CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next morning, the police didn’t allow Remi into the room at The Virginia Museum of Fine Arts until they had taken away the body. For that she felt grateful. The chalk outline of where it had lain and the blood spattered all over the floor was enough.
There was so much of it. Remi didn’t need to be an FBI agent to see what had happened. Through bleary eyes, untouched by sleep, Remi saw two spatters of blood in one room—one small and one large. From the large one ran a regular trail into the next room, then a large pool around where the chalk outline was on the floor.
This was done by the person I thought I was chasing last night. I could have ended up like this.
Remi shuddered.
A little beyond the pool of dried blood stood an open display cabinet. At its base lay 15t
