by Dawn Dugle
"She had a bacterial infection."
My heart started racing. "Would that cause someone to have a fever?"
"Yes. Hers was pretty high, which is why she came into the office, instead of me just sending in a prescription to the pharmacy."
"Wait, you can do that?"
"I do that for some patients," Dr. Old Douche sniffed. Yeah, keep it up and you're keeping your nickname.
"Fine, she came in with a fever. Do you remember her temperature?"
"Yes. It was 101 degrees."
"How can you remember that without looking at her chart?" I asked.
"Because two degrees higher and I was going to send her to the hospital. She was stubborn and said she didn't have time for that."
"Why didn't she have time for that?"
"She said she had an important meeting that evening that she couldn't miss."
My heart raced faster. "Think real hard Doc. Do you remember who she was supposed to be meeting that evening?"
"Her cousin, the one that owns the gallery."
My stomach flipped and flopped and I barely heard myself thanking Dr. Evans and hanging up the phone. I could kiss that man. Shit. That means I'm going to have to stop calling him Dr. Old Douche in my head. Damn it!
Before I could catch my breath, I dialed Faith.
"Dr. Jackson," she answered.
"Faith!"
"Wysdom! How are you? Whose phone are you calling me from?"
"Never mind that! I have some new information regarding Claire Rousseau," I practically shouted. "Her temperature was recorded at 101 degrees before her death. What does that mean for time of death?"
I could hear Faith scratching out the math on her pad of paper.
"Ten o'clock, Wysdom. Ten p.m." She said.
I just about started crying. "Faith, I'm going to name my first-born child after you!"
Before she could ask questions or quiz me about this first-born child thing, I hung up the phone and handed it back to Silva in a daze. "He didn't do it, Captain. I'm his alibi. We have the ride share receipt to prove it. But that means someone is trying to set us up, and I think I know who.”
∞∞∞
Chapter Thirty-Three
After the call, Silva left the room to work on getting a warrant for the medical records. Within a few moments, the door opened. It was my Uncle Dixon, wearing today's t-shirt that said: Let's Party. And by party, I mean nap.
"How did you get in here?" I gaped.
"I have a hookup," Dixon yanked his thumb over his shoulder towards the two-way mirror.
"And by hookup you mean your lady friend?" I crossed my arms back at him. I hadn't forgotten Kate Sweeney at the country club, no matter how hard my brain tried to.
"She's more than a friend," Dix smiled.
"Ugh. Don't tell me, I don't want to know!"
"You brought it up!"
"Yes. And I'm mentally kicking myself."
"Have it your way, if you'd rather not know..."
Damn it. I did. I really did want to know. "How on earth...."
"I've known Kate for years. We used to work together, you know," Dix leaned back. "Her husband worked for the FDLE and when he was killed in the line of duty three years ago, I started checking in on her. One thing led to another and..."
"Yeah, fine," I cut him off. "I get the picture."
I studied the look on his face. I recognized that look. It was one I've been making a lot lately in the presence of a certain God Among Men. "Oh, Sweet Oprah! You're in love with her!"
Dix didn't deny it, he just smiled bigger.
"Does she know?"
"Of course she does," Dixon slapped my hand. "I asked her to marry me and she said yes."
I nearly fell off my chair. Either I was suffering delayed repercussions from the bombings I had endured or Hell had frozen over.
"Holy shit! That means..."
"She'll become Aunt Kate to you."
This time, I did fall off my chair with my mouth hanging open. Dixon scurried around to my side of the table and helped me back up.
"Don't be such a drama queen," he clucked his tongue at me. "I understand you're about to be released from custody."
"Yes. The new information will clear Luke as a suspect, but it doesn't solve the murder. Someone has been trying to set us up."
Dixon stared at me and nodded. "How do you prove it?"
"Good question," I stood up and started pacing. "Police received an anonymous tip that led them straight to the murder weapon at my house. The weapon had to have been planted prior to yesterday, because detectives searched through all of the footage from the new security cameras that Luke installed, but found no one entering the cottage besides the crew, Luke and me. They cleared the crew, so that means our murderer had to have hidden it before that point. Maybe the night Luke's house blew up?"
Dixon watched me pace, but said nothing.
"The plastic in Seth's studio was the same plastic found on the body, but when detectives asked to look at his roll, the cuts on the plastic didn't match up to anything tied to the body. I believe he had another piece plastic down on the floor that contained the blood splatter, but he burned that in the state forest after the murder."
Dix nodded. "And it would have been a bloody crime scene."
"Definitely. Faith said Claire would have bled out in a matter of seconds, because the murderer hit her jugular dead perfect," I paced.
"You were in his studio the other day, what do you remember?"
I stopped pacing and closed my eyes. "It was clean. Very, very clean. The workbench was messy, like Claire's was. Tubes of half-used paint rolled up and scattered about. There were four palette knives sitting on the top. A cup of paintbrushes. But everywhere else was pristine. I looked at the floor for traces of blood, but saw nothing except that plastic. There wasn't even the smell of bleach, but it had also been a few days."
I opened my eyes and looked at Dixon who was leaning on the table, his chin on his raised fist.
"Your dad and I covered a very bloody murder once where the killer thought he had cleaned up the crime scene, but the blood had pooled inside a bathroom drain. It was when we went back over the scene with a fine-toothed comb, and some Luminol, that we found the evidence that sent that dirtbag to Old Sparky. There is always evidence left behind, even when a killer thinks he's gotten it all."
I kept pacing and thinking about all the blood that would have splattered all over the workshop.
"So. Much. Blood. Splatters. Splatters of blood," I mumbled and paced. Then I stopped. "Splatters of RED blood. Dix, let me have your phone."
I pulled up The Campbell Gallery website and clicked the tab for Latest Collections. There were the three paintings that Seth had shown me the night of the memorial. "Splatters like this?"
Dixon looked at the images. "Holy shit. Did that fucker paint her blood into the paintings?"
I didn't hear him as I was already looking up the names Seth had given the works. The very Biblical names.
"Seth named these paintings Dumah, Kushiel and Raziel," I said out loud as I opened up a browser on the phone and typed them in. My blood turned to ice. "Listen to this, Dix. Dumah is an angel whose name means 'silence' or 'the stillness of death'. Kushiel means 'punishment' and Raziel is the 'keeper of secrets'."
I looked up at Dixon. He started at me and let out a low whistle.
"Dixon, I don't suppose you have some Luminol in the bar?"
My uncle shook his head as if that was the stupidest question in the world. "Of course I do! How else can I see how much DNA those idiots leave behind in the restrooms?"
I did not want to know about that. Instead I nodded. "Think you can get me out of here and grab your bottle?"
"I might have a hookup I can press for some help," he wiggled his eyebrows at me.
"Ugh, gross! But yes, reach out to your hookup and get me out of here."
"What's the plan?"
"Well, I need to get into Seth's gallery and test t
hose paintings for blood splatter. The Luminol will highlight where the blood is, and then I can get a sample to test for Claire's DNA."
Dixon nodded, then frowned. "But how are you going to get into the gallery?"
I thought for a moment. "I'm going to call Vern Reddy and see if he will invite Seth over to his house for an art-related emergency. Maybe an undiscovered master work that would be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. That should pique Seth's interest and give me plenty of time to get in, test the paintings, take a sample and get out."
"Us, you mean. Us." Dixon stared at me.
"Nuh uh. No way. You're not going in there, I am." I stamped my foot like a six-year-old child.
Dix smiled at me. "Wysdom, darlin'. If you don't want me to go with you, you're not getting out of here. It's that simple. Remember, it's my hookup that I'm pressing into service..."
"Ugh!" I let out an exasperated sigh. "FINE! Get going and leave me your phone."
Dixon stood up and started towards the door. "Looks like you're appropriately dressed for an evening of light breaking and entering,"
I looked down at my black yoga pants, black tank top, black hoodie and black running shoes and grinned. "Guess I am."
"I'll be back for you in an hour," Dixon said as he left.
∞∞∞
Chapter Thirty-Four
When we arrived at the parking lot behind The Campbell Gallery, night was in full swing, but a light above the parking lot didn't offer us a lot of cover. I got out of the car, picked up a rock and flung it at the bulb inside the fixture. Glass tinkled down to the parking lot as it broke, plunging the area where we were parked into darkness.
"Remind me not to drive over the glass when we leave," Dixon gave me the side-eye.
I fidgeted. We were waiting for Seth to leave the gallery so I could break in. I would spray Luminol on a painting, and then use a black light to see if it glowed purple. That signaled the presence of human blood.
If I saw purple, I'd scrape off a sample of the blood, put it into an evidence tube, and get out of the gallery before Seth returned. I had called in a favor with Faith, and she was standing by, waiting to test the sample against Claire Rousseau's DNA. If it was a match, Kate Sweeney was waiting to reach out to a judge for a search warrant for the whole gallery.
Shit. Guess I can't call her Kate "The Snake" anymore. Everyone's nicknames were being blown out of the water today.
Dixon nudged me out of my thoughts and handed me a revolver. "Here, thought you might need this."
He managed to get my phone out of evidence, but I was still technically suspended. That meant I didn't have my weapons.
I took the revolver, checked the bullets and put the gun in the pocket of my hoodie. My phone was in the other pocket, along with my tiny black light and the evidence-collection tube. I slipped the phone out, checked the time, then made sure it was set to silent mode for the hundredth time since we arrived.
We were waiting for Seth to leave for his rendezvous with Vern Reddy at his McMansion. My plan was hinging on Seth leaving the gallery. And he was running late.
"Jesus, what's taking him so long?" I growled.
"Patience, dear Wysdom," Dixon smiled at me.
"How did you stand all of those stakeouts over the years?"
"It helped to keep my mind occupied."
"Occupied how?"
"Sometimes I would recite the 50 states in my head. I'd go forward alphabetically, and then backwards. Other times I'd run through the street names in Flamingo Cove. Your dad and I would even play the initial game."
I cocked my head. "The initial game?"
"That's where you have to come up with celebrity names. The first initial of the last name your opponent gives you is the first initial of the first name you have to come up with. You start out slow, then it gets faster. Whomever breaks first is the loser."
"If I started with John Wayne, you'd say..."
"Wesley Snipes." Dix replied quickly.
Oh he was good. "Sarah Jessica Parker."
"Pam Tillis."
"Trisha Yearwood."
Dixon smiled at me. "Good name. Not too many celebrities with a 'Y' first name... except for... Yul Brynner. HA!"
"Bobby Flay."
"Fran Dresh... Wait, someone's coming out the door."
I sat up in my seat, then slunk back down so Seth wouldn't see me. He walked outside, then turned back to turn off the lights and lock the door to the gallery. He took one look around the parking lot and noticed the broken light bulb.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," I whispered.
Dix reached out and touched my shoulder. "Keep calm baby girl. He's just noticing something isn't quite right, but he doesn't see us."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm 99 percent sure."
I didn't realize I was holding my breath until Seth's car pulled out of the parking lot and turned the corner, heading towards the Reddy house. I exhaled loudly and shook out my hands.
My uncle handed me his lock-picking kit. "I'll keep a lookout and if anything goes down, I'm going to call you, let it ring once then hang up. That's your cue to get the hell out of dodge, or hide if you need to."
"No worries, Dix. This should be a piece of cake, right?"
Dixon groaned and slapped his hand over his eyes. "Never say that on a stakeout. Nothing is ever a piece of cake. Now get moving. You don't have much time before he comes back."
I pulled up my hood, covering the bright red hair that would give me away to any surveillance cameras in the area. I had also pulled on black latex gloves, so I wouldn't leave fingerprints or interfere with the evidence collection. I tucked the Luminol spray bottle under my left arm and got out of the car.
I didn't waste any time looking around the parking lot again, since Dixon had my back. He was my lookout and I trusted him. I needed to get in and get this thing done.
The lock on the back door was pretty standard, and I was in within 30 seconds. I paused just inside the door and looked at the alarm panel. Seth hadn't set the alarm before he left. Odd.
I waited a few more seconds, taking deep breaths, trying to get my pulse to slow down. During that time, I listened for any noises out of the ordinary.
Nothing.
There was dim light coming in through the front window from the streetlights outside. It was just enough to see my way down the hallway towards Seth's studio. I knew once inside the room, I could turn on the lights, since there weren't any windows. But since I was still breaking and entering, I needed to be covert in the off chance someone was downtown and peered in the windows. I didn't need to be caught prowling around.
I eased inside the studio, closed the door behind me and flipped on the lights. It looked much like it did the last time I was here, except I would swear there was fresh plastic on the floor. You could still see the folds in it from where it had been gathered on the roll.
"Smug bastard," I whispered to myself.
The plastic made a loud crinkling sound as I stepped forward. I froze and listened. Nothing. I had to be quick. The plastic was new and that meant I wouldn't hear anyone coming in if I was tromping around on it.
I hurried over to the first painting, Dumah. It had the most red in it and I could almost kick myself for not noticing how much red was in the painting the first time I saw it. It was not just the color, but the wrongness of it. I sprayed Luminol on the biggest splotch of red, and reached into my pocket to grab the tiny black light. As I grabbed it, my phone vibrated with a call. It only vibrated once.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I wasn't going to get another shot at this. I skipped confirmation with the black light and grabbed the evidence collection tube instead.
What the hell was he doing back? He was supposed to be at Vern Reddy's for at least another hour!
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I scraped some of the red into the evidence collection tube and shoved it into my pocket as I ran over to the door, flipped off the lig
hts and turned on the flashlight on my phone. There was a storage closet on the far side of the room and I didn't have time to sneak over there to cover my noisy steps on the plastic.
I made a break for it, sliding the last two feet into the closet and pulling the door nearly all the way shut as someone entered the studio. I turned the phone's flashlight towards my leg so the light wouldn't give me away.
My breath was coming in ragged pants from the sprint and adrenaline. I tried to slow my breathing.
I heard the flick of a light switch and the overhead lights came on again. I slowly turned off the flashlight on my phone and stowed it back into the pocket with the black light. The Luminol bottle was still tucked under my arm. I quietly placed it behind a box, hiding it from sight and giving me the freedom to move my hands.
In my mad dash for a hiding place, while trying to stay quiet, I hadn't shut the storage closet door all the way. There was a tiny crack where I could see inside the studio.
To my left, the area opposite the paintings, there were three huge crates leaning against the wall. A man stepped into my view and I could see that stupid man bun. It was Seth.
What in the world was he doing back here?
He took his time, dragging the three crates and laying them down flat onto the floor. Then, he walked across the room and out of my line of sight. I held my breath. I heard some rustling to the right, then watched as he returned to the crate with one of his murder paintings. He laid it down in the crate, then turned towards the workbench.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Seth was going to get rid of the only evidence left tying him to the murder of Claire Rousseau. I had to do something. I quietly reached inside my pocket for my phone to text Dix who would hopefully call the cavalry.
I was about to open it up when my phone buzzed again.
Once.
I froze and looked through the crack in the door. Seth was busy at the workbench, then he turned to the right side of the studio where I couldn't see. Maybe he hadn't heard and went to get the other murder painting?
I couldn't take that chance. I put my phone back and was reaching into my right pocket for the revolver when the storage room door swung wide.
