The Homicide Magnet

by Matt Ferraz

  “If you say so,” answered Marina. “I believe Daisy is ready now, Craig.”

  “What? Oh, yes. I’ll fetch her,” he said. “Hope we can catch up sometime soon.”

  Grandma Bertha took Nathan to the room Marina had given her, where the dogs stayed during the day. The place was big enough for Castor, Rufus and Mustafar to walk around without getting bored. They all gave friendly barks and wagged their tails as the two of them walked in.

  “Don’t worry, they don’t bite,” said Grandma Bertha. “There’s a box of dog food in the closet, and their bowls are over there. Fill them for me, would you?”

  “Do you take them everywhere you go?” he asked.

  “Of course,” said Grandma Bertha. “Sometimes people don’t want to let them onto a bus or a train, but we find a way. It would be easier if I had my own car, but you can’t have everything. Now, let me see that picture.”

  Nathan handed Grandma Bertha the envelope. She sat down on the bed and examined the photos. “I’m sorry for the quality,” he said, opening the closet.

  “It should be good enough,” she answered. “I just wanted to take a good look at them.”

  “Two blue eyes, two green eyes” said Nathan, pouring the dog food into the bowls. “And two symmetrical faces. Disappointed?”

  “Of course not,” was her answer. “I didn’t expect anything different. After all, this was before the fire.”

  “What?”

  Grandma Bertha raised her right index finger, holding the picture in her other hand. “Have you ever seen the eye of a person who has been severely burned? It goes a strange colour, almost pale green.”

  The box of dog food fell from Nathan’s hand. “You think that…”

  “Pick that up, love, the doggies can’t eat it all at once.”

  He picked up the box from the floor and walked over to Grandma Bertha. “You think that’s what Daisy saw in the picture?” he asked. “The face of her half-burned mother?”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it?” said Grandma Bertha. “It would explain why the asymmetry bothered her so much. It reminded her of how her mother looked in the last moments of her life, due to an accident Daisy believes is her fault. Everything adds up. A girl tortured by guilt all her life. Many bad memories. And then she sees something that captures – by accident – a vision she’s been repressing since her childhood.”

  “That’s it, then!” he said. “You solved the mystery.”

  “I only have a theory, Nate,” corrected Grandma Bertha. “And even if I’m right, it doesn’t solve the mystery. It solves a mystery, but there are still many things to find out.”

  “Like what?”

  “What really happened in that fire? Who caused it? Why did Craig Erickson made his daughter believe it was her fault?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” asked Nathan. “He caused the fire! He wanted to kill his wife, and hurt his daughter in the process. Maybe he wanted to kill Daisy too, but failed. Then he did his best to make her believe she was to blame, and—”

  “I don’t like that line of thought,” said Grandma Bertha.

  “Why not?” Nathan sounded disappointed.

  “Lots of reasons,” said Grandma Bertha. “Does Craig Erickson strike you as the kind of man who would kill someone using fire?”

  “Well, no, but we never know what goes on inside people’s minds, do we?”

  Grandma Bertha shook her head. “He lives for his business. Everything else is a distraction. I can see him using poison, or even a gun. But setting fire to his wife, even if she was sleeping, would be too risky. What if he got burned himself, and couldn’t go to work? The business would be in jeopardy.”

  “Maybe it was the candle, then,” said Nathan. “It might not have happened the way he describes, but who knows? It could just be a tragic accident.”

  That answer didn’t satisfy either of them, for different reasons. Nathan was too committed to the murder theory to be satisfied by the accident theory. It wasn’t exciting enough. And Grandma Bertha, who had spent a long time talking to Daisy, was certain that Craig had something to hide. The question was, what could it be?

  “Let’s work with the idea that there’s something weird about her mother’s death,” said Grandma Bertha, being careful not to reveal the secrets Daisy had told her. “The little girl sees her mum with her face half burned, almost gets burned herself, and is told later that the fire is her fault. Now, if the official story was true, why did Craig feel the need to tell Daisy what to say?”

  “Do we know that for sure?” asked Nate.

  “We know nothing for sure,” said Grandma Bertha. “And we have no way to prove our theories.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Nathan.

  “I’m very tired,” said Grandma Bertha, watching her dogs eat. “You must excuse me, my friend. I need my afternoon nap to put my ideas in order.”

  “What about the pictures?” he asked, thinking how hard it’d been to find it. “Are you going to do anything with them?”

  “These are important clues,” Grandma Bertha reassured him. “I’m very thankful for it.”

  “There’s something else in the envelope,” said Nathan. “I printed her obituary along with the picture. I thought it might be helpful.”

  Grandma Bertha looked deeper inside the envelope and pulled out a printed piece of paper. “Oh, thank you!” she said. “I’ll take a look at it after I wake up.”

  “Why don’t you look at it now?” he asked.

  “I’m old, in case you’ve forgotten,” said Grandma Bertha. “Age comes with several limitations. I’d like to be alone with my doggies now, Nate. I have your number in case I need you.”

  Nathan wanted to argue, but couldn’t find any good arguments. He left Grandma Bertha in her room, said goodbye to Marina and drove back to his place. The investigation was overwhelming, and he was getting carried away with it. To be honest, he didn’t even know what they were investigating. Was there even a murder mystery there, or was it just a series of sad coincidences that had culminated in Daisy’s reaction to the painting? Nathan didn’t know, and maybe it was better that way. Unlike Grandma Bertha, he still had work to do. All he wanted to do was go to his study and work with clay for an hour or two. That would help.

  8

  Nathan stood by the Ericksons’ front door, a cardboard box by his feet, wondering if it was a good idea to ring the bell. It had been a crazy night of hard work and no sleep, and the sculpture was still too fresh to be presented. It was six o’clock in the morning when he finished it, and he was to wired to sleep. He wanted to show the sculpture to Daisy who, in one way or another, had been his muse.

  Nathan didn’t know why he had made that piece. It had been as if a strange force had guided his hands – maybe the same force that made Marina capture the image of a dying Barbara Erickson in her portrait. Could her spirit be flying around, crying out for redemption, influencing the hands of the artists in their community to try to send them a message? Nathan wasn’t sure if he believed that. But there was something going on, and he was now a part of it.

  The Erickson’s butler opened the door for him a few seconds after he rang the bell. “May I help you, sir?” he asked.

  “I have something for Daisy… Miss Erickson,” explained Nathan, pointing to the box.

  The butler looked at it. “Deliveries are to be made at the back door, sir.”

  “I know, but…”

  “I’ll deal with him, Bruno,” said a female voice from behind the butler.

  “Very well, ma’am,” said butler.

  Scarlett Erickson stood there, looking gorgeous in a dark green dress and wearing heavy make-up even though it was so early in the morning “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” she said. “At the party.”

  “The unveiling, yes,” he answered. “I’m Nathan Arkin.”

  “Would you like to come in?” she asked.

  Nathan picked up the box and followed Scarlett inside. “I’m a sculptor,” he s
tarted to explain. “And I made a piece last night that I want to give your stepdaughter.”

  “Daisy has many admirers,” said Scarlett, offering Nathan a seat on the living room couch. “But you’re the first one to bring her a piece of art. You must like her a lot.”

  “It’s not like that…”

  “You don’t have to justify yourself,” said Scarlett. “She’s a beautiful, bright girl, with a great future ahead of her. Would you like some tea? I could have the butler bring some.”

  “Please, don’t bother,” Nathan said, looking around trying to see Daisy. “This is just something I’d like to give her…”

  “I’m sorry,” said Scarlett. “I was just being friendly. It’s so rare for me to get the chance to actually talk to someone. My husband is married to his work, and Daisy doesn’t see me as a friend.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to be,” she said, trying to smile. “She’s an interesting girl. Very dark and very mysterious. Not to mention beautiful. Boys fall at her feet, but she doesn’t care. It makes me sick to my stomach that—”

  “I’m sorry,” interrupted Nathan. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I want to talk to Daisy. Is she around?”

  Scarlett gave a sad smile. Her eyes looked tired, and her beauty seemed to fade away as she spoke. Nathan felt guilty for not being patient enough to listen to her problems, but there were some things he had to do.

  “She’s in the garden,” said Scarlett. “She spends a lot of time there. Go and meet her. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

  Nathan thanked her, grabbed his box and went in the direction she had pointed. The Ericksons’ house was large, but it was strangely empty. There were no paintings or vases, not even rugs on the floor. The garden was just a short piece of lawn with a couple of rose bushes and a bench. Sitting on the bench was Daisy Erickson, in a blue dress, reading a book. She was the only beautiful thing in the house.

  “Hey, there,” said Nathan, not sure of the best way to approach her. “What are you reading?”

  Her eyes moved from the book to him. “The Hobbit,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a friend of Marina Larch.”

  “I know that,” she said.

  “I’m also a friend of Grandma Bertha.”

  Daisy closed the book. “That I didn’t know.”

  Nathan felt confident to come closer. “She’s quite a character, isn’t her?”

  “Did she help you too?” asked Daisy.

  “In a way she did,” said Nathan, laying the box next to the bench. “I hadn’t been able to work for months. Now I’ve finally created something I’m proud of.”

  “And what is it?” she asked.

  Nathan pulled a box cutter from his pocket and cut the tape that sealed the box. “I made this for you.”

  “It isn’t another sweater, is it?” she asked.

  Nathan removed the shredded paper that filled the box and pulled out the sculpture. It was made of clay, and showed two women cutting a piece of bread. Their faces were blank, like mannequins. “What do you think?”

  Daisy stayed silent for a moment. “What were you thinking when you did this?”

  “Of your description of the portrait,” he answered. “You said you saw two women, one holding a loaf of bread, and the other one with a knife. Is this what you saw?”

  “No,” she said, taking the sculpture from him. “These women have no faces. The one in my mind did.”

  “And what faces did they have?” he asked.

  “One is my mother’s face. The other is a monster’s face. Like the bogeyman, only a woman.”

  That was frustrating. “Sorry if I didn’t capture that.”

  “Don’t worry,” answered Daisy. “It’s a fine piece of art.”

  “And what are you doing now?” he asked.

  “Staying home, reading,” was her answer. “I don’t feel like socializing much. The garden is the only place where I can find some peace.”

  “Wanna go for a walk?”

  Daisy looked at him, surprise in her eyes. “I’m a little tired now,” she said. “A walk wouldn’t do me any good.”

  “It’s all right, I understand,” said Nathan. “You can have this. I mean, it’s not finished yet, but maybe—”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “The knife. I remember something about the knife. I was on the floor, my stepmother was screaming, there was a knife on the floor.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Nathan. “She was trying to kill you?”

  Daisy waved her hand. “No… It wasn’t like that at all.”

  “That’s all you can remember?” said a voice from behind them. It was Scarlett, standing by the garden door. “Funny, I remember a lot more.”

  Daisy got up, looking furious, and walked past Scarlett, yelling a curse word at her. Scarlett didn’t move. Nathan found himself alone with her. “What was that all about?”

  “Daisy tried to kill me one night,” she explained, as if it was a normal thing to say. “She came to my room with a knife while I was sleeping. I woke up, and she was standing there, about to stab me. I screamed. Her dad took her back to her room and gave her a cup of hot milk, while I stayed in bed, crying and looking at the knife she had dropped on the floor. Daisy’s evil, young man. I think you’d better leave.”

  Nathan picked up the box and followed Scarlett to the door. Neither of them said goodbye. He got back into his car and drove to his house, thinking of everything he had heard. So many clues, and he couldn’t put them into place. He knew someone who could, though. He stopped his car at a supermarket and bought some beer, hoping it was a brand Grandma Bertha liked.

  9

  She listened to everything in silence, taking a sip of beer now and then. Nathan could almost hear the pieces fitting together in her head. After he had finished, she stared in silence at the floor for a couple of minutes before speaking. “Do you know why I made that sweater, Nate?”

  “Something to do with asymmetry,” he guessed. “Trying to evoke something in her subconscious.”

  “In part, yes,” she said, finishing her beer. “But I also wanted to suggest a bridge between who she is now and who she was at the time of the accident. A child in one sleeve, and a grown woman in the other one. Too theatrical, I know.”

  “You were not the only one,” he said. “I really thought I was going to bring something out of here with that sculpture.”

  “Maybe you did,” said Grandma Bertha. “There’s one logical explanation for all this. Daisy is a sleepwalker, her father told me. That usually happens during periods of distress. What if she tried to murder her stepmother while she was sleeping? The same way she caused the fire when she was a child, trying to kill her biological mother. She sees the painting and a million things go through her mind. She sees the faces of both women – or of the one woman she was able to kill, who has now two faces.”

  “But why did her father make her tell lies about the fire?”

  “To protect her,” said Grandma Bertha. “Maybe he was afraid she would end up in jail, even if it wasn’t her fault, and he made up the story that she burned the house by accident.”

  Grandma Bertha could see Daisy’s face in front of her. She thought of Winifred Compson back at the resort. They were very different, but they also had some things in common. It’s hard to grow up well balanced when the person who’s supposed to take care of you has so many skeletons in their closet. It isn’t right for children to be raised like that, she thought.

  “Now it’s solved, isn’t it?” asked Nathan. “We know what happened.”

  “Maybe we do,” agreed Grandma Bertha. “It all adds up. But what are we going to do with the information? We can’t just sit down and tell her that.”

  Nathan thought for a moment. “We don’t have to tell her,” he said, with a shrug. “Knowing about it should be enough. Maybe… Ouch! Why did you slap me?”

  There was a red mark on his left cheek, in the shape of
Grandma Bertha’s hand. “You’re being a fool, Nathan. Solving a case is not about putting the facts together for our personal satisfaction. It’s about saving people. And we need to save Daisy right now before another tragedy strikes.”

  She took two cans of beer and gave him one. “Here, hold this against your face.” Nathan obliged. Grandma Bertha opened the other can and took a sip. She went on, “So, let’s recap. Young Daisy lives in a bad home. Her father is always away, and her mother beats her. This messes with her head, and she starts sleepwalking. One day, while her parents are asleep, Daisy takes a candle and tries to burn her mother alive. Her father manages to save her, but her mother is horribly burned and dies a week later.

  “At some point,” she continued, “Daisy sees her mother’s face. The sight is imprinted in her memory. She goes through painful treatment for her burns, and emerges emotionally detached – which is great according to her dad. Her father convinces the police, and even Daisy herself, that the fire was an accident caused by a little girl who just wanted to read a book. That story suits everyone, including Daisy, who grows up believing that.”

  Grandma Bertha went on. “Cut to a couple of days ago, when she sees the painting. Her father has got married in the meantime, to a woman Daisy doesn’t like and probably wants dead. The killing instinct that led her to try to murder her mother is strong in her again. The sight of the painting activates something in Daisy’s mind. She looks at it, looks at Scarlett, and what she did comes back to her mind – on an unconscious level. It’s too much for her to take, and she flips out in the middle of the party.”

  “The way I see it, we’re not solving a murder,” said Grandma Bertha. “Instead we’re trying to prevent another tragedy from happening. Daisy might try to kill her stepmother again, or even her father. This time she might succeed. Even if she doesn’t, things won’t end up well for her.”

  “That’s pretty much it,” said Nathan. “There’s not a lot we can do.”

  Grandma Bertha smiled at him. “There is something.”

  “What?”

  “You have feelings for her, don’t you?” asked Grandma Bertha. “For Daisy Erickson. I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in love, but there’s something there. That’s why you’re so involved in this case.”