Postcard killers

Chapter 48

Dessie stopped in front of the painting, oddly moved.

It was an impressive creation, with its sweeping shapes and strong colors: the narcissistic man lies dying on his white cushion, a mirror stil in his hand.

His equal y affected friends are gathered around him. They're mourning, but the only one in tears is the man in the purple jacket and orange shirt up in the left-hand corner.

The woman holding him and the white cushion on her lap looks almost amused.

There was no doubt about it now: this was the model for the murders on Dalaro.

The kil ers must have known the painting. Maybe they'd been here.

Maybe they'd stood exactly where she was standing now, pondering Dardel's work: Was it an al egory about the act of creativity? Or was Dardel holding up a forbidden image of homosexuality?

A thought ran like fire through her brain. She took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling, then felt the adrenaline kick in.

Up in one corner, right above the door, was a discreet surveil ance camera.

Right now, her image was being captured somewhere.

She took out her mobile and cal ed Gabriel a at police headquarters.