by J. M. LeDuc
Sin spotted and lit a kerosene lamp. What luminesced took her breath away.
Scanning the room, she noticed a closet and eyed Garcia. He took the hint and checked it out.
Empty.
Garcia pulled the boards off the window and waved for Fletcher to join them.
Joel heard the other voices. The look in his eyes turned from puzzled to startled. “It’s not possible,” he breathed. He pointed to a small, battery operated television. “They just reported you dead. She made me kill you. You’re supposed to be dead.”
Sin grabbed a chair and walked over to where Joel and Ashley now sat. “Not everything is what it seems,” she said, “but you know that better than anyone, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” Sin pointed to the walls of the room. Walls that had been painted from floor to ceiling. Walls that had been painted by the real Miranda Stokler. “You painted everything in this room, didn’t you?”
He nodded carefully.
“You’re the artist, not Miranda,” Sin said.
Joel shook his head.
Sin spoke to Joel as if he was a child, “Joel, look at me and tell me the truth. Miranda didn’t paint any of her artwork, did she? It was always you. Even as a young boy…all the way back…it was you.”
Again, he shook his head. “I was the hand that moved the brush, but she was the artist. She was the one who taught me what to do, and she was the one who inspired the work. She is the artiste.” He dropped his head and stared at the floor. “I’m nothing.”
Ashley, who had been looking around the room admiring the artwork, seemed to have gone into her own little world. “It’s gorgeous,” she said. “It’s the best thing Miranda has ever painted.”
Suddenly, the reality of the conversation dawned on her. “Wait, are you telling me that you are the one who painted all of Miranda’s work?”
“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Sin answered.
Ashley stared at Sin. “How did you know?”
“The painting in the trunk of your car. It had been painted recently.”
“How do you—”
“When I took it out of the trunk, it felt tacky and a tiny bit lodged under my nail. That, along with what you said about it being almost impossible to copy anyone’s stroke, led me to the truth.”
Sin then looked back at Joel. She leaned forward and looked in his eyes. He had the eyes of a lost soul—a tortured soul—but not the eyes of a killer.
“Joel, why did you kill those girls?”
He buried his head in his hands and started to rock back and forth. “I didn’t want to,” he said. His eyes traced the room. “I just wanted to make the ugly, beautiful, but she wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t leave until I did what she said.” He looked at Ashley. “You know what it’s like—what she’s like. She forces you to do exactly what she wants, or she causes pain…so much pain.”
Ashley’s lips quivered with sadness.
“You’re talking about Miranda?” Sin said.
Joel nodded. “She said that I was just like my father; a killer. She said I was born to kill those girls. That was my destiny, my divine image.”
Knowing this conversation would take years of therapy to finish, Sin changed direction. “Joel, where is Miranda now?”
A look of intense fear flushed his expression. His eyes darted left and right, taking in the open door. “She’s everywhere,” he said. “She is in my head, in my room, my van—everywhere.”
Sin reached out and lightly ran her fingers over his forearm to try and comfort him. “Has she always been with you?”
“No,” he answered. “There was a time when she left, but she came back.”
“When did she leave?”
“After the accident.” He looked at Ashley. “The one where she died.”
Ashley nodded, not knowing what else to do.
“Where did you go after Miranda died?”
“I joined the Army.”
“I got a look at your record,” Sin interrupted. “Pretty impressive. What happened?”
Joel stared past Sin, as if he was trying to bring up a memory. “I finally found peace. I liked the military and I was good at my job.”
“But?”
His eyes darted at Sin and then again at the wall. “But she wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“Are you saying Miranda came to visit?”
“I told you, she’s everywhere. I was on leave one weekend. We heard a car accident outside the bar and walked out to see what happened. Next to our truck was a girl, unconscious, lying on the street. She’d been cut bad. The police said she’d been thrown through the windshield, but I knew it was Miranda.” His voice trailed off into mumbling.
Sin tried to keep him talking. “So you left with an honorary discharge and came back to Miami.”
Joel nodded.
“Was that when you painted this room?” Sin asked.
“Yes,” Joel said with a weak smile. “This was the ugliest place I knew; I wanted to make it beautiful.”
“Where is Miranda now?” Sin asked. “Is she still with you?”
“No.” Joel shook his head. “She left, but she’ll be back.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she always comes back.”
Ashley kneeled next to Joel and rubbed his back. “Joel, what happened to George? Is he still alive?”
“I don’t know.”
She turned him toward her and took his face in her hands. “What do you mean, you don’t know? He came to visit you yesterday, didn’t he?”
Again, he nodded.
“Then what happened? Joel, please tell me what happened.”
“You know what happened!” He tore her hands from his face and pushed her away
As he stood, Fletcher and Garcia had their weapons pointed at him.
He stared at the weapons, eyes wide with fear.
“At ease, Boys,” Sin said in a calming voice. “No one is going to do anything rash. Right, Joel?”
“I’m telling the truth,” he stammered. “I don’t know what happened to George.” He paced the room and stood in front of a stunning portrait of Miranda within the mural.
Sin eyed the details. There was something different about this likeness, compared against the images she’d seen of Miranda.
“She wanted George painted like the others, but then after the boat blew up she changed her mind. She was so excited.” He looked at Ashley. “Do you remember how she would get when she was excited?”
Ashley’s eyes sparkled at the memory. “I remember,” she mouthed.
“That’s how she was when she saw the flames and thought that Agent O’Malley was dead.”
“What about George,” Sin pressed.
“When you died, she said the image was finished.” Joel quoted the final lines of the poem: “And secrecy the human dress. The human dress is forged iron.”
Ashley threw up her hands and started screaming, “What the fuck does that stupid poem have to do with George? Where the hell is my brother?”
Her yelling made Joel immediately cower. Sin had Garcia take Ashley out of the room.
“What does he mean?” Fletcher asked.
“ ‘And secrecy the human dress’ is the last line in the first stanza of Blake’s poem,” Sin said. “I think it refers to the fact that Miranda’s art was secretly painted by Joel. He was the true artist; it was always a secret.”
“And the other line?”
“That one refers to how he was supposed to kill me. I was supposed to be on that boat, ‘forged in iron.’ ”
“So where is George?” Fletcher asked.
Joel had moved and was now standing in front of another scene. “She said she was going home.”
“Did she take George with her?”
Joel just stared at the mural and repeated, “She said she was going home.”
Sin was getting nowhere.
A dead wo
man was going home. This is useless.
She walked over and cuffed Joel’s hands behind him. About to take him from the room, she looked up and saw what he was staring at so intently. Passing off Joel to Fletcher’s care, she studied the painting.
“Son of a bitch,” she whispered. “She’s alive.”
Pulling her phone from her pocket, Sin began snapping pictures.
58
“This is all starting to make sense,” Charlie said.
Sin had him on speaker in the conference room. With her were Ashley, Fletcher, Garcia, and Raul Sanchez. Prior to the meeting, she sent him a file of the pictures she’d taken of the walls in the art room. Her phone was hooked up to the laptop and the pictures from Water’s Edge filled the monitor.
“That’s the house where we found Vincent Ash and Joanna. I mean Miranda,” Sanchez said.
“You’re sure?”
“He’s sure,” Charlie answered. “We will never forget that place.”
“Joel kept repeating that Miranda was going home,” Sin said.
“Are you telling me that Miranda is still alive?” Ashley said.
Sin placed her hand on top of Ashley’s and squeezed lightly. “I’m afraid so.”
Ashley’s entire body shook. “How? I mean, the police report said she crashed into the ocean. There is no way she could have survived that fall.”
“She didn’t,” Sanchez said.
“Care to explain,” Sin said, “because we are all a little confused.”
“Charlie, you want to tell them, or should I?” Raul said.
“Go ahead,” Charlie answered. “I have something I need to do, but I will be in touch.”
The phone disconnected.
“Do you remember a girl named Brianna Willow?” Sanchez asked Ashley.
It took her a moment, but then she nodded. “Brianna was a student at Water’s Edge. Kind of sketchy. The night Miranda died she ran off.” Ashley started waving a finger in the air as if trying to make a point. “When Miranda needed booze or cigarettes, she used to send Brianna. She looked much older than her age.”
Mayor Sanchez nodded. “The official reports from that night said that Miranda was killed and Brianna ran away. Charlie and I did some digging. Brianna had a bad drug habit: heroin.” He stood and paced the room, appearing to grow more agitated as he spoke. His arm movements becoming more exaggerated. “God, this is so messed up. This entire case is a fucking nightmare. The staff in the liquor store near the school was able to ID Brianna from some pictures. They weren’t able to ID Miranda.
“Charlie was still with the Bureau and had to leave on assignment. He asked me to follow up, but,” Sanchez stared out the window, “I didn’t. I just wanted this case to end. I never wanted to hear the name Miranda Stokler or Vincent Ash again. I told Charlie that I was able to confirm Brianna’s disappearance.” His voice trailed off, “I told him that I thought it was Miranda behind the wheel.”
“He took your word for it?” Sin said. “He didn’t follow up on his own? That doesn’t sound like Charlie.”
“He trusted me.”
Sin wanted to explode, but kept her emotions in check. “So it could have been Brianna behind the wheel that night?”
Sanchez continued to stare out the window and nodded.
“Any proof?” Sin asked.
“Not yet, but—”
“Any way to get it?” Fletcher interrupted.
Sanchez nodded. “I’ve contacted Frank. He has agreed to have a salvage company dredge the waters. It’s a long shot, but he agreed it was worth a try.”
“If you’re correct, this case is far from finished,” Sin said.
“And George might still be alive,” Ashley exclaimed.
59
Sin gave Evelyn some last minute instructions and was headed out when the elevator opened and Jack and Gonzales stepped into the squad room.
“You bitch!” Jack yelled. “I can’t believe you let me…us…think you were dead. Do you have any idea how that made us feel?”
“Yeah, I do,” Sin said, pulling her hair back behind her shoulders. “I am sorry, Jack, but I had no choice.”
“No choice?”
Sin stood face to face with him. “If I had told you, do you think anyone would have believed your news conference?”
“Yeah,” Jack punctuated. “I could have pulled it off.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
They all turned toward the elevator and watched Tiffany walk into the room. Her head still wrapped in a scarf and her hands still bandaged, she walked straight up to Sin and hugged her tight. “Thank God you’re okay.”
Tiffany kissed Sin’s cheek and broke their embrace. “I’m no actress,” she said, addressing Jack, “but if you knew Sin was alive your emotion wouldn’t have been real, and the killer would have known.”
Jack slumped in resolve. “It still sucks. Christ, I thought you were dead.”
Sin hugged him close. “Thank you for caring. It means a lot.” She then moved on to hug Gonzales. “You’ve done a great job, Rookie. I’d be proud to work with you anytime.”
“Whoa,” Jack said. “What does that mean?”
Sin thought about telling them the truth, but decided it was best for them to think the case was closed. “It means this case is over. It means you two are going back to whatever you were doing before it began. It means, Jack, that you are headed home to your wife.”
“So it’s true,” Tiffany said. “The killer was really caught?”
“It’s true. You, and the people of Miami, have nothing else to fear from the Painted Beauty Killer.”
Tiffany slumped into a chair. “Thank God,” she mouthed.
Sin left Tiffany with Evelyn and went with Jack and Gonzales to finish some paperwork. Afterward, she walked Jack to his car.
“I couldn’t have solved this case without you,” she said, as she leaned into the driver’s window.
“Who are you kidding, O’Malley,” Jack grinned. “You always were a one woman show. There is nothing you can’t do once you set your mind to it.”
Sin leaned in and kissed Jack on the lips. “Take that home to your big-assed wife.” She winked, and walked away.
Back inside, she found Tiffany in the conference room.
“What are your plans?” Sin asked.
“I’m not sure,” Tiffany said. “After everything that’s happened, I want to rethink my future.” Her lips quivered. “Maybe find a nice guy and settle down. I’ve always loved kids, and I have my teaching degree. I think I might use it.”
“Give it some time. Everything that happened is still too fresh,” Sin said.
“I know,” Tiffany agreed. “I’m just thinking out loud. For now, I thought I might head down to the Keys and just heal up.” She ran her bandaged hands over one another. “You’re from there, right?”
Sin nodded.
“Do you know some place cheap where I could stay for a week or so?”
Sin smiled. “I can do better than that.” She wrote down an address and phone number and placed it in Tiffany’s hand. “You are welcome to…wait, no, I insist you stay at my home in Tumbleboat. This is my second mother, Carmelita’s address and phone number. I’ll call her so she’ll expect you. Stay there as long as you want.”
Tiffany hugged Sin and thanked her.
“Damn,” Sin said, trying to check her emotion, “I have never been hugged this much before in my life.”
Tiffany was packing up when Sin handed her a card: Troy’s card. “Call this guy when you get settled in,” she said. “I think you two will have a lot in common.”
60
The next day, Sin and her team stepped off a small commuter plane at the Quad Cities Airport in Moline, Illinois. As soon as they landed, Sin’s phone lit up with text messages from Evelyn. A couple about Charlie and one that stopped Sin in her tracks.
“What has you spooked?”
Sin glanced at Fletcher and then looked back at her phone. “Evelyn was
able to find evidence—video footage—of Miranda boarding a plane at Fort Lauderdale International. Follow up information had her booked straight to St. Louis and then on to here.”
“That’s good news,” Fletcher said. “So, why the look of confusion?”
Sin eyed both men. “She was alone. There is no evidence that George ever left Miami.”
Both men stopped walking. “You have that look, Sin. Tell us what you’re thinking,” Garcia said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Joel is in such a fragile state. If we have someone else interrogate him, he might shut down completely.”
“How about Ashley?” Fletcher said. “She seemed to be able to connect with him.”
Sin thought back to Ashley’s interactions with Joel. The more she thought, the more she was against having Ashley talk to him. “No,” she said, shaking her head, “she’s too emotionally attached.”
“Then, what?”
Sin tapped a text message to Evelyn and shoved her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. “If everything goes as planned we should be back in Miami in a few days. We’ll deal with it then.”
Grabbing her backpack, she headed out of the airport.
Their rental car was waiting, and they were soon sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Blackhawk in Davenport, a historic landmark that overlooked the Mississippi River. They sat around a small table in the expansive grand lobby of the hotel and examined a city map.
Sin pointed to their location. “The hotel sits on East 3rd Street, just off Brady. In the downtown area, Brady only runs north—away from the river.” Moving her perfectly manicured pearlescent nail, she continued to explain their position. “West of Brady is Harrington Street which runs south. The house we are looking for is on Second Street, west of Harrington.”
As she was talking, her phone vibrated. She looked at the message and swore.
“What is it?” Fletcher asked.
“A female student from St. Ambrose University hasn’t been seen in two days. She was reported missing last night.”
“Has the local police department been notified?” Fletcher asked.
“They have and they are checking with her friends to find out when and where she was last seen. They’re going through normal police protocol.”
