by Estelle Ryan
“Looks like this was set up for gaming.” Vinnie was standing in front of a corner desk with three large monitors and a game controller next to the keyboard.
“How can this be so neat and the living room such a mess?” Manny scowled at the empty walls. “This is minimalistic.”
“It used to be neat.” I pointed at the rug. “There was a struggle here.”
The rug was bunched up in places and had been pushed out of place. A chair which I assumed was Jace’s desk chair was on its side on the rug, one of the legs broken. There was blood spatter everywhere. On the rug, on the bed covers, even on the empty walls. The dark leather of the desk chair had shiny spots that I was sure were also blood. I shuddered.
“I reckon this is our primary crime scene.” Daniel looked at the chair. “This is where Jace was tortured.”
The familiar tightness settled around my chest and I turned away from the bed and the chair. I took note of the curled corner of the rug where Jace must’ve frequently walked to the built-in cupboards.
The minimalism and tidiness of this room was the main reason I didn’t feel claustrophobic with the men in the room with me. Manny opened the cupboard doors and grunted. Jace’s clothes were neatly folded and all the hangers were white. Manny pushed the clothes aside and started searching through each one individually.
For some reason, Jace had needed this space to have less clutter. I looked at Daniel. “Are the kitchen and bathroom neat like this?”
“Very neat.” Pink walked in, a large backpack over his one shoulder and holding out a plastic evidence bag for us to see. “The bathroom is extremely clean. Like white tile advertising clean.” He lifted the evidence bag. “I found this phone in the toilet bowl. The water smells like extremely strong disinfectant.”
Colin stepped closer to look at the phone and frowned. “It looks like a train went over this thing.”
“Yeah.” Pink put the plastic bag in one of the many pockets of his uniform. “I doubt we’ll get anything from this. Crushed as it is and lying in the chemical water for who knows how long? Well, whoever destroyed the phone knew what they were doing.”
“At least Jace had the chance to send Caelan that one photo.” Vinnie shook his head. “Poor kid.”
Colin walked to the bed. “This is like the photo.” Careful to avoid the blood, he got down on his hands and knees and looked under the bed. “The glasses. Oh, my God. And the Roubaud.”
Daniel took a step towards the bed, both hands raised. “Don’t touch anything yet. Let Pink record the scene first, else it will cause all kinds of problems with the crime scene guys and prosecution.”
Colin nodded and looked at Vinnie. “Still have that flashlight on you?”
“Sure do.” Vinnie took the small light from his trouser pocket and handed it to Colin.
Colin glanced once more at the blood before leaning forward and pointing the beam of light under the bed. We all watched him. For almost a minute he didn’t move, except to slightly change the direction of the light.
“What the bleeding hell are you doing down there, Frey?”
Colin didn’t answer. After another thirty seconds, he turned off the light and leaned back on his heels. “This Roubaud is not authentic.”
“Are you sure?” Manny looked at the bed. “It’s dark down there.”
“I’m sure.” Colin stood up. “My eyes are not as old as yours.”
“Bugger off, Frey.” Manny glared at Colin. “Well? Speak.”
“Such a charmer.” Colin ignored Manny’s deepening scowl and looked at the bed. “I’ll need to see the painting in proper lighting, but I’m pretty sure I know whose work it is.”
“You know who painted that forgery?” Manny leaned towards Colin.
“I think I do. Give me the painting to confirm.” He held up his hand to prevent Manny from talking. “Then give me some time to track the guy down.”
“I want a name, Frey.”
“Not until I know for sure it’s his work.” Colin’s lips thinned.
They stared at each other for thirteen seconds before Manny nodded once, then looked at me. “Do you need more time in here, Doc?”
“No.” I shook my head and found it difficult to stop. The sadness and depravity of what had happened here was overwhelming. “I want to leave.”
“We’ll get the crime scene guys here and bring the glasses over as soon as we can.” Daniel took his phone from his trouser pocket and swiped the screen.
“And the painting,” Colin said.
Pink nodded. “I’ll scan the room, log everything and bring the glasses and painting over.”
Manny lifted his phone to look at the screen. “No. Pink, you finish up here and go home. It’s past six already. The painting and glasses can wait until morning.” He turned to Vinnie. “I’m hungry.”
Vinnie snorted. “And that’s my problem how?”
“We’ll see you at our place, Millard.” Colin smiled when Vinnie raised both eyebrows. “I saw you prepare the curry this morning. There’s enough to feed the entire neighbourhood and one grumpy old man.”
“Fine.” Vinnie turned towards the door. “But don’t let Franny take too long to shut down her computers. I’m not waiting forever to serve dinner.”
Colin looked at Daniel. “Join us?”
“I’ll help Pink process the scene and get things to the lab.” He smiled. “And the painting to the team room. But then I’m going home.”
Chapter THREE
“THERE’S ENOUGH FOOD here to feed Daniel’s whole team as well.” Vinnie nodded towards the two large pots on the stove and smiled at Phillip. “Stay for dinner. Your share won’t even make a difference to the leftovers.”
I closed my bedroom door behind me and walked to the sitting area of my apartment. The smell of a curry dish filled the open space. Colin was sitting on one of the two large white sofas, Phillip on the other. I glanced around as I walked to join them. There was no one else in our apartment and for the moment, I appreciated the relative quiet.
“Genevieve.” Phillip straightened and stared at me. “How are you?”
I sat down next to Colin and wiped my hands on my denim-clad thighs. “Disturbed by what I saw this afternoon.”
Phillip’s depressor anguli oris muscles pulled the corners of his mouth down. “Colin told me what was done to Jace. It’s unimaginable.”
That was the reason why I’d rushed into my bedroom and had a much longer than usual shower as soon as we’d arrived home. It had taken mentally writing the entire first movement of Mozart’s Symphony No.41 in C before the warning signs of a shutdown had dissipated. My concerns hadn’t disappeared though. “How is Caelan?”
“Not good.” Phillip sighed. “We made it to my office before he had a bad shutdown. Fortunately, Francine was there to help me.”
“She’s good with him.” Colin took my hand and interlaced our fingers. “She’s had a soft spot for him from the day he asked... no, begged her to be his girlfriend.”
“Hah!” Vinnie set the last place at the table and nodded in approval before looking at us. “I remember that. He asked and asked and asked. He was such an annoying little shit then.”
“He’s changed a lot,” Colin said.
“Most likely because he’s had people who took an interest in him for the first time in his life.” Vinnie walked back to the kitchen and transferred the curry and rice to large serving dishes. “Franny reckons it’s because he’s studying and now is more focused.”
We’d had this discussion a few times in the past. In my opinion, it wasn’t just one thing or person that was helping Caelan function better in society and in life. It was his studies, his professors, Francine helping him with his social skills and Manny’s strict and impatient guidance. I didn’t know how large my contribution was. I met him only once a month for a game of chess during which we sometimes discussed different ways of coping with a non-neurotypical mind in a neurotypical world. Other times I avoided him.
; “Where is Caelan now?” I asked.
“Manny and Francine took him to his flat.” Phillip pulled at the sleeves of his bespoke suit. “He wanted to go back to his safe space and have his nightly routine.”
“It will settle him.” I should know. Whenever my daily routines were disrupted, it left me unsettled and made it even more difficult to deal with usual challenges, not to mention exceptional challenges. Such as the murder of a young man.
The sound of keys in the lock drew my attention to the front door just as it opened. “Honey, I’m home!”
“Hey, little punk.” Vinnie walked over to Nikki and took her one-year-old son from her arms. “Hey, tiny punk. Let’s get you out of your Eskimo gear.”
Nikki shrugged out of her coat and tossed it over her coat tree. I sighed. In the four years Nikki had stayed with us after her father had died, she’d matured a lot. But she’d not become much neater. Last winter I’d reached my limit and had insisted on her having her own coat tree. Fifty centimetres away from mine. That way her layers of coats, colourful scarves and hats didn’t touch my coats neatly hanging on hangers or my folded scarves. It hadn’t been a week before everyone but Colin had started sharing Nikki’s coat tree. They’d said it was ‘easier’. I shuddered just looking at the chaos on that tree as Nikki threw her purple scarf on top of the pile.
“Doc G! You won’t believe what I bought today.” She rushed over to the sofa and flopped down next to me. “A handbag organiser.”
I leaned away from her and raised one eyebrow. “And you think that is going to help?”
Vinnie burst out laughing and handed Eric to Nikki before heading back to the kitchen.
Nikki continued to explain how this organiser would help her find her keys and pens the moment she opened her oversized canvas bag. I strongly doubted her bag would stay organised longer than a few minutes after she’d put that silly purchase to use. Nikki was notoriously messy.
Eric wiggled from her lap and balanced himself on two unsteady legs, his hands gripping the back of the sofa. Two weeks ago, he’d taken his first steps with the help of the furniture. The books I’d been reading classified Eric’s development as within the norm, but a bit quicker than most. I’d vowed not to mention this again after everyone took credit for Eric’s fast development when I’d quoted the statistics last week.
“I’m going to wash up.” Nikki jumped up and walked to the side of the apartment she shared with Vinnie and Pink. “Hurry up with the food, big punk. I’m starving.”
Vinnie moved as if he was going to chase her and Nikki ran the rest of the way, giggling. He returned to the kitchen and took a salad from the fridge. “Two more minutes and everything will be on the table. And then I’m not waiting for the old man and Franny anymore.”
Eric turned around and sat down heavily next to me on the sofa. He looked at me, a smile lifting his little cheeks when he saw me looking at him. He glanced down at the space separating us and shifted closer until he sat flush against me.
I had never expected to be so enchanted with a child. It was still too early to be completely certain, but to all appearances, Eric was neurotypical. Most of the books I’d read described babies as sensitive to their environments and more attuned to nonverbal communication than adults. Some theorised that as soon as their focus changed to words and accurate descriptions, little children started to ignore their innate ability to read nonverbal cues.
The more I observed Eric, the more I considered that theory. For such an undeveloped human being, Eric was incredibly sensitive to my idiosyncrasies. Most days he climbed on my lap and touched me, but days like today when I felt raw from fighting off a shutdown, he would simply sit tightly against me. He would entertain himself with one of his toys or sometimes he would fall asleep against me. I loved him.
“Food’s on the table, y’all.” Vinnie looked over at us, his expression softening when he saw Eric. He walked over and held out both hands. “Come on, tiny punk. I’ve made your favourite.”
“I swear he’s not my son.” Nikki sat down at the table and pointed angrily at Eric. “His love for your vegetables is just wrong. He should be eating steaks and burgers.”
And so the bantering began. Even though this had been going on in my apartment for years, I still had moments when I was taken aback by it. Ten years ago, my life had been lonely. It had also been safe and predictable. The latter made it much easier for me to cope with my mind so easily overwhelmed by stimuli. Yet I preferred the loud arguments and laughter around the table.
“Tell me about your job, Nikki.” Phillip put another spoonful of lamb curry on his plate and smiled at Nikki. “Excited?”
“Yes and no.” She looked at Eric, sitting in his high chair next to her, his corrugator supercilii muscles contracting his forehead in concentration as he lifted his plastic spoon to his mouth. “It’s going to break my heart putting him into day care.”
“It will help with his social development.” All the books encouraged having infants socialise as soon as possible.
“I know, Doc G. But it’s still going to be hard.” She helped Eric scoop up the mixed vegetable stew Vinnie frequently made for the baby and held Eric’s hand as he brought the spoon to his mouth. Her smile was soft when she turned back to look at Phillip. “I’m really excited about being part of the restoration team at the museum. When I went to uni, I never thought that was where I would end up.”
“Where did you think you would go?” Phillip asked.
“I don’t know.” She glanced at me, her smile embarrassed. “I was young and full of myself. I knew my trust fund would pay out when I turned twenty-five and thought I would just study something until I had enough money to do what I wanted.”
“You’re still young.” Yet I considered her wise beyond her years. With Phillip’s help, she’d managed to get the courts to release the trust fund money five months ago. I’d been asked to appear as a character witness. The judge had been convinced by the many respected professionals who spoke in Nikki’s favour. She’d received the money and since proven herself to be very responsible with it.
“And you’re still full of yourself.” Vinnie laughed when Nikki pointed her knife at him, her angry expression fake.
“Now I have all that money and I’m glad I do. It’s an amazing security blanket that will help me take care of Eric. But I want to work. I’m excited about working at the museum.” Her dilated pupils and the lifting of her cheeks confirmed her words. “I’ve been interning there on and off for the last two years, so it’s not like I don’t know anyone there. Or like I don’t know what I’ll be doing.”
“You’ll be great.” Colin winked at her, then turned to the front door as it opened.
“Food!” Francine rushed in and threw her coat over Nikki’s. Then she hopped from one foot to the other as she removed her knee-high red leather boots. “I’m hungry. I need food. Feed me!”
“She’s been driving me bonkers.” Manny took off his coat and put it on a hanger next to mine. He glowered at the overflowing tree of colourful coats and sighed. “Completely bloody bonkers.”
Francine rushed over to the table and pulled the curry dish closer before she even sat down. “Ooh, yay. Food that will feed me and make me warm. I love you, Vinster.”
“Yeah, yeah. They all say that.” Vinnie’s chest expanded slightly as he watched Francine and Manny fill their plates with enthusiasm. I didn’t need my degrees in psychology to see that he enjoyed cooking, but his real reward came from people enjoying his food.
“Where’s Pink?” Manny looked at the empty seat.
“Still at the crime scene with Dan.” Vinnie handed Manny the salad bowl. “He said he’ll be in late. I’ve fixed him a plate and it’s waiting in the oven for him.”
“I miss Roxy.” Francine sighed dramatically. “I miss bitching about her horrid shoes.”
I shook my head. Their melodrama could be most vexing. Doctor Roxanne Ferreira was an internationally respected infectious disease specia
list and Vinnie’s girlfriend, her love for him genuine and unconditional. She was disorganised, messy and notoriously tardy. Yet I enjoyed her company. “She’s been gone only two days.”
“I know!” Francine leaned over and patted Vinnie’s hand. “You poor thing. You must be suffering something terrible. And what? She’ll be gone another week?”
“Five days.” Vinnie caught Eric’s spoon a moment before it was going to fall from his little hand and put it back in the plastic plate. “She’s enjoying her conference, and no, I’m not suffering.”
Manny grunted and slumped in his chair. He too had a low tolerance for the melodrama far too often enjoyed during dinner. He turned to Colin. “Tell me more about this Robot person.”
“What robot person?” Nikki looked from Manny to Colin. “Do you have a case with artificial intelligence? How cool!”
“Not robot.” Colin turned away from Manny in disgust and looked at Nikki. “Roubaud. As in Franz Roubaud.”
“What?” She jumped in her chair and turned to Colin, her eyes wide. “You have a case with Roubaud paintings? Ooh! Ooh! He’s like only my most favourite panoramic painter. Ever!”
Manny sighed. “Tell me about him.”
Nikki put her knife and fork down, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “Franz Roubaud was born in Odessa—Ukraine, for those who don’t know where Odessa is—to a French family. That was in 1856. He spent a lot of time in Germany organising exhibitions for Russian artists. Then he lived in St Petersburg and taught for many years at the St Petersburg Academy of Arts. But he loved Germany, so it wasn’t a huge surprise that he went back to Germany in his later years and died there.”
“His art?” Francine looked at Colin. “What are the panoramics Nix talked about?”
“Robert Barker was the one to introduce the world to these amazing works of art.” Colin straightened, his face animated. “These are massive paintings displayed in specially built round buildings called rotundas. The painting goes all around the internal walls, depicting different kinds of scenes, often military battles, historical events or landscapes.”
