Etched in Tears

by Cheryl Hollon

  “If she wants the museum to open any time soon, she’d better find time to speak to me.”

  “Yes sir. That makes it doubly important. I understand.”

  Sandra tapped Detective Parker on the shoulder with her pen. “I’m scooting off now. I’m finished with my scene examination. You can order transport whenever you’re ready. I’ll start the autopsy as soon as he arrives at the morgue.” She made sure no one was watching her, then winked. “I will see you later.”

  “Thanks for coming down. Yes, later.” He smiled very wide, then turned back to the security guard. “We need that footage as quickly as possible.” He paused for a moment. “Wait, did you know the victim?”

  Lucas looked over to the body surrounded by the forensic specialists lifting fingerprints, adjusting their sketches, placing numbered plastic cones around the bench, and photographing everything from the gate to the bench. He glanced down at his worn but polished black shoes, then lifted his head. “Not personally. He was the featured artist at the reception last night, but I didn’t get to meet him. There’s a big poster in front of the ticket counter. His name is, I mean was, Dennis Lansing.”

  “What about access to this area? How did he get in back here?” Sandra sized up the space. The green bench sculpture was somewhat hidden behind the large, imposing museum, and a bit sheltered from the café entry door by a short patio. It wasn’t visible from the street due to the height of the shrubbery and the bulk of the tall gingko wishing tree.

  Lucas took out a handkerchief, lifted his hat, and passed it across his forehead and around his face in a practiced manner. “That’s always been somewhat of a problem. It’s not all that difficult if you are persistent and reasonably fit. I put in a budget request for securing the fences to be more resistant to trespassing, but it was turned down.”

  “I’ll bet approval is swift now.” Detective Parker nodded to the activity surrounding the green bench. “Show me the ways to get in.”

  After ten minutes and at least that many ways to enter the garden, they returned to stand in front of the body. “I think the easiest access point that would permit carrying a body through to the green bench is straight through this gate.” Detective Parker pointed to a waist high set of fiberglass panels that rolled back into the shrubbery to allow outdoor access to the garden. “But the problem with that is, you didn’t see that on the video.”

  “No, I think it’s more likely that the person came through the thinner shrubbery straight in off the street,” said Lucas.

  Detective Parker looked at Lucas. “So, the suspect could have been someone who is not familiar with this area.”

  Lucas nodded and mopped his handkerchief around his face again. “I agree, but another option is that Dennis walked in here himself.”

  Detective Parker nodded. “Okay, regardless of how he got here, I’ll get the forensics specialists to cordon off a much wider area. Keep trying for permission to release the tape.” He checked his watch. “As you say, your director should be here by ten. It will take me at least that long to get through the preliminary paperwork process.” He tilted his head down. “Don’t let anyone from the museum staff interfere with our ongoing case. I will hold you responsible.”

  Color drained from Lucas’s face and he held his hands up and backed away. “I’m here to help you. Trust me, I want to help. I’ve always dreamed about helping with a murder investigation.”

  “Murder?” Detective Parker used his pistol-cold voice. “I haven’t mentioned murder.”

  Chapter 4

  Monday morning

  A fresh autumn breeze fluttered the yellow crime scene tape. The sound contrasted harshly with the intermittent calls of squabbling seagulls in the waters of Tampa Bay only a few yards from the Dali Museum. The tape was stretched tight in a huge makeshift circle tied to various trees, door knobs, signs, and around the green bench sculpture. The area extended to include the sliding gate at the entrance to the garden.

  The bench represented a tongue-in-cheek homage to both Dali’s famous melting clock paintings and the historic images of St. Petersburg’s downtown streets crowded with tourists seated on hundreds of green benches. Half of the sculpture was a normal green bench and the other half was a large clock drooped over the green back, and then the rest of the bench seemed to melt into a pool of cement on the sidewalk.

  Savannah walked up to the broad-shouldered man standing just inside the yellow crime tape and holding a small black notebook. A badge hung on a lanyard around his neck. Tall and official in a navy suit, with a white shirt and plain maroon tie, he slipped the notebook into his pocket, then ducked under the tape to join her outside the crime scene perimeter.

  “Good morning, Detective Parker.” They shook hands. “Joy—er, Officer Williams said you might need me. What’s this about a letter from my dad in the victim’s pocket?”

  “Good morning, Savannah.” Parker smiled and reached into his inside suit pocket. He handed her a piece of paper encased in a small plastic evidence bag. “What do you make of this?”

  She took the bag and could clearly read that it was a letter from her father. It was written on Webb’s Glass Shop letterhead and dated ten years ago. “The handwriting is definitely Dad’s.” She tilted the evidence bag to catch the sun so she could get a better view.

  August 15, 2007

  Webb’s Glass Shop

  2401 Central Avenue

  St. Petersburg, FL 33713

  Dear Sir,

  I deeply regret that I cannot in good conscience recommend {smudged name} for a permanent position with your company. Although he has achieved impressive improvement in demonstrating responsible behavior during the past year, it is abundantly clear that he is still adjusting to the ethical demands of a corporate employee. The fact that he asked you to write to me indicates that he is not ready to accept the consequences of his lack {smudged words}.

  Due to the ongoing status of his court hearings, I am unable to share the details of Chase’s current difficulties and I would have preferred that he disclosed {smudged words} voluntarily.

  I am confident that you will find another applicant from our program that would suit your needs and provide an opportunity for that apprentice. Please let me know if I can assist in your search.

  Respectfully yours,

  John Webb, Owner

  Webb’s Glass Shop

  cc: File Copy

  cc: Social Services

  “Dad regrets not being able to recommend someone for a job. It’s too creased to read easily and the full name of the apprentice is too smudged to make out. I don’t know which apprentice this might be. It looks like it has been folded and unfolded a million times. It says here in the last paragraph that his first name was Chase, but why did Dennis have this?”

  “That’s what we were hoping you could explain. I can’t figure out why he would bring this to the exhibit opening. Because your dad sent the letter, I thought you might know more about both of them.”

  “I absolutely knew Dennis in high school. If I could make out a few letters under the smudge, I could confirm that Chase was an apprentice. It looks like the last name starts with an R, but . . .” She held up the handwritten reference letter and tried several angles in the light to read the name in the crease. “From the date, I would have been a freshman at St. Petersburg High School when Dad wrote this. I would like to make sure the victim is Dennis. Do you have a picture?”

  “I thought you might want a photo.” Parker pulled out his phone. “I had the morgue send me an upper body photograph. Don’t worry, it’s not graphic.” He handed the phone to Savannah.

  She looked at the image of a young man whose body was pale gray with his eyes closed and a sheet drawn up to his waist. In the center of his chest was a colorful and beautifully rendered image of Buddha sitting in lotus position. Savannah felt a chill snake down her spine.

  Oh, no. This is Dennis. He was my first date, first dance, and first kiss. What happened?

  Savannah cov
ered her mouth against a rising sourness at the back of her throat. “Yes, I know him.” She bowed her head until the feeling subsided. She spoke quietly. “This is Dennis Lansing. He was the guest of honor right here for the opening of his exhibit last night. I dated him for a short time in high school.”

  “Did you see him last night?”

  “Yes, I did. Edward and I stopped in for a few minutes for the exhibit opening. We only got a glimpse of him. He was taken away by Director Wilkins before I had a chance to say more than a few words.” She sighed deeply and pressed her lips together. “He was in my art class at St. Petersburg High School. He was three years older and seemed so sophisticated and worldly.” She handed the phone back to Detective Parker. “What happened?”

  “We’re not entirely sure. The most likely scenario is either natural causes or, more probably, a drug overdose.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected that. When I knew him, he wasn’t a drug user at all.”

  “People change. You say you were in the same art class, but that he was older?”

  “Yes, I was an experienced artist already because of the work I did in my dad’s shop, so they allowed me to skip ahead to the advanced class in media studies. I was the only freshman in with the upper-class students.”

  “How well did you know him?”

  “He was a great friend despite everything, actually. Those three years were a big age gap back in high school, but he was also a bit of a bad boy and had been in some sort of trouble. My dad was not pleased when we started dating.” She looked up at Detective Parker. “Dennis and I were supposed to meet for lunch this week while he was here for the exhibit. He was going to conduct a private viewing along with a sand etching demonstration for the students in my workshop. We’ve been communicating through my website.”

  Detective Parker softened his voice. “I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me that you two would have a history. I would have notified you personally before Officer Williams gave you the bad news.”

  Savannah sniffed and pinched her nose. “I’m fine, really, just a little shocked. It didn’t seem real to me until I saw his picture. He was a fantastic glass artist. He integrated hand cutting and sand etching using computer scanned documents as embedded images. It was a style that paid homage to Andy Warhol.” She paused and lowered her voice. “He was a big fan of Andy Warhol.” She shook her head and said in a strong voice, “How can I help?”

  “Given that this letter is from your father, is it possible Dennis and this unknown subject were both your father’s apprentices?”

  “Oh, yes. Dennis was one of many. Dad mentored lots of kids. Jacob was the last one and he wasn’t part of a formal program. He was personally selected. I haven’t been brave enough to start my own program. Maybe next year. Have you notified Harriet—Dennis’s wife?”

  “Do you know where she is? We are, of course, trying to notify her and determine any existing medical conditions.”

  “No, I don’t know where they are staying. She was with him at the exhibit opening. The museum director will most certainly know. I think this exhibit was fully funded by the Dali, so she would have authorized and even arranged local accommodation for him and his wife.”

  “The staff here are having difficulty locating the director.” Parker frowned and looked back at the museum. “So far, we’re investigating widely and almost blindly. I think it would be helpful if you could search through John Webb’s apprentice files and see what additional information he may have regarding Lansing. If you don’t have time, could Officer Williams spend some time pouring through them?”

  “I’ll do it. It’s not a problem. I can save her from that tedious task at least.” She pointed to the twisted green bench sculpture. “Is this where he was found?”

  “Yes. Do you know if there might be a prior connection between Lansing and the Dali Museum?”

  “Well, certainly not back at the time of the letter. This Dali Museum building is only a few years old . . . since 2011. Before that, the museum was housed in a waterfront building near the Bayboro Campus of the University of South Florida. That dark cramped space was never the right place for such a magnificent body of work. They really couldn’t display more than five percent of the collection at a time.” I’m rambling all over the place. This is an information dump. Not useful.

  “So, no connection?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m blathering. We lost touch after he left school. He might have been a student docent. That was—and still is—a way of integrating youth into the art community. Can I see that picture again?”

  “Sure.” Detective Parker touched a few icons, then handed the phone back to Savannah. “Something ring a bell?”

  Savannah scrunched her brow, then rubbed her left temple. “This is right about the time Dad started an outreach program with boys who were at certain risk for dropping out of high school. He worked with the board of education and social services to create an apprentice program so they could work in the shop. He paid them a fair wage and they were let out of school early each day to participate. Dennis was one of the apprentices.”

  “Where would your dad have kept the records? I am assuming that he did keep records on his apprentices.”

  “Yes, he needed to establish the effectiveness of the program for the board of education, so he would have kept meticulous records. The problem is going to be finding them.”

  “Wouldn’t they be at Webb’s Glass Shop?”

  “Probably. There’s a seriously old file cabinet in the corner of the office at Webb’s Glass Shop. I haven’t looked into it other than to open all the drawers to look for cash.”

  “Cash?”

  “Don’t look so shocked. Dad left a few emergency stashes in the name of hurricane preparation. I found several envelopes filled with cash in the house, too. He figured that the ATMs wouldn’t function without power or signal, nor would the cash registers at stores.

  “Cash?” Detective Parker’s voice raised an octave.

  “Don’t worry. I got them all. I don’t believe in having that much cash around. It’s not that I don’t think it’s a convenient idea, but my cash is tied up right now. Dad also had some very old files stored up in the attic of the house. I haven’t been up there, yet. Too many memories. But it’s certainly worth looking through them. I feel like I can handle it now.”

  “Well, take a look and let me know what you find. Did Officer Williams ask to sign you on as a consultant for this case?. Would that be possible?”

  “Absolutely possible. So, you’re investigating this as a murder?”

  “The definitive decision will be after I get the autopsy results, but my gut tells me he didn’t die of an overdose posed on this bench with his inhaler still in his pocket.”

  “Right. I want to help with Dennis’s case.” Of course, I can also use a little extra income. I recently invested a nice little chunk of money in sand etching equipment that has so far attracted a grand total of four students. “By the way, how was he—his body, that is—how was it found?”

  “One of the docents arrived early to open up the community room for a class.”

  “A class on Surrealism?”

  “No, it was a class in Tai Chi.” He pulled out his notebook and flipped back a few pages. “The docent is John Zeflin, who is also an instructor with the local Tai Chi organization. He volunteered to conduct a beginner’s class. He was given a time slot early Monday mornings, before the museum opened, to ensure the students didn’t interfere with museum operations. He was out here checking the space for the outdoor portion of the practice.”

  “So, Dennis was discovered over there on the melting bench?”

  “Yes. The docent thought he was one of the homeless veterans who was late making his escape after spending the night on the bench. He said it happens a few times a month. He discovered his mistake when he tapped Lansing’s shoulder.”

  Savannah shivered. “What a horrible way to start the week.”

  “It was a lot worse
for Lansing.”

  Chapter 5

  Monday morning

  After Savannah left the museum, Detective Parker returned to stand in front of the green bench sculpture. It was an unusual place to find a body. He sat on the bench and mimicked the pose that Dennis had been in when discovered. It was uncomfortable. The bench was sturdy enough, but not the right proportions for sitting any longer than it took to have a snapshot taken to post to social media.

  Ping!

  Detective David Parker stood and took out his phone. He opened an e-mail from Coroner Sandra Gray. He smiled at the thought of their deepening friendship. She was the top-rated coroner in the state of Florida. They worked extremely well together and he was close to asking her out on a date. They were meeting for a beer after work. He’d ask her out then. The Miami Dade County Police’s coroner’s office had been aggressively courting her for months. He hoped they wouldn’t lure her away with promises of a higher salary and—even more enticing—a better lab.

  The attachment to the e-mail was her preliminary report. He quickly scrolled down to the detail he wanted first—the time of death.

  The report estimated death to be early Monday morning within a range of two to three hours before the body was discovered at seven o’clock. Further into the report, she noted that the body had been moved shortly after death because there were signs of blood lividity pooled in areas inconsistent with Dennis’s position on the bench. At the end of the e-mail, Sandra had written, No cause of death—yet! Be patient.

  That was a little disappointing. She was famous for determining cause of death literally within minutes of getting a body onto her table. He frowned. It must be complicated.

  Nearby, Lucas had been making another series of phone calls to the museum’s director. He hitched up his uniform pants, took his security cap off, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then he walked over to the detective. By the hound-dog look on his face, Detective Parker concluded that the calls had been fruitless.