St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

was using a battery-driven black light. When she set it aside and left with her companion, Jase picked up the light and handed it to Zach.
    “Excuse the rudimentary conditions,” Jase said to Zach.
    “Like I said. We’re used to artist’s studios.”
    Jase nodded at his two helpers. Each placed a painting on an empty easel and stood close by, waiting to be needed.
    “Either shut the door or kill the hall lights,” Zach said.
    One of the helpers leaped to a dimmer switch on the wall behind the guard. Artificial twilight descended.
    Zach turned on the black light and moved it across the front of one painting.
    On the first pass the surface was uniform, constant, as it would be if all the paint had been laid down at the same time.
    “Back here,” Jill said.
    Zach retraced the painting with the black light until he and Jill could examine several areas where the artist had sketched landforms with extra layers of oil, blending blue and black and green to evoke the rich, earthy colors of a Western landscape.
    “Looks clean,” Jill said. “No variation in style, just texture.”
    “Signature is normal, painted after the canvas was dry,” Zach said.
    “After the artist gave up on achieving perfection,” she said softly, “and went on to a new challenge.”
    “Been there, done that?” he asked.
    “Every time I picked up a brush.”
    Smiling, Zach examined the top and side edges of each canvas. There was wear at the corners and a slight loosening of the canvas itself on the stretchers. Nothing critical, just the natural aging process that began the instant an artist finished a canvas.
    “Turn each canvas so that I can examine the bottom edge of the rolled canvas,” Zach said.
    The two young men duly flipped each canvas.
    Zach moved the light slowly along the bottom edge. Once. Twice. Three times. He looked at Jill.
    No thumbprint.

68
    LAS VEGAS
SEPTEMBER 16
5:19 P.M.
    V ery lightly Zack ran his fingertips along the bottom edge of the painting. Jill took a deep breath, let it out, then took another breath, sniffing the bottom corner of the second painting.
    “Black light,” she said.
    Zach gave her the light. She held it at an oblique angle to the edge of the stretcher.
    “See it?” she asked.
    “Looks like it was added after the paint dried,” Zach said.
    “Well after,” she said. “It still smells faintly of oil. The modern, quick-dry kind, complete with modern, quick-dry sealant.”
    Once discovered, the over-painting leaped out like a scab on otherwise smooth skin.
    Jase crowded in on the painting and stared. “You’re right, the repair seems new. But it has no significance.”
    “Really?” Jill said skeptically.
    “Probably the original frame was put on before the canvas had completely dried,” Jase explained. “When the frame was recently removed for the canvas to be re-stretched, some paint came with it. Thus the repair. It certainly doesn’t matter to the value of the painting as a whole. I doubt if you would even notice it without the black light. Once the canvas is back in its frame, the over-painting will be invisible.”
    “Looks like the canvas might have been damaged,” Zach said. “That would affect the price.”
    “If it was true, yes. The documents from Lee Dunstan didn’t indicate any such damage,” Jase said.
    Zach shrugged. “Then you won’t mind if I record this for my client?”
    “Record?”
    Zach produced the little digital camera.
    “No images,” Jase said immediately. “All reprographic rights remain with the artist’s estate.”
    “I’m not going for the front of the painting,” Zach said. “Just the part that will be hidden by the frame at the auction.”
    Jase hesitated, glanced at his watch, and said, “Please be quick about it. I have another appointment in two minutes.”
    Zach bent over the canvas and recorded the over-painting under various lighting conditions.
    The pager on Jase’s belt went off. He looked at the code and frowned.
    “We can find our way out,” Jill said. “Don’t be late on account of us.”
    “If you need to shift a canvas, one of my helpers will do it,” Jase said. “Insurance, you understand. We can’t have anyone touching the art.”
    “Of course,” Jill said. “Thank you for your time. I assure you that our client will be very interested in these paintings. Nothing like a new, extremely wealthy collector to spice up an auction, is there?”
    It was every auctioneer’s wet dream, and Jase knew it. “All