SAGE: AN ADAM STONE MYSTERY (THE ADAM STONE MYSTERIES Book 1)

by D. L. EVANS

  The TV announcer once again reminded the public not to drive into the city as the major arteries were closed for the afternoon. The Prime Minister and entourage had taken over the King Eddy Hotel and the major celebs were no doubt still partying in the Royal York. It was a beautiful day. The city was showing its best. Flower baskets and flags hung everywhere. I stood for a minute and watched a large monitor set up like a movie screen. A crane shot from the main camera high above the gathering crowds showed an over-view of the many floor cameras and lights set to cover the obligatory speeches and dedications on the temporary podium. What did this little 'dog and pony' show cost? The main focus of attention was on a huge two-story mountain behind the stage that was neatly draped in grey canvas; the secret statue designed and cast by the great Vladimir Roman, now known to be a bronze fountain of some sort and centrepiece of the plaza and the known universe.

  No doubt it would put us on the map as far as the art world was concerned. It was about time we had a beautiful fountain. There were sure enough ugly ones in the city. Maybe it would do for Toronto what the Trevi did for Rome, or was I being too optimistic? Guess I just wanted to see the damn thing, after two bloody years of hype.

  From a distance the plaza looked like a giant glittering spider-web anchored to various skyscrapers. In reality it was the mother of all greenhouses, letting in natural sunlight to several stone gardens filled with full- grown tropical trees and exotic flowers. The four bank towers, also all steel and glass, glared down from the corners but once inside, you had to look to see them through the greenery. The overall effect was like a rainforest, complete with hidden tubes spraying mist and birds calling to each other above the human voice pollution. I didn’t actually see any birds; probably canned sounds to add to the illusion. I circled the area once, checking out the seating assigned to all the notables due to arrive in about an hour when I spotted Roger Smythe schmoozing with a few of the media bigwigs. Ah well, someone has to do it and he certainly looked slicked up for the job. He laughed at some comment and I could hear his voice resonating like Mark Anthony addressing the Roman Senate. A well-fed ego no doubt kindled by any audience. I should have taken a few minutes to shave or... I reasoned, I could just tell Lauren that I was trying to fit into the art world where facial hair was de rigueur. It worked for me.

  At the opposite end of the stage, I was surprised to see Mack directing some rookies. Bits of conversation liberally sprinkled with threats and profanity flew around him like sparks from an explosion. Since I knew that every available cop was here or in the vicinity and all leaves had been cancelled, I could imagine the short tempers. I waited ‘till he stopped for a breath before I approached and asked if he knew where Lauren was holding court. I don’t know why, I just felt that he would know.

  He did. I didn’t quite catch the mumblings about taking a much-needed break but I followed along as he headed toward the makeshift podium that led to a hallway. Several small offices had been temporarily set up as Lauren’s headquarters

  He snarled, “Didya see ‘Lord Smythe’ slithering around the TV cameras, giving great face?”

  I laughed and said “You’re not exactly objective let alone polite but yes, I passed him coming in. He is technically the host of this bash, you know, and composure and charm are hard wired into his DNA."

  Mack snorted.

  Lauren was up to her neck in people, talking on the phone, signing papers and directing like a traffic cop. How did she keep all those balls in the air without losing her cool? It was a mystery. She looked lovely, even in camera make-up and with wind proof curls. A tornado of efficient order in the chaos around her. Mack calmed down immediately. We waited until she looked over and caught my eye. I could see from her expression that all was not as well as I’d first thought.

  Excusing herself from the madding crowd, she made her way over to us and gave me the usual sisterly kiss on the cheek and, to my complete amazement, did the same to Mack. Mr. Charm himself reacted as if she did this all the time, returning the gesture. What was going on here? I thought.

  She led us to a private anteroom, just off the main office, telling her secretary Mary that she didn’t want to be disturbed for a few minutes. Mary, looking splendid in a snug mini skirt, nodded and winked at me. Saucy wench. Mack laughed. When the three of us were alone behind closed doors, Lauren confided, “I have a disaster looming. Vladimir Roman, the star of this whole dedication, is missing! He was supposed to be here an hour ago. When he didn’t show, I called his agent, Liz Hough, and she drove straight over to the house he’d rented. He isn’t there! It’s empty but his bags are there, all packed and ready for pick-up, so he must have been there this morning.”

  “His bags?” Mack repeated.

  “Yes,” she explained. “He’s leaving for Europe after the ceremony tonight. I knew about that. But Adam, he wouldn’t miss this opening. He’s the star - all the media - the celebrities. Something must have happened to him; a car accident maybe. Liz is frantic and that is not like her at all. She’s used to these temperamental types but confided that she thinks something is really wrong.” Lauren continued, “The first thing that occurred to both of us was Morgan... found dead, murdered. Is there a madman on the loose that kills brilliant artists? Roman would have to be dead to miss this show. Can you check if there’s been an accident?” Lauren asked Mack. She touched his arm and said that she would really appreciate it if the information could be kept quiet for the moment. Mack looked over at me.

  I asked Lauren, “When did you see him last?”

  “I told you that at dinner on Tuesday night.” she answered. “We had to go over the schedule and we discussed his speech earlier that same morning. What’s going on, Adam? Do you know something?”

  “Were there any problems? Did he have any complaints?” I asked, not answering her question.

  “No,” she said, “not with the ceremony or his ‘thank you’ speech, but he was still outraged with the workmen who have had to run huge industrial hoses to his fountain. I told you about that before. I thought he was going to strangle the foreman for daring to touch the piece, except where the pipes were built in and marked. Vlad’s made several hush-hush adjustments to some part of the sculpture, but because it's still inside the canvas no one could see...” she rolled her eyes in frustration, “he’s thrown something out of alignment again. I told you that they had to jury rig hoses to get water to it for the time being. But that crisis was settled, Adam. After lots of stroking and pleading, on my part, they finally got the water running to Vlad’s satisfaction, though he was still annoyed that the set-up had to be temporary. The point is, it wouldn’t stop him from being here to take the bows for his masterpiece. It represents two years of his life. He’s incredibly proud of it. You saw him. He would be here if he could, I’m sure of it. Something’s happened. Something bad.”

  “Can you manage without him?” Mack asked her.

  “Yes, I can fake it with some excuse but... it’s almost a snub to the guests. They’re here to meet him... Oh well. I’ll think of something. But I sure hope he’s been abducted by aliens or been hit by a meteor and not just had a childish temper tantrum about the God damn temporary installation of a few water pipes. I already I hate the bloody hulk. The damn trouble it’s been so far... just a great hunk of metal as big as a mountain. The size of Roman’s ego, I should say. It had better be worth it.”

  Perhaps it was time to tell her we knew that Roman had been missing for three days…. at least as far as the police were concerned. The ‘all points bulletin’ had gone out as soon as Mack saw the tape of Annie and Vlad’s bodyguard at Summerhill Glen. The three had simply disappeared. No one had seen them since their meeting with Lauren and her team late Tuesday morning.

  As if on cue, Mary popped her head in the door and passed Lauren the remote phone. “Sorry, she said to us generally, “But it’s Ms. Hough and she insisted I interrupt you. She still can’t locate Mr. Roman. You better talk to her.”

  Lauren quickl
y took the phone and spoke calmly. “Yes Liz, I’m with the police now... don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll show up and probably make a grand entrance.” She listened for a few minutes, said thanks for telling her and hung up. She turned to Mack. “That was Liz Hough, Vlad’s agent. She’s checked with the Island Airport and Vlad’s plane has been fuelled and is ready for them. Vlad’s assistant, secretary or whatever he is, Serge Mentz, ordered the jet Monday to be prepped to leave late tonight. He also scheduled a caterer to show up this morning with a special order of gourmet supplies, liquor and food, to be put on board. That was the last anyone heard from any of them.

  Liz is waiting for Vlad at his place.” She concluded.

  Mack finally had to put Lauren in the picture. “It might be a long wait, Lauren,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t fill you in earlier. ”Serge Mentz was positively identified on the tape as the murderer of Richard Stanford. The tape that was delivered anonymously to the station showed the whole thing. We’ve been looking for them since late Tuesday morning. That meeting you had with them was the last anyone has seen of them. They probably left the country secretly and ordering the plane readied and supplies put aboard could have been red herrings to imply that they were still here. We’re checking of course.”

  Lauren was shocked. “Oh no. There must be a mistake. Why would Vlad’s assistant kill Mr. Stanford? I don’t even think either man spoke English very well.”

  “That’s the big question. There doesn’t seem to be a motive. Don’t worry, Sis.” I said putting my arm around her shoulder. “We’ll find them eventually, but not in time to take the bows today. I see that Roger is out there doing his thing with the plutocrats so you’re not on your own with the visiting brass.”

  “Yeah and he’s not himself either. Oh he’s saying all the right things but it’s like he’s a robot, repeating trite phrases, whatever he thinks they want to hear. Or maybe it’s me. I don’t know anymore,” she said.

  Mack took her hand comfortingly. “At least he’s sharing the load with you. That’s something.” I was amazed that he didn’t say anything critical. Who was this guy?

  Once again Mary bounced in breaking the spell. Lauren’s public awaited and Mr. Smythe requested her presence on the podium. Lauren thanked her and said that she would be right there. I could see that she was not looking forward to telling him about the errant Vlad.

  “Just before you go,” I asked, “have you heard from Alison or Annie?”

  “I spoke to Alison this morning just for a few minutes.” Lauren said to me. “They’re busy with funeral arrangements and going on the presumption that the powers-that-be will be releasing the... body to the funeral home today. God what a month they’ve had. But don’t worry. They’re holding up OK.”

  It was some consolation. I assured Lauren that we would get back to her if we found anything on Vlad’s whereabouts but to continue on as if he was detained and wouldn’t make it. She agreed, thanked us and left, closing the door behind her.

  Mack opened the door again and stared as the two women walked away. “Hmmmm. Wonder what really happened to him? Got any ideas?” He asked me.

  “I couldn’t guess but I did notice the meaningful look my sister gave you whilst pressing your arm. Dare I conclude that this potential relationship is the reason for your celibacy?”

  He made a performance about putting away his cell phone, straightened his tie, cleared his throat and headed to the door. About as eloquent as he was going to get and it spoke volumes.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  ADAM STONE:

  I marvelled once again at my sister’s ability to shine under pressure. Despite the missing artist, Vladimir Roman, the huge media event was unfolding without a seam. As usual, I found the crowds stifling, the speeches boring except for Lauren's and decided that my presence was no longer necessary.

  I left the Grand Opening and walked back to my apartment before the actual unveiling of Roman’s masterpiece, I set the recorder to catch the rest of the television presentation to peruse at my convenience. So many theories, speculations and ideas kept floating around my ‘little grey cells’ as Agatha Christie’s Poirot would have said.

  My computer beckoned and I started working into the night. Who killed my car? Why did they kill my car? Why did they do it in such a gut-wrenching manner? Late the next morning, I turned on the TV and VCR and watched the rest of the ceremony from the comfort of my living room. It went like clockwork. Everything Lauren is involved with usually does. With the exception of the missing artist, the grand event seemed to be enjoyed by all. Roman is assured his place in history as the mysterious fountain, to no one’s surprise, is spectacular.

  I considered my car again as I looked at the tape. It had to be the 'watcher'. He must be pissed; more than pissed, he must be threatened by my relationship with his … what? What would Annie be to him? A protégé? A secret love? The child he never had? It was hard to peg this guy. Did he think Annie would be celibate for the rest of her life? Did he plan to warn, threaten or kill every man who came close?

  On the TV, the mountainous canvas cover dropped at the precise moment the Prime Minister cut the ribbon and everyone gasped. The centrepiece of the work is a life-sized mermaid reposing on a group of rocks. Behind her, cliffs rise majestically out of a lake with the city skyline represented in subtle relief as texture. The bronze was polished in places and left rough in others. With the natural light shining, the edges of the exquisite female are touched with gold. The small mounds she rests against are miniatures of the actual islands off Toronto. Water cascades down the cliffs and builds at her feet reflecting the shadows and highlights of the hidden city. On the TV, the camera panned the onlookers staring up in awe. It truly is a breathless piece. You could hear a pin drop for a good minute until spontaneous applause drowned out the sound of falling water. But the adored and now immortal artist was still nowhere to be seen. As the tape played on, I gathered some loose notes and was sorting them into files when I heard a key in the door. Lauren came in with a bag from the local bakery and a large container of orange juice. I turned the volume down on the TV as she smiled a hello and set her things out on the counter.

  With a little controlled annoyance in my voice I said, “I don’t suppose it even occurred to you that you could one day walk in unannounced as usual and catch me with numerous naked women?” No comment from Lauren. Dishes slam, cutlery clanging. “You know, doing it?” I stated, a little louder than necessary.

  “Get a grip,” she smirked. “I consider myself lucky if you’ve dragged yourself out of bed and shaved. By the way, I noticed you haven’t, and you missed shaving yesterday too and don’t even think about growing a beard. Being a writer you can get away with needing a haircut because of that boyish thatch women would die for, but that’s it! So get presentable and I’ll continue to get breakfast, generous and nice person that I am. Hurry up, I need to talk.”

  “Who said you were nice? I complained. “And what’s the latest on Roman? Still missing?”

  “Where’ve you been? On Mars? It’s all that everyone is talking about. I was hoping you might have heard something from Mack, but I guess there’s no news yet. I am nice,” she shouted. “Just to prove it, I’ll tell you that you are definitely looking better these days; a little hairy, maybe, but better. And you didn’t tell me that your car was destroyed. Damn it Adam. I had to hear about it from Mack.” I took a deep breath and started to explain but she cut me off. “Oh don’t bother. I’m up to speed now, no thanks to you. I see that your weights are out and you’ve cut back on the booze. Now about a shower...”

  “OK, OK, I give up. I’ll be right back. Put the coffee on. On second thought, better just turn on the kettle. I’ve tasted your coffee.” She gave me a mock glare. I risked a parting shot, “You can boil water, can’t you?”

  Later, over store-bought croissants we got down to the real reason for her visit. I wondered why she wasn’t basking in the afterglow of the wildly successful opening or at least taki
ng it easy, enjoying a leisurely morning after the party she had hosted ‘till the early hours. I thought it could have been the need for a calm moment out of the limelight. I wasn’t even close. The visit was partially to hideout from the press that persistently asked about the missing genius and partially to avoid Roger. Her ex-fiancé was putting on not-so-subtle pressure to forgive and forget so they could get their wedding plans back on track. It seems that Mr. Smythe couldn’t or wouldn’t understand the reason for Lauren’s refusal. The more he pressed, the more she felt confused and resisted. There was too much he didn’t explain. Getting to the truth was Lauren’s stock and trade. How Roger thought he could avoid discussing the reasons for his previous paranoia was baffling.