The twins left through the front door and nearly bumped into Jacob Underwood, the apprentice that Savannah’s dad had hired shortly before he died. She continued with his education as a tribute to John Webb’s memory. Jacob was a little over eighteen, lanky and dark-haired. He was holding Suzy, his trusty brown, tan, and white Beagle service dog. Suzy was trained to assist Jacob to control the panic attacks that occasionally struck him when he was under stress. He walked up to Savannah and deliberately looked her in the eyes. “Good morning, Miss Savannah. How are you?”
“I am very well, Jacob. Thank you for asking.”
A flash of relief played across his face and he looked down at the floor. “I’m practicing my social skills. Mom says I will need to be much better if I want to work with clients on glass commissions.”
“What a good start, Jacob.” Savannah’s chest filled with pride. Jacob had what used to be known as Asperger’s Syndrome and thrived in the routine—but creative—work of stained glass design and repair. “Good customer relations bring repeat business, along with referrals from satisfied customers. A little practice making eye contact every day will make it more comfortable for you. It may never be easy, but it will certainly be more comfortable.” She scratched Suzy behind her ears. “Good morning to you as well.”
Suzy licked her hand, then turned her gaze back to Jacob.
Jacob smiled slightly, and without another word walked quickly into his workroom to perform his first task of the day. He sat in his chair and slipped rubber booties on Suzy so she could run free in the studio without collecting stray shards of glass in her paws. Suzy looked up at him with her pleading big brown eyes, and performed an awkward goose stepping circle, but she relented to the shoes and settled into the routine of Jacob’s day.
Savannah realized she was smiling. Jacob’s efforts to socialize were strongly encouraged by his mother, Frances Underwood, a juvenile court judge. Only last week, they met for a long lunch at the swanky Vinoy Hotel at Frances’s expense to discuss specific scenarios for Jacob to practice. This was his first attempt at making eye contact.
A tap on her shoulder interrupted Savannah’s thoughts.
Arthur stood behind her, grinning like a possum. “I’m staying for a while to work on my new project. This early class is a great way to get me up and out of the house. I think it will help me create enough pieces for the next Second Saturday Art Walk. I want to thank you for encouraging me to participate.” He laughed. “Although, prodding is probably more accurate in my case.”
“A big part of my long-term plan is to inform the more advanced glass students about the mechanics of managing the financial side of this business. There’s so much to learn about pricing, marketing, and promoting yourself, and I want to share the knowledge.”
Arthur nodded. “It’s overwhelming and then there’s the fear that your work isn’t good enough.” He turned and walked back to his private studio space two doors down from Savannah’s office along the back wall of the building.
Savannah had no sooner sat in her office chair when the front door opened. In walked Officer Joy Williams of the St. Petersburg Police Department, smartly dressed in a brand-new, freshly pressed dark blue uniform.
Savannah walked out into the exhibit space to greet her. “Joy, I haven’t heard from you for a couple weeks. The new uniform looks great!”
The darker hue lent a natural authority. For Joy, a petite woman of color with neat braids coiled at the base of her slim neck, Savannah thought it would add a significant boost to her official presence.
“Was I happy to get rid of those white shirts trimmed in green over those horrible green trousers? Absolutely.” She twirled a little spin. “I’m so lucky. I’m one of the trial squad members to give the new model a shakedown run. I love the pockets, the fit, and it’s got a wicking thing going so it doesn’t lose its shape. I was concerned about the dark color absorbing heat. We do live in hot, hotter, and hottest Florida, but this new fabric keeps me cool. The best thing is that the dark color doesn’t shine up like a beacon at night. This will save lives.”
“It looks professional. Didn’t we say we would meet for lunch?”
Joy rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m sorry. It’s completely my fault. I promised we’d get together for a beer and a good chat, but I’ve been preoccupied in trying to make a good impression with Detective Parker. I haven’t gotten a lecture lately, but that doesn’t mean one isn’t about to happen.”
Savannah laughed. She had worked with Officer Williams and Detective Parker on a murder case a few months ago. Officer Williams was the first woman of color to join the Homicide Division. She had a right to be worried about her perceived performance. Although she felt welcomed and a valuable part of the division, she was acutely aware she was the first and that meant all others would be judged by her example. The future of many young women to follow depended on her ability to achieve success. She appeared to be handling the pressure well.
“Yep, I’ve been on the receiving end of more than one of those lectures,” said Savannah. “They’re extremely uncomfortable in the heat of the moment, but I’ve always learned something vital. Every. Single. Time.”
“I know the feeling. Anyway, I’m stopping by to invite you to participate as a consultant on a current case. The body of a young man was found early this morning at the Dali Museum. There is definitely an art community connection and Detective Parker wanted me to ask if you would be interested in helping out.”
“Oh my goodness. What happened? I was at the museum last night for the grand opening of a new glass exhibit. Was it someone who attended the party?”
“Yes. It was the artist himself, Dennis Lansing,” said Officer Williams.
Savannah’s hands flew to cover her mouth, then she let her hands fall away. A deep sadness struck her into breathlessness. “Dennis? But . . . I was going to . . .” She looked down for a moment, tried to calm her breathing, and pressed her lips together. “We were going to—Never mind. I was in the receiving line speaking to him when he was pulled away for a VIP tour of his works. I didn’t get a chance to say much to him. We left early to spend some quiet time at home.”
“You knew him?” Joy took out her notebook and began to scribble. “Was he the one you met in Seattle who was involved with your scholarship?”
“No, my Seattle boyfriend—” Savannah pressed her lips together and choked back a curse. She paused and then tilted her head. “Dennis was my very first boyfriend right here in St. Petersburg High School. We had been corresponding by e-mail after I found out he was the featured exhibitor for the Dali Museum.” She looked down at the floor. “I didn’t get a chance to speak to him in person until yesterday.”
“So, first thing. Where were you in the wee hours of this morning?”
Savannah looked up and she felt a professional mask steal across her face. “I was at home asleep with Rooney and my boyfriend, Edward Morris.” She watched Joy note down those facts and saw Joy’s shoulders relax.
“That’s good, but it would help significantly if I could confirm that with someone other than Edward.”
“Of course.” Savannah considered for a moment. “My neighbor across the street waved at me through the window when I took Rooney out for a walk.”
“What time was that?”
“It was late, probably after midnight.”
Joy nodded. “Good—not perfect, but I’ll check that out. I still want to know if you can help as a consultant. It looks like your experience will be needed.”
“The timing is disastrous. How do these things always happen when I’m starting a new class? Not only that, but I have a major commission due on Saturday, and this workshop is technically challenging. I think I may have to turn this down.” She frowned and rubbed the center of her forehead. “Wait, what am I saying?” She pulled a hand from her forehead. “I can’t believe this has happened to Dennis.”
Savannah stood still for a few long moments trying to control the trembling of he
r bottom lip. “Working with you guys will give me a chance to help Dennis find justice. It hits me right in the heart. Of course, I’m interested, but since I knew him, you’d better get it cleared with Detective Parker. If he approves, trust me, I’ll find a way to squeeze this in along with everything else.”
Officer Williams opened her mouth to reply when her phone chirped. “One second. It’s Detective Parker. I’ll take this outside.”
Savannah watched the trim young woman leave quickly and pull the front door closed. Savannah felt strongly connected to the police department due to her involvement in several murder cases. The most personal one was the investigation into the murder of her father and his trusted assistant about nine months ago. Since then, she had developed a reputation as an effective consultant who used wildly original thinking to help find justice for homicide victims. She felt connected to each victim’s family. She understood their need for resolution and although it didn’t make a dent in the loss, it somewhat answered questions for the families.
Detective Parker had hired her personally on the last murder investigation. It was a positive sign for him to extend an offer of assistance again. The consulting fee was always a welcome addition to her perennially depressed cash flow.
Officer Williams opened the door and walked up to Savannah with her dark eyebrows lowered. “Detective Parker wants to see you downtown at the crime scene as soon as possible.”
“As soon as possible? Why?”
“The victim was propped upright on the green bench sculpture.”
Savannah tilted her head, “Yes, I know the one. Edward and I strolled through the garden last night, but we didn’t stay for the entire party. We left early. Why does he want me at the scene?”
“Detective Parker said a letter was found in the dead man’s inside suit jacket pocket.”
“So . . .” Savannah put her hands on her hips. “Oh, I remember. He was reaching into his jacket when the director pulled him away for a VIP tour. Honestly, Joy, why are you making this so difficult? What’s wrong?”
“The letter is dated ten years ago and appears to answer a request for a character reference for a permanent job. The letter recommended that the company not hire the applicant as he wasn’t capable of honest, trustworthy behavior. It’s signed by your father, John Webb.”
Chapter 3
Monday morning
Detective Parker studied the body of the young man slumped in the corner of the green bench sculpture. The sculpture was at the beginning edge of the outdoor garden area of the Dali Museum. The body was carefully positioned with one elbow crooked over the armrest and his other hand stretched along the back rail touching the large melting clock form that drooped over the back of the bench. An open newspaper had been placed on his chest to mimic a typical homeless bench sleeper’s need for warmth and privacy.
The forensic specialists were still processing the scene. He had watched them take the newspaper away as well as the contents of the man’s pockets. The most interesting items had been a tattered letter from John Webb, late owner of Webb’s Glass Shop, and a prescription strength inhaler.
He had sent Officer Williams to check in with Savannah Webb. He had authorized Williams to use her own judgment to determine if Savannah could be useful as a consultant on this case. He was impressed with Officer Williams. The probationary officer was a smart young woman who used her brains to full advantage. He was beginning to value her opinion. After the discovery of John Webb’s letter, Savannah’s participation was no longer optional.
“Good morning, David.” Coroner Sandra Gray appeared at Detective Parker’s elbow and looked down at the victim. “This is definitely too surrealistic not to get a big splashy article in the Tampa Bay Times. Did you know this is called the Avant-Garden?”
He stared at her with a quizzical look on his face.
“Okay, not a Dali fan then. Right.” She was dressed in her coveralls and booties and holding her medical case. She leaned over and placed her gloved fingers on the throat of the body. “I am hereby officially pronouncing the death of the victim—time unknown.” She looked at the face and moved his right arm. “It does appear that he died more than a few hours ago. Have forensics processed the area around the body?”
“They’re done with everything associated with the body. It’s all perimeter work now. Do you want to wait until they’ve completely finished?” asked Detective Parker.
“No, I can’t wait. As long as the body is processed, I’m fine to take it away.” Coroner Gray placed her medical case beside the green bench sculpture, opened it, and removed a large digital camera. She attached an external flash and adjusted the flash range to four feet. She took dozens of photographs of the scene to accurately orient the bench into its immediate area. Then she took shots of the body at every possible angle. As she looked through the viewfinder, she said, “Even these technical snaps look like a potential photography exhibit. Those huge glass protrusions on the museum are framing the body perfectly.”
Detective Parker shook his head. “I know how much you enjoy the fine arts, but that’s a bit too far.”
“Of course you’re right, but this setting is distracting.” Coroner Gray continued to circle the bench taking snapshots. “Has anything been moved or taken away?”
“Yes, the contents of his pockets, which included a prescription strength inhaler. I have a sealed evidence bag containing a letter found in his inside jacket pocket. Also, his upper body was partially covered by a damp newspaper. The docent who discovered the body said it had covered the victim’s face. He thought the victim was sleeping and poked him on the shoulder. When he didn’t respond, the docent removed the paper. The forensic specialists have it and are going to try to extract fingerprints.”
“From the newspaper?”
“Yes. It’s not easy, but it is possible to lift prints from a newspaper. They’re going to work on it back in the lab.”
“Thanks.” She removed the flash attachment from the camera and put the pieces in their designated slots in her crime scene satchel. Then she took out a large thermometer and rearranged Dennis’s clothing enough to permit a reading.
Sandra pulled out her phone and opened an app that copied her handwriting into a digital note. She recorded the temperature results. She stood and looked at Detective Parker. “So, what we have here is a healthy-looking male who looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties. I don’t see any obvious signs of violence, but I’ll know more when I get him on the autopsy table. Wait, I see a shadow.”
She pulled out a flashlight and a magnifying glass and took a close look at Dennis’s collarbone. “There’s something here. A bruise doesn’t really make sense in his current position.” She stood up. “Do you have a list of what was in his pockets?”
“Certainly.” Detective Parker flipped back a few pages of his notebook and handed it over for her to see.
She glanced at it, then took a picture of the page. “Not much.”
“Young people these days don’t carry around much. Their lives are all in their phones. Okay, except that he carried an inhaler containing a strong rescue medication. He must have had a serious respiratory condition to be carrying it around.”
A short stocky man dressed in a brown and tan security uniform trudged up from the double doors of the Dali. He stopped to stand a few feet away and waited until Detective Parker acknowledged him with a nod.
“Sir, my name is Lucas Brown, head of security here at the Dali. May I interrupt for just a moment?”
Detective Parker smiled and shook his hand. “Thanks for coming forward. I’m going to need your help.”
“Oh, yes sir!” Lucas bounced on his toes looking like he wanted to salute. “I checked the video camera footage. The biggest problem is that the camera’s focal point is on the gate, not near the bench at all. It shows some coming and going activity at about four a.m., then more activity at six a.m., and then nothing until John, he’s one of the docents, arrived at about eight a.m. Th
e tape also shows, well, everything that’s happening now. Whoever was on camera at four a.m. was very careful to keep his face turned from the camera. The six a.m. activity looks like a person who kept very early hours and he stumbled on the scene and then left in a panic.”
“His? You think the person is a man?”
“Well . . . oh. Of course, I get your point. The figure appears to be large and muscular. It looks male in dark clothes and a ball cap.”
“Great, it’s probably going to be useless for identification purposes.” Detective Parker looked at the brass nametag pinned to the security manager’s uniform shirt. “Mr. Brown, can you send us a copy?”
“Please call me Lucas. I’m so sorry. I don’t have permission from Director Gina Wilkins. She has to approve everything associated with the museum.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Absolutely everything.”
“Contact her now and get permission, please.”
“I’ve already tried. I’ve tried over a dozen times.” Lucas removed his hat, smoothed his thinning auburn hair, and replaced the hat. “She isn’t answering her cell phone, nor her home phone, and of course, she’s not answering her office phone because she’s not here.” He shifted his weight to the other sturdy leg. “I’m sure she’ll be here before the museum’s normal ten o’clock opening time.”
“Is she normally so late?” Detective Parker made a note.
Lucas shifted his weight again and his eyes grew wide. “Ten is not late for an executive person in her position. She works a ridiculous number of hours. She’s here for every event and still gets here every morning except Sunday. Do we have to close the museum? I need to know.”
“Yes. I would like to keep it closed until I speak to the director. Please put a sign on all the doors that the museum is closed until further notice due to an unforeseen circumstance.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do it right away.”
Etched in Tears Page 3
