by Rain Trueax
“For the record this time-- where were you last night at midnight?”
“In bed. Want to see the room?”
“Anybody with you?”
“I sleep alone.” Not that he might not be convinced to change by a certain blonde.
“It would have been good if you had had someone last night, as that is the approximate time Jane Elm was murdered. The coroner confirmed that she was strangled and by a man with a large enough hand to use only one.”
“There are a lot of big men.”
“Not all have the expertise to know just how to do it.”
“Your point being?”
“You were a SEAL. In the military for sixteen years.”
“Honorably discharged.”
“A lot of men would have spent four more to get a pension.”
“Would they?”
“Do you have anything you want to tell us that might make this go easier?”
Nick smiled. “You must be joking. I told you the truth. I left the gallery after Jane went at me. I went home, poured hydrogen peroxide over the wound, and had a couple of whiskeys. Sat out here and tried to clear my head. Then went to bed. I admit I didn’t go straight to sleep but then Harvey showed up and…”
“I thought you said you were alone.”
“Harvey is my cat. He isn’t apt to be a witness.”
“All right.”
“Harvey doesn’t usually sleep with me, but last night he did. He’s feral with legal credentials—a notched ear. Today, I consider him mine. We’ve gotten attached. I feed him. He jumps over the garden wall and comes when he wants. He seems to know when I am upset and maybe that’s why last night.”
“So you were upset by Ms. Elm’s attack.”
“Of course. It was unhinged, and although she was never a particularly sweet person, she had never seemed as though… well, that she’d attack someone.”
“Had you given her reason?”
“None.”
“Were you lovers?”
Nick resisted the laugh. “You must be joking.”
“Men, handsome like you, sometimes use that to get work, why not a big show.”
Nick was insulted but hid that too. “I don’t do that and don’t need to do it. Hers wasn’t the only gallery for my work. You want to check?”
“We already did.”
Nick lit a cigarette, offered the pack to the policemen who shook their heads. “I don’t have anything more to tell you. I was here this morning until I decided I had to talk to Jane and clear the air or get my paintings out of her gallery. That’s when I saw all the activity. I thought she’d been robbed and never dreamed it was something like it turned out to be.”
Ward studied him with the uncanny way Nick had observed earlier. “SEALs don’t often have a lot to show up on their record… Many jobs are off the record. Yours showed a lot blanked out, which says you were good at what you did.”
“That also meant I was trusted not to do more than the job required.”
“Only a little collateral damage?”
It was said snidely. Nick drew on the cigarette as he thought what the purpose was for being insulting. “Talk to my commanding officer.”
“He’s on our list. A Commander Grayson, I believe.”
“He was the last one.”
“You were transferred a lot?”
“Men do retire-- and some get retired.”
“Fired?”
“Killed.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Look, Detective Whorley, I told you what I know. If that’s not good enough, arrest me, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I didn’t know Jane had enemies. On the other hand, it did look like it had to be someone she knew.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The door didn’t look damaged when I came in. Jane always locked up. You said she was killed late last night. She never stayed late, in the time I knew her. Jane was a cautious woman. Whoever was there either had a key, or she let them in. I have shown there over a year, and she’s never given me a key. So maybe if you check into who had one, that would be a start.”
“You seem to know a lot about investigations.”
“You already know why.”
Ward smiled for the first time. “I guess you’re right. We should go. You may be asked again if you knew of the other artists, any who possibly held a grudge.”
“I didn’t socialize with them, if that’s what you hoped, Detective.”
“Call me Frank… and by the way.” He rose as did his two officers. “I like your work too.”
“Too?”
“I saw how much Denali did.”
“She is an art connoisseur like her mother.”
“You know her mother?”
“As a client. She has bought three of my paintings.”
“Lucky woman to be able to afford them.” Frank smiled. “I noted their prices.”
“Galleries have a lot to do with pricing. I only get half.” When he got that.
“Ah yes, the burden of being in business for yourself.”
He walked them to the door. “And no pension, dental or health insurance,” he added as the three officers walked out.
“No job security.” Frank chuckled. “Not that we always have that either. Nice talking to you, Mr. Beringer.”
“Nick.”
When he closed the door, he opened another beer, sat back in his courtyard and considered whether this was really over. Despite it not being easy to access a SEALs record, it could be done with enough reason. His would be interesting reading for Whorley if he went far enough to get it. He only hoped he wouldn’t find his past wouldn’t also access him through flashbacks and nightmares. He had hoped he had gotten past that. Jane Elm’s death could bring it all back.
Harvey came out from a shrub and rubbed around Nick’s legs, before he settled near him to lick himself. Unconsciously, Nick rubbed his wrist where the raw scars from Jane’s long nails were still irritating. He thought back to all the things the detective would find if he got access to those redacted files.
Smoking he stared at the brilliant red geranium. He had hoped this secret garden, with the brick patio, the flowers, tables and chairs, would be his sanctuary. Everything was intended to project peace-- something Nick had known too little of in his life. He didn’t blame anyone but himself for that. He had hoped painting would provide peace, and it did… sometimes.
Nick changed into his leather pants, pulled on the gloves and took the Harley out of its garage. Revving it up, he was soon buzzing down the highway and within moments was out on the desert where he could think as he rode.
Why had Whorley really come to talk to him and brought along two officers? Nothing Myers or Whorley had said at the gallery had made sense, and the more he thought about it, the more he wondered at their purpose. Cops didn’t usually give out information on a cause of death any sooner than they had to. Maybe it had been hoping for shock or that Nick would give away something. Maybe but something in Whorley’s eyes made him doubt that.
He passed a slow moving older car. Old man out for a drive and determined to not go over forty. Nick wasn’t looking for a ticket or an accident, but he needed speed and once he hit the open desert, the long straightaways, he would have it.
For the police to regard him as a suspect made sense. He had no alibi. He also had no motive unless he’d been a psychopath. Did Jane know any psychopaths? Did he?
He turned onto the road heading to Ajo if he went far enough. He wouldn’t. The bike felt good between his legs, almost as good as a horse. He hadn’t had a horse in years. He didn’t have a place to keep one, but he suddenly wished he did. He felt sorry for horses cooped up in stables, no place to run. Owning one was probably not in his future. Most stable horses weren’t going to give him the kind of ride he needed to clear his head. Short of a beautiful blonde, the Harley had the best shot at it.
When he finally turned his bike around, heading back to Tucson, he thought
about how the police had found Jane’s body. Had that been a message to them… or to him? At first, it hadn’t dawned on him her death might’ve related to him. But the way her body was left had a coincidence aspect that was beginning to bother him.
Back at his adobe, he put the bike away and took a shower. With the water hitting him, washing away the dust of the ride, he decided he needed to do some sleuthing of his own. Jane had not been a friend, but nobody deserved to be humiliated such a way in death. If the killer was never found, there might always be those who would believe it was him. He did have some skills to bring to that kind of search.
As he dried his body, he thought about Denali Hemstreet. She had come to the gallery to find out what had happened to her mother’s friend. Their agency was also likely to become involved in finding the murderer. Was that behind her invitation to lunch?
He thought of the rest of the cast. Whorley and Myers would also be trying to put together a motive, ideally one to link him to the murder. They would want this settled rapidly. So did he. He felt himself being dragged back into a world he thought he had escaped. If the mock crucifixion was a message to him, there was one in his background. Who knew that? Were he and Jane Elm tied together in a way he didn’t know.
He’d start with his computer. He had a few apps of his own to find Jane Elm’s background. He had always suspected she had adopted the name. Where had she come from and who were her friends? He had only come into the gallery to deliver new works, but she hadn’t even seemed congenial with her employees. All business and most conversations were in strident, impatient tones.
So, he’d begin with her and then he would need a list of who had been at the showing. Had one of them seen the argument and decided it would be a convenient time to kill her with the hope it would leave someone else holding the bag?
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Throwing her purse on the hall table, Denali walked into the kitchen, grabbed a frozen entree, put it in the microwave before heading for her bedroom. She took a quick shower and put on black shorts and a purple tank top. Back in the kitchen, she poured herself cold white wine, and ate the dinner with no interest in what it tasted like. Her mind was on the frustrating day she’d had.
The doorbell was a perfect end to it. She knew exactly who it was as only one person rang her doorbell.
“What did you learn?” her mother asked as Denali poured her wine.
“Nothing.”
“I contacted her daughter to see if she needed help with arrangements. We talked for a while. With what I learned from her, I was able to find from where Jane had come. The woman had her secrets, ones she’d never shared with me. She wasn’t always Jane Elm. When she moved to Tucson twenty years ago, she had it legally changed. She did all she could to wipe her past identity from records.”
“Trying to escape a criminal record?”
“No, a treacherous husband. Jane was Jane Jacobson. She lived in Chicago and had married a successful man who died. When she remarried, the man proved to be after her money. She filed all sorts of restraining orders, but he ignored them. Unless he actually hurt or killed her, the authorities would do nothing.”
“This sounds rather familiar,” Denali said thinking of her own disastrous first marriage.
“Other than that you didn’t have to form a new identity to finally end your situation. As far as I can tell, Jane’s husband, Richard Jacobson never found her. He still lives in Chicago, at any rate or was there last time he came online.”
“I hope he can’t find you were searching. Of course, Jane doesn’t have to worry about it anymore, I guess.”
“The program I used has blocking. He won’t know. He does not seem likely as her murderer. It’s been over twenty years.”
“You were friends,” Denali said sipping her wine, “and yet, she never said anything about any of her past?”
“I suppose we were casual friends. Our friendship began after Marcus was killed. I never talked to her about any of that either. I did think we could have had deeper friendships but maybe we both had our secrets that made that impossible. We worked on projects, sometimes a glass of wine or dinner. I didn’t try to look into her past.” She raised her eyebrows. “It’s not as if I can’t have friends where I don’t snoop into their lives.”
Denali smiled and got her mother’s point but went back to the subject at hand. “Do they have a suspect?”
“Jace said they talked to Nicholas Beringer again at his home. They got nothing they didn’t already know.”
“I didn’t get the feeling he did it when we had lunch.”
Her mother’s interest perked up at that. “You had lunch with him. My. I don’t generally find a man turns my head, but that one could. He’s quite gorgeous, isn’t he?”
“He is, but it wasn’t a date sort of lunch. I wanted to see what I could learn. I guess he also was trying to sort through what had happened. Did you know he was a SEAL?”
“No, I didn’t. Would that relate?”
“In the sense-- they are men used to dangerous missions, know how to kill, might be inured to it.”
“Which is why the police may have questioned him a second time.”
She nodded. “He had a fine record, some medals.” She smiled. “I also did some checking.”
“And lunch.”
“It meant nothing.”
“Darn. I would love to see you girls married, as you know. Of course, not to just anyone.” She grinned. “But Nick Beringer isn’t just anyone, is he?”
“Mom, I can tell you this much. He’s not looking for a relationship.” She refilled their wine glasses.
“Most men aren’t until it finds them.”
“Wishful thinking on your part. Besides, what if he’s a murderer. Want your daughter married to a murderer?”
“You and I both know he didn’t kill Jane.”
“But, the police aren’t sure.”
“They want an easy answer. He won’t end up being it.”
“Hopefully not.” Denali sighed. “I wish I could do some magic to paint like he does.”
“You know you cannot use your abilities for yourself-- a good way to lose them or have them turn on you.”
“As you have told me a thousand times.”
“Some learn it the hard way.”
“Well, I haven’t. Anyway, I agree he’s not the killer. It doesn’t suit the energies I felt from him when we ate. But he is a dangerous man.”
“There is danger and danger. He’s not a bad man is he?”
“No, but he has a wild streak. He’s trying to push it away, but it’s there. You can see that in his paintings. His sensuality also shows in them. He’s been hurt, and the scars are there and I don’t mean just physically. I haven’t inspected that.” She smiled.
“Did I hear a yet?” her mother asked with a grin as they walked into Denali’s living room. It was an ordinary room, nothing outstanding to indicate even Denali’s personality, nothing like her mother’s big house. Denali was gone so much she hadn’t cared to put her mark on her dwelling. It was just a place to crash, and after her day, it’s what she wanted to do as she yawned.
“I see there will be better times to talk,” her mother said rising. “We are taking this case.”
“As a charitable gift?”
“As an assigned case. Jane’s daughter hired our agency to see if we can find who killed her mother.”
“Is she concerned it might be her father?” She walked her mother to the door.
“It’s, of course, a possibility. He brutalized them both. When they escaped him, they changed their identities. She doesn’t want to be found.”
“Hopefully, the notoriety of this case won’t lead to that.”
“We’ll do all we can to be sure it does not.” She smiled and then ran down the steps to her bicycle. They only lived five blocks apart; so Denali knew her mother must have been for a ride. It’s what she often did to relax after work. She watched until she disappeared around the corner.
/> Denali found her tiredness had disappeared. She had to start somewhere on this case. The best place would be who was at the showing. It had been crowded, many she would not know. Using remote viewing, she tried to concentrate on faces, seeking their reason for being there. It was a blur of energies, many conflicting. Voices came through, but none were helpful. Perhaps if she knew their names. There had to have been an invited guest list.
She opened her laptop and found the gallery website. Scanning through the event, there were photos of Beringer’s paintings, the time of the show, his background, at least what he had put out for the public. What she wanted was not there. The guest list would be in Jane Elm’s office. A daytimer might be helpful if the police hadn’t already taken it. Would Jane have written down a late-night meeting? She went into her bedroom and put on black jeans and shirt. She could transport herself there without being seen, but to look through the desk, she’d have to become visible. She added a black scarf to cover her hair and then concentrated on where she wanted to be.
A moment later, she was in Jane’s office. The building was eerily quiet. Without an outside window, she was about to take the risk of turning on a light when she heard a noise in the main gallery.
She slipped through the door, standing in the shadow of one of the columns as she heard a metallic sound at the door. In moments, the door had opened and a figure slipped in. He was wearing a black shirt, pants, boots and even gloves. He would be almost invisible in the darkness were it not for his quick movement across the room, as he headed for the office. She waited until his back was to her and then set off a plasma bolt intended to flatten but not kill him. It barely phased him as he turned, and she sent a second blast. This time it staggered him, and a familiar voice let out a curse.
What the hell was he doing here?
Chapter Four
Working for breath, Nicholas Beringer looked toward the figure who had tazed him. When she let out a little laugh, he knew who it had been. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked working to get control of his voice. The impact of the Taser had taken the breath from him.
