, sketching so hard his pencil broke in two. And Elena did too. Kate waited, watched as the dark-eyed twelve-year-old rolled the idea around in her mind. “I’m not sure,” she finally said, looking Kate directly in the eye. “But I like to sing and act things out, you know?”
    By the end of that day, she had talked Richard into signing on to adopt the entire class, to support any and all of them through high school and hopefully college. A decision that had altered Kate’s life forever.
    Arlen James put an arm around her, and Kate actually felt, for the moment, safe. But that was about as much fathering as she could take. Memories of her own father crawled into the back of her mind, the tantrums, beatings. No way she wanted to think about that now. She pulled away, gently asked, “Are you okay?”
    He nodded, though she worried that he didn’t feel quite as good as he looked. Recent trips to the doctor and talk