CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Daniel watched as a curator from a local museum wrapped up the painting of Famine. A policeman stood nearby, as did Remi.
She looked seriously pissed.
“I could have done this,” she grumbled for the hundredth time. “I’ve been working with fine art my entire professional career.”
“If Peeters turns out to be innocent, the cops don’t want a lawsuit on their hands,” Daniel replied, also for the hundredth time.
Remi muttered something in French, then switched to English for his benefit. “He wanted a man to do the job.”
“Serial killers aren’t generally known for their staunch support of feminism.”
“Very funny.” She looked at him curiously. “Do you really think it’s him?”
Daniel scratched his jaw, noticing he needed a shave. “I don’t know. He fits. He lied about going t
