by Rain Trueax
A handsome young man, she had not even been eighteen when she’d been swept away by the football player wanting to date the geek. As a woman of almost thirty, being unusually tall wasn’t a problem. As a girl, those long legs had seemed awkward. She had not yet come to see the beauty others said they saw in her. Her blonde hair was less attractive to her than her mother’s and sisters’ dark hair. He had overwhelmed her when he told her she was beautiful. It didn’t take long after their quickie wedding, to realize he used words he never meant and was better at insults than compliments.
Sighing, Denali got into her BMW and smiled as the engine purred as soon as she turned the key. She loved that car, and its ease of handling as she turned out onto Oracle and headed for downtown Tucson.
Gallery 11 was just south of the main business district, not far from the convention center and at the edge of Barrio Viejo, her family’s neighborhood. Since the day Ms. Elm had refused her, she’d not returned to the gallery, but she’d seen from the outside how it had grown with an impressive façade and the prestige to lure major artists to have well-attended shows.
She had to park two blocks from the gallery due to emergency vehicles. She walked toward the building, assuming she’d have to go invisible if she wanted to go inside. Then, she recognized a familiar face. He was talking into a phone and only saw her when she was almost to him. His grin was wide. Good, he wasn’t holding a grudge about her refusing his last dinner invitations.
“Frank Whorley,” she said, “so good to see you.” Frank was a nice man with fine manners, but he hadn’t set off any sparks. He was friend material, who had seen it otherwise—hence no more dinners.
“I don’t need to ask what has brought you here, Denali. Your mother take this case?”
“Not as such. She was friends with Jane Elm. Detective Myers told her the essence and she, of course, wanted to know more. So, she sent me to see what I could learn.” She wasn’t about to tell him about her mother’s concerns, even before the call. She didn’t need to open up more investigative threads—not unless it related, which she had no idea it did.
Frank grinned. He was a good looking guy, just a little taller than she, when she wasn’t wearing three inch, beige heels, as she was today. She saw his eyes scan down her legs. He was making no secret of liking what he saw.
“So what do you know so far?” she asked to distract him from asking her out again.
“We’ll know more, after the coroner assesses the cause of death. Other than the blood work, she had abrasions around her neck, bluing under the eyes, indicators she was strangled. Considering how her body was left, there are other possible assaults that could have been fatal.”
“Detective Myers mentioned something about her body being found over a sculpture.”
Ward shook his head. “It was sick, one of the worst things I’ve seen—and that’s going a lot. Maybe a clue to her murderer or a macabre sense of humor.”
“May I see where she had been left?” She wanted to get into the gallery before the energies became more dispersed. If she had any chance of remote-viewing what had occurred, it would be before they became muddled by other interactions.
She saw him deliberate. “I don’t suppose it’d hurt anything. You are a detective, after all. Just, of course, don’t touch anything. They have yet to look for fingerprints or gather the DNA evidence on her body… and elsewhere.”
“DNA seems questionable evidence other than on the body with so many there last night.”
“We’ll take all we can find that seems out of place. Are you familiar with the sculpture the murderer used?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t been in the gallery in years.”
He waved one of the men over. “When the chief gets here, come get me. I’m taking Ms. Hemstreet to the atrium.”
The gallery layout was as she had remembered, but there had been additions. It looked prosperous. Elm must have been doing well for herself and her stable of artists. The Beringer paintings filled the main gallery with brilliant color and paintings full of movement and vibrant energy. His paintings were passionate from the school of expressionism, moving almost into abstracts.
“You know this guy?” Frank asked as they walked past them to where a glass door led to a courtyard.
“I don’t, but my mother has his paintings. She was here last night.”
“They’ll probably question her. They are looking at all the attendees.”
“No likely suspects yet?”
“The field is open. Her employee, Victoria Ames, found the body when she came to open the gallery. She is in shock and wasn’t worth much for giving us information. We did have the list of those who were sent invitations, but the event was a big deal and had been advertised. Anyone could have been here.”
“Do they have an approximate time of death?”
“Nothing yet from the coroner, but from what I saw, I’d guess before midnight.”
“And, you were here before they removed the body?”
He nodded. His mouth tightened. “I wish I hadn’t, but it is my job.”
“How about Detective Myers?”
“He was called in right away. He went with the body to the coroner. In some cases, we’d have left it here for gathering whatever additional forensic evidence we could. In this case, the chief said get her down. She is or rather was a prominent citizen. She had been nearly stripped, possibly even raped. She deserved what dignity she could have.” Denali had seen death more times than she wished and felt it rarely had dignity when it came with violence.
When she walked into the atrium, it seemed the last place for a violent act amidst the beauty of the flowers and shrubs. Then she saw the sculpture and had to resist a gasp. It was bronze, a female shaman, over seven feet tall with antlers coming out of her head. A beautiful woman, who looked exactly like her sister, Elke, when taking part in important rituals. It was a grotesque to put a body on such a beautiful sculpture. Or was it the very reason?
“Whoever put her up there ran the antlers through her hands. I don’t even know how anyone could do such a thing given the height and even more, why. It caused her to appear almost crucified. It was disgusting.” His face had whitened. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m a cop.”
“Because you’re good at it.”
“Not enough reason on a day like this.”
Denali tried to feel the energy in the garden, but it had been thoroughly blocked by someone who was good at it. A supernatural being could have thrown a body there and done what was done, but why? She looked again at the sculpture and felt an eerie sense of not only the macabre but even more-- why would Jane Elm have bought that particular bronze? It represented shamanistic energy and to then have her body put on it as an offering or was it as a warning?
“Any idea where she was actually killed if it wasn’t on the sculpture?”
“Not really but most likely in the gallery. There was a place where blood was found. It’s being analyzed. Nothing had been disturbed—at least not that we could determine, and Ms. Ames didn’t think anything was missing although she was going to look through the office after the fingerprints had been collected.”
“Strange.”
“Very,” he agreed. “The image that keeps haunting me is this beautiful sculpture, like a goddess, and then the old woman impaled on it. Incongruous doesn’t do justice to what it felt like. Was it a message of some sort? Killings aren’t usually like this. It just keeps hitting me in the gut.”
“I can imagine.” And she could.
She walked back into the gallery. “Do you have any idea how the assailant got in?” Again she tried to feel what had happened twelve hours before. She could hear the noise of people talking, laughter, and then the fight with Elm and Beringer. It was coming through just as her mother had described it. His image was vague, more from the back, no face, but Elm’s more clear. The older woman had dyed her hair a harsh black, since she had last seen her.
“No doors broken; so someone sh
e knew, or she had forgotten to lock them. Miss Ames said that didn’t happen, not with south side so close and homeless sometimes wandering around. We are going with it being someone she knew, maybe waiting for. Either that or they had a key.”
Or someone who didn’t need a key to access any building they wanted. It was then she heard a disturbance outside the gallery and a deep voice arguing with one of the police officers.
Chapter Two
Nick Beringer had walked from his studio to Gallery 11 with the intention of finishing his discussion… if he could call it that… with Jane regarding the work she had hung without his permission. The police officers and all the vehicles around the gallery had him wondering what could have happened. Maybe a robbery. He knew Jane kept money in her office; so maybe…
“What’s going on here?” he asked the first officer he came to.
“Crime scene. Who are you?”
“Nick Beringer. I need to talk to Ms. Elm.”
“Sorry but the gallery is closed today.”
“What happened here?”
“Look, mister, I suggest you come back later.”
Another officer came up, this one looking unfriendly. “You knew Ms. Elm?”
“Yes.”
“Then we want to question you. Come down to the station and…”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Are you resisting arrest?”
“I am being arrested?” Nick felt astounded. He’d been the injured party at the showing, with Jane slashing his wrist with her vicious nails. He was lucky she hadn’t pierced a vein.
“No, you’re not.” A plainclothes detective came out from the gallery. “You said you are Nick Beringer, the artist?”
“I am. I was here last night and came back to talk to Jane. Where is she?”
“Come inside.” The detective lifted the yellow tape and Nick ducked low to go under it.
“What’s going on?” he asked, and then he saw a gorgeous blonde standing and watching him with a speculative look. Was she Jane’s daughter? He’d never met her but had heard she had one. Since the woman didn’t offer a name, he looked back at the police officer.
“Come inside,” the man repeated. “I am Detective Whorley.”
“What’s going on, and where is Jane?”
“You don’t know?”
“Obviously.” Nick looked around the gallery, but nothing looked different than the night before when he’d stalked out with a realization Jane had gone completely over the deep end. She had been impossible to reason with. He had wondered if she was on some drug but whatever the case, he had left. The blonde hadn’t been there. He’d have remembered her. “Was the place robbed?”
“Jane Elm is dead.”
Nick felt shock surge through him. That wasn’t possible. But from his own life experiences, he knew it was. He clenched his jaw against the emotions and memories coming from the past. “What happened?”
“You don’t know?” The detective’s suspicious tone told Nick that the altercation of the night could lead to charges-- except he hadn’t hurt her. “Know what? I left here, went back to my studio and after a few whiskeys I went to bed.”
“Any alibi to prove your story?”
“Why do I need one, but no, I live alone.”
The detective pointed to the gash on his wrist. “You in a fight recently?”
“It happened last night.” Then he saw where this was heading. “Jane didn’t have a heart attack then?”
“She was murdered.”
If the man had hoped to shock him, he failed. Nick had known too many brutal deaths, to let one more shock him. Except, it wasn’t usually women like Jane Elm, business women, past their prime, without violent boyfriends.
“You don’t look surprised.” Again the suspicious tone.
Nick let out a breath as he again looked around the gallery. He saw where this was heading. How would he prove that the fight hadn’t been his fault that Jane had been out of control? Even with a hundred people in the room, most weren’t paying attention to the argument with Native American chants playing so loudly. Even more, how could he prove he hadn’t come back? Just his word.
“Death never surprises me,” he said finally and let out a breath. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“You think you could?” the detective asked.
“You tell me.”
“Regarding the scratch on his arm,” he heard the blonde’s voice for the first time. It was as sexy sounding as the rest of her. “My mother was here last night. She saw Jane claw him in an unprovoked rage. She said that Mr. Beringer didn’t fight back, but he did leave.”
He turned then to look at her, knocked out by her beauty. A man didn’t often see such gorgeous women and then the long blonde hair, full lips, kissable lips, and surprisingly, an intelligent look in deep blue eyes. She was tall, would come to his chin and not many women did. “I don’t know you,” he said. “Who is your mother?”
“You might know her. She’s bought three of your paintings. Maria Hemstreet.”
The acorn hadn’t fallen far from that tree. “I do know her… as a client.”
“She is a fan of your work.” She turned back then to the detective. “Mom saw Jane attack him and claw his wrist when she actually was trying to scratch out his eyes but couldn’t reach them.” She had a slight smile as she added the last. “Mother said, as far as she could tell and from what she observed, he hadn’t done anything to lead to Jane’s complete overreaction.”
“That might explain the blood then on the floor,” the detective said. “I didn’t mean to come on hard, but when something like this happens to a well-known citizen, it warrants a quick reaction to reassure the public that we have it in hand.”
“Do you?” Nick asked, as his mind raced ahead to the question of who would murder Jane. She could be obnoxious but to a level driving someone to murder? He knew nothing of her private life, might she have a boyfriend she irritated once too often?
“You were a logical suspect. Have you seen the sculpture in the atrium?” Whorley asked.
“A few times.”
“It’s where we found her body.”
Before Whorley could say more, another detective, one Nick had met previously, entered the gallery. “Sad situation, Mr. Beringer,” Jace Myer said reaching out and taking Nick’s hand. He looked suspiciously at the raw scratch. Again, the blonde described the event. It didn’t look to please the detective much. He probably hoped for an easy arrest, and the scratches could have provided just enough-- if there had not been witnesses as to when they had been acquired.
“You have any such rows with her before?” Myers asked.
Nick shook his head. He was trying to think how much he should say. He knew how police worked. If they thought they could nail him, they would without much caring if he had done it. “She wasn’t an easy person to work with,” he said finally wishing for a cigarette. He had thought he quit, but this seemed a good time to start smoking again.
“So you’d had fights before?”
“Not like last night. Just disagreements. Last night was about her hanging a work I hadn’t given her permission to show. She had asked to have it here to show to a client, who she felt might buy it, but it was not to be on the wall. She hung it anyway. I was not pleased. To be honest, when she got so enraged, I was surprised. It made no sense, when she clawed me like that.”
“Anything previous to lead to it?”
“Not on my end. It had been a professional relationship. She’d hung my work for over a year with no problems. This was the first one-artist show.”
“And she ruined it.”
“I wouldn’t say that, although I haven’t seen if there were sales. But if the next question is did I murder her, I didn’t, nor did I want to hit her. I just wanted to get away from her, until she calmed down. I expected to come back here this morning and have her be apologetic.”
“Why didn’t you want it shown?” Whorley did sound suspicious.
Nick knew he probably was being foolish telling them anything. He’d been foolish before.
“It’s a new direction. It didn’t fit the rest of the show.”
“Did Whorley tell you how she died?” Myers asked.
“No.”
“The coroner will be more specific, but it appears she was strangled… and by a hand large enough to break her neck doing it. You have large hands. Mr. Beringer.”
“I did not come back here last night, nor did I in any way hurt Jane. If you want to arrest me, do it, but I’m through answering questions without a lawyer. I can see where this is heading.”
“We don’t have enough to arrest you.” Myers’ smile didn’t look reassuring. “Want to see how the body was found?”
“Why would you want me to?”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“No. Dead is dead.”
“There is a little more in this case. Come out to the atrium, unless you are afraid.”
Nick couldn’t suppress the smile. This man had no idea what it would take to make him afraid. He didn’t say anything, as he followed the detectives to the atrium. Nothing looked different to him. The female shaman was still in the center of the courtyard and then he saw blood on the antlers. He frowned and met the detective’s suspicious gaze. “And you were going to tell me something,” he said, glad his voice sounded level.
“Ms. Elm was hung from this sculpture. Her hands had been pierced by the antlers. She had been partially stripped making it look like a crucifixion. Strange, isn’t it?”
“Why are you telling me this?” Nick asked knowing police usually kept such things secret. Did they possibly know more about his history than they were letting on?
“Thought it might be of interest to you.”
“I don’t see how. I knew the woman professionally, and this was a terrible end to her life. It seems the work of a monster.”
“We are thinking that.”
