by KJ Kalis
Carson leaned back on the floral couch and waited. He had learned that some interviews he needed to ask questions and other interviews it was better if he stayed silent. It seemed like Susan would do most of the talking on her own if he gave her a second. “It’s okay to be upset,” he said.
She sniffled again, and uncurled herself from the ball on the couch, “It’s nice of you to say that.” She dabbed at her eyes and looked at him, “I’m sorry to be so dramatic. How can I help you?”
Carson’s tactic to give her a minute to settle down had worked. “Can you tell me a little bit about your relationship with Oskar?”
“There’s not much to tell. I didn’t really know him. He had given me a key one time because he was expecting a delivery and asked me to let the man and while he was at work. After the delivery, he told me to keep it. I guess he didn’t have any family.”
Carson nodded. “So, when did you know there was trouble with Oskar?”
“Trouble? Oh, you mean when he was in the hospital?”
“Yes. Can you tell me about that?”
She furrowed her eyebrows, “Yes, it was strange.” She shifted in her seat on the couch, “I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize, But I decided to pick up anyway. It was a nurse from the hospital, saying that Oskar wanted to talk to me. She put him on the line, and he asked me if I still had the key to his apartment.”
“And you told him you did?”
Susan nodded, “Yes. He said he’d been in an accident and asked me if I could feed Ralph and make sure that he had water.”
“That was all he told you?”
“Yes. So, I did what he asked. I went into his apartment last night and fed and watered Ralph and came back to my own apartment.”
Carson pulled a notebook and pen out of his left jacket pocket and made a few notes. “How about today? What can you tell me about the last few hours?”
Susan’s face collapsed. Carson was worried that she would start crying again, but she didn’t. “Well, I heard some footsteps in the hall coming and going, but I can’t tell you whether they went to Oskar’s or not. I was in the back of my condo cleaning a closet. Then I came out to make a cup of tea and I heard a loud bang. It sounded like a firecracker, but I realized that didn’t make any sense. I ran to my door but didn’t open it. I looked out through the peephole, but I didn’t see anything. I waited for a minute and then decided I better call you. The police, I mean.”
“So, you didn’t see anyone coming or going that you could identify.”
She shook her head no. “I just heard footfalls on the floor. You know, this building, it was pretty expensive to buy here, but it wasn’t built all that well. The walls and floors are thin.”
“So, the gunshot made quite a loud noise, is what you’re saying?”
Susan nodded, her eyes misting over with a new set of tears. “I just can’t understand why anyone would want to hurt Oskar. Are you sure someone shot him?”
Carson nodded, trying to stay patient with her. Susan was clearly having a hard time processing what had happened right across the hall from her condo. “Yes, unfortunately, that’s the case.” He stood up, “Is there anything else that you’d like to tell me?”
Susan reached her hand out, grabbing his wrist, her clammy fingers leaving a damp smudge on his skin, “You aren’t going to leave me here by myself, are you?”
“You will be fine. The officers will be here for a few more hours. I am sure there is no threat to you. But, if you need anything, call 911 and we will come back out.” Carson quickly stepped away from Susan and walked to the door before she could grab him again.
“She didn’t know anything?” the officer asked.
Carson shook his head no. “Not really. She just heard some noise. I’ll add it to the report, but I don’t think it’s going to be that helpful.”
Out in the hallway, the door to Oskar’s condo was open. He looked inside. The medical examiner had arrived. There was a gurney pulled up next to the couch where Oskar was lying. The medical examiner, a gray-haired man who was nearly ready to retire, was standing with his assistant, unfolding a black bag. Carson debated for a moment whether he should go in and talk to him or head back to the station. The cause of death was obvious, so there was no point in talking to the ME. He gave them a wave and headed down the hallway to the stairwell.
Back out in the sunshine, Carson realized what a hot day it had become. He was grateful for the air conditioning in his car, turning it up to high as soon as he got it started. The smell of curry that had been sitting in the hot car for too long was strong, turning his stomach. He’d have to throw out his lunch when he got back to the office.
As he drove, questions followed him. The information that was in the file was particularly confusing. He tried to put the pieces together. It had all started with Hailey’s murder, which led to Miles, which led to Dr. Kellum, who was now dead. How they were linked, he just wasn’t sure. The relationship between Miles and Dr. Kellum was obvious. How the rest of it all fit together was a mystery. A shiver ran down his spine despite the heat. He was worried that if he didn’t figure out what was going on, more bodies would fall before he could save them.
22
Kat and Henry had spent the better part of an hour unpacking the first crate and laying all the artwork out on the long table in the customs building, watching Eli walk from canvas to canvas staring at each piece individually. Just as they pulled the final canvas out of the first crate, her phone rang. It was Carson.
“Hey, Carson. How are things going?” Kat asked. From the background noise, it sounded like Carson was driving. “Are you in the car?”
“Yup. You and Eli made it to London okay?”
“Yes. We're at the customs building right now.”
“Did you find anything?”
Kat started to pace. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Henry and Eli. Eli was making lap after lap around the canvases that were arranged on the tables. “Well, Eli just started doing his evaluation, but it looks to him like the work that was shipped was Hailey’s.”
“How can he tell?”
“We talked a little bit about this while we were waiting for our flight. I guess painters approach subjects in a way that makes their work almost like an individual fingerprint. Eli said the part that makes this difficult is that she was copying someone else.”
“Keep working on it.”
“We will.” It sounded to Kat like there was something else Carson wanted to say. There was a tension in the air between them, but she couldn’t quite figure out what was going on.
“I wanted to update you on something else that happened since you left.”
Kat’s heart started to beat a little faster. “What’s that?” She could tell by the tone of his voice that something serious had happened.
“Oskar Kellum is dead.”
Kat swallowed. “What?”
“Yep. I’m just leaving the scene now. Someone went into his condo and shot him at point-blank range.”
Kat tried to catch up with the story, “Wait, when I left, he was still in the hospital?”
The phone connection between the two of them broke up a little bit. “That’s right,” Carson said. “They kept him in the hospital a couple of nights and discharged him this morning. Poor guy probably wasn’t home for more than a couple hours before someone shot him. I was there talking to him just before it happened. They must have gotten to him when I left.”
Kat started to pace again, her mind reeling with the information. If someone wanted Oskar dead, why hadn’t they killed him when they first grabbed him? “What you’re saying is that someone beat him to a pulp, left him at the hospital, and then came back later and finished him off?”
“That’s where we seem to be. They did it right after I interviewed him at his condo.”
In the background, Kat heard a car door slam. She imagined Carson was probably back at the police station. “Was there any other information? Anything else you
can tell us?
“Well, I could give you the line about this being an ongoing investigation, but you already know that. Nothing was taken from his condo that we can see, but the forensics people are still there.”
Kat motioned to Henry, waving him over. “Carson, I’m gonna put you on speaker with Henry. He’s my contact at Scotland Yard. I think he should hear this.”
“Yeah, hi Henry. Carson Martino with Savannah Police. I was just telling Kat that a person of interest in the case we are following up on was just shot.”
Kat watched for Henry’s reaction. Henry glanced at her and raised his eyebrows, then leaned closer to the phone so they could both speak at the same time. “And who was this gent?”
Carson replied before Kat had a chance. “Interestingly enough, he was the psychiatrist for our prime suspect, who is a ten-year-old boy.”
Kat looked at Henry, “We talked to the guy right before I left to come here. He was grabbed by someone and savagely beaten. Broken ribs, swollen eye, a couple of bruised organs. Carson told me they kept him overnight in the hospital and just released him a little while ago. He was shot.”
“Sounds like someone is cleaning up loose ends,” Henry said.
From behind them, the sound of a dog barking angrily echoed off the walls of the customs building. It was so loud that Kat couldn’t hear. “Carson, something is going on. Let me call you back.” She hung up without saying goodbye.
Over her right shoulder, she saw what looked to be a police dog charging towards the crate that she, Henry and Eli had just opened. As she walked towards the dog and the handler, the dog went to the crate, sat and started to whine. That wasn’t a good sign. The customs officer they had been working with, Davis, walked briskly over to the dog handler. “What’s going on here?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Bear started to alert. What’s in that crate?” the officer said.
“Art.”
“What’s going on here?” Kat said.
The K-9 officer looked at her. “And you are?”
“Kat Beckman.” She pointed to Henry. “I’m here with him.”
Henry extended his hand to the officer, “Henry Nash, Scotland Yard. Why did your dog alert?”
The officer looked at Henry, “James Kimball, customs. This dog here is Bear. Nice to meet you.” James looked at the crate and looked at the canvases laid out on the tables. “I’m not sure what Bear smells. You said this is just filled with art?”
Henry nodded. “Yes. The shipment just came in from New York. These two...” he bobbed his head towards Kat and Eli, “...came the entire way across the pond to take a look at what was shipped. They are following up on an investigation back in the States.”
Kat took a deep breath, her face curling into a frown. She knew a little bit about military dogs. If Bear was anything like Tyrant, she doubted that Bear would have responded to the crate if there really wasn’t something there. Their noses were way too sensitive for them to make a mistake.
Kat looked down at the dog. He was an enormous German Shepherd, probably at least one hundred and fifty pounds. He had thick brown fur and black markings around his face and on his legs. His tail was draped on the floor as he sat next to Kimball, looking up at his handler every few seconds, waiting for a command. “He’s a beautiful dog,” she said to James. “I don’t doubt that he smelled something. The question is what?”
James looked down at Bear, “I don’t know. I can have him look again so maybe we can figure it out.”
Henry nodded, “Let’s do that.”
As James got Bear ready to do a search, Kat saw Henry glance at Eli. He looked like a deer in headlights. “You nervous about something, Eli?” Henry chided. “You just keep looking at those canvases, okay?”
Eli nodded, “Yes. Okay. Right.”
Kat could tell Eli was nervous, but that wasn’t what she was most interested in. Why would a trained customs enforcement dog alert at a crate of artwork? “James, what was Bear trained to find?”
James gathered the leash a little tighter in his hand, “He’s been trained to look for drugs, particularly ones in the opioid class. He’s also had a little training on explosives, but not much. The way he alerted, though, that was for drugs.” He gave a curt nod and a tug to the leash, “Let’s see what he finds.”
Kat stood back next to Henry as James gave Bear the command to search for drugs. “Suche!”
Most working dogs were trained in commands from another language, usually either Dutch or German. Kat had to learn quite a few commands when she took Tyrant home. The police department in England that gave her the dog insisted that she contact her local police department to make sure that no one got hurt because of Tyrant’s training. She wasn’t as big as Bear, but working dogs were dangerous in the wrong hands, nonetheless. Kat had spent some time with the Sauk Valley Police Department’s K9 trainer. He was a small man, with a soft face and thin limbs, but Kat liked him immediately. Tyrant did, too. The trainer had put Tyrant through her paces and then taught Kat what to do if she responded to something. “She’s a good dog,” he said when he handed the leash back to her. “Just make sure you give her a lot of exercise and run her through her commands at least twice a week. If you need anything, or she becomes difficult, let me know.” The man had looked at Kat sternly, “Don’t take any chances. It’s better for you to call me sooner rather than later if you need help.”
Kat thought about her time with the K-9 trainer as she watched James work with Bear. Using a K-9 wasn’t as simple as it seemed. A lot of people thought you just let go of the leash and let them run. That wasn’t the case. Ultimately, it was the responsibility of the officer or the owner to make sure that the dog was doing what it was supposed to do.
James walked Bear in a circle away from the crate that he had alerted on. Kat remembered from her brief training that James was getting ready to reapproach the object to see if Bear would alert again. James turned back towards the crate repeating the search command. Before Kat could blink, Bear had started to pull on the leather leash James had wrapped around his hand. Barking echoed off the walls of the building. James followed, taking stilted steps towards the crate as Bear pulled him along. Bear stuck his head down in the packing peanuts and started to whine. Kat and Henry moved forward at exactly the same time, heading towards the crate. James pulled Bear back just as they got there.
Kat knelt down on the concrete floor, using her hands to dig through the crate. Henry tapped her on the shoulder. “Here, use these,” he said, handing her a pair of gloves.
Kat pulled on the blue latex gloves, realizing that Henry was right. There was no telling what could be buried in the crate. If someone had taken the time to break into Hailey’s apartment and steal the artwork, they could have easily stashed something else in the crate.
Davis pointed at two other matching crates that were leaning against the wall. “Think we should have a look at those?” she asked.
James and Henry nodded at the same time. James did a quick walk around with Bear who started to bark again. Henry shook his head. “That’s strange. What do you suppose he smells in there?”
James shook his head. “I dunno. Did you find anything else in the first crate?”
Kat had moved the packing peanuts to the side exposing the edges of the crate. She couldn’t find anything else that had been shipped in the box. Davis walked over to her, pulling two enormous tote bins. “Here, let’s put the packing peanuts in these totes so we can have a better look at the inside of the crate.”
Kat nodded and started moving handfuls of the peanuts into the totes. Davis walked away, toward the wall of tools that was laid out behind the inspection tables where Eli was still peering at the paintings. She pulled two snow shovels off the wall and walked back. “These come in handy for situations like this.”
“This happens often?” Kat asked.
Davis nodded. “More than you might think. People put weird things in their shipping crates, not realizing that we do a full in
spection on pretty much everything that comes in and out of this building. We must protect the Kingdom,” she smiled.
Kat smiled back. The people in England were still quite captivated by the monarchy and what that meant. It seemed they were much more likely to listen to the Queen and her opinions many times than the Prime Minister. Kat wondered if it had always been that way. “What kind of things do people try to pack in these crates?”
Davis shoveled a pile of peanuts into one of the totes and shook her head. “You’d be surprised. The strangest thing I ever found was a bag filled with amputated human hands. It was quite disgusting.”
“What? Why would someone ship hands?” Kat’s mind ran on ahead of her trying to figure out how amputated body parts would end up in a crate.
“The short part of the story? The hands were supposed to be shipped as part of a medical transport but got misplaced. They were going to a medical school for use by students in the anatomy labs. It was truly awful,” Davis shivered. “That’s not something I’m going to forget ever.”
Kat glanced over at Henry and James. They were looking at the other two crates that were part of the art shipment. Henry had a long crowbar in his hands and was working on taking the top off of the second crate. James had put Bear in a down position out of the way. The creak of the crowbar pulling the nails out of the edges of the crate could be heard bouncing off of the hard walls and ceiling. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard as the metal scraped against the wood. As soon the men lifted the wooden top off of the box, Bear started to whimper again. James frowned and then looked at the second and third crates, “This is a complete mystery. Why he is fussing, I have no idea.”
While Henry and the agents were working on the crates, Kat decided to go check on Eli. She had found nothing inside of the crate other than the artwork, sheets of Styrofoam, packing materials and peanuts. “How are things going, Eli?”
