The Bloody Canvas Page 7

  “Come on in,” a shout from the back of the apartment answered.

  Kat opened the door. Eli followed. She heard him murmur under his breath, “Well, now.” Before Kat could ask Eli what he meant, Missy padded out from the back of the apartment.

  “Hi, again.”

  Kat nodded. “Missy, this is Eli. He’s an art expert. He wanted to see some of Hailey’s work if that’s okay with you.”

  “Yeah sure. Let me show you her bedroom. I can’t get into her studio though.” Kat chewed her lip, but she didn’t ask what Missy meant. They followed Missy down a short hallway. “This place has three bedrooms. I’ve got one, Hailey had one and she used the other for her studio.”

  Kat stepped around a stack of boxes pushed against the wall as they walked down the hallway. It looked like Missy’s art was displayed on those walls. There were framed drawings that were highly geometric in nature, almost like fractals. Looking carefully Kat could see the image of a woman in one.

  “Here’s Hailey’s room and there’s her studio. As I said, I don’t have the key.” Kat saw a room at the end of the hallway that had a padlock on the door.

  Eli sniffed. “Would it be all right if I had a friend of mine come over to assist us in getting the door open?”

  Missy frowned, “You mean like break-in?”

  “Not quite. He’s particularly good with locks.”

  Missy tilted her head. “I guess that would be okay. Hailey had some of my supplies in there for a piece she was working on. I need to get them, anyway.”

  Without saying another word, Eli stepped away from Kat and Missy. Kat watched him. He pulled an old flip phone out of a pocket of his loose khaki pants. He put the phone up to his ear and a minute later he put the phone back in his pocket. “My friend is on a job. He’ll be here as soon as possible.”

  Missy nodded. “Stay as long as you like. I’ve gotta pack. There’s food in the kitchen if you get hungry.”

  Kat pointed to Hailey’s room. “Why don’t we take a look in here first. Maybe we’ll find something that will let us know who she was working for?”

  Eli nodded and followed Kat.

  Hailey’s room was spacious with large windows facing the park, just like the great room. She had a queen-sized bed pushed up against the wall and a nightstand with a tall lamp next to it. Kat walked over to the nightstand. It was covered with books, some novels and some magazines on art. Leaning up against the wall was a pile of canvases. Eli was looking at them one-by-one. “What do you think, Eli?”

  He pursed his lips, “I’m not sure. She’s definitely into oils. On some of these, she looks like she was practicing her brushwork.” He stopped for a moment. “That’s strange.”

  “What?” Kat leaned over to see what he was looking at as he pulled one of the canvases out of the pile. It was a still life of a bowl of fruit. In the middle of the painting, there was a blank spot, as though the paint had been erased.

  Eli pointed, “See that spot right there?”

  Kat nodded.

  “It looks like Hailey was practicing removing oils from the canvas.” He picked up the picture and walked over to the window. Kat followed. “Oh yes, just what I thought.”

  “Did you find something else?” Kat leaned closer, her eyes searching the canvas.

  “See right there?” Eli pointed to the section of the painting in the upper left-hand side. “See how the paint is dull?”

  Kat tilted her head. She could see how the paint had lost some of its luster. “How would that happen?”

  “It looks like Hailey was practicing removing varnish from oil paints.” Eli set the canvas down. “Was she doing this for class, perhaps?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, in any case, she was working on not only putting oils on canvas but taking them off.”

  Kat rolled her head from side to side, trying to get the tension out of her neck. She thought back to her conversation with Dr. Abibi Roux. “I spoke to one of her professors. She told me that many of the students are hired by museums, churches, or private collections. Could that be why she was practicing?”

  “Maybe. You mentioned she had a side job?”

  Kat thought back to how cagey Dr. Roux had been when she asked who Hailey was working for. She didn’t answer the question. Kat shook her head, “I don’t know for sure that she did have a side job. Her professor didn’t answer me when I asked.”

  “Surprising.”

  “Why?”

  Eli shrugged his shoulders. “Most people in the art world are more than happy to talk about their accomplishments. Being associated with someone who is successful is almost as good as being successful yourself.” He offered a weak smile and looked back at the canvas that he had found. He shook his head. “This almost looks like a painting by Floris van Schooten. He was a Dutch painter from the 1500s if I remember right.” Eli leaned over and flipped the canvases toward him, leaning them against his knees so he could look at the next one. His brow furrowed, “In fact, a lot of them do.”

  “Hello?” Kat heard a male voice call into the apartment. “Eli Langster, are you here?”

  “Ya, Niels. We are in here.”

  Kat followed Eli out of Hailey’s room. Coming down the hallway was a tall stringy man. His hair hung down to his shoulders and looked like it hadn’t been washed in quite a while. He had on saggy beige joggers, slip on beige shoes and a beige t-shirt. With the dirty blonde of his hair, he was nearly one color from head to toe.

  “Niels, thank you for coming.”

  “Happy to help, Eli. What’s going on?”

  Eli looked at Kat, extending his hand toward her, “Niels, this is Kat Beckman. She’s a journalist from California working on the Hailey Park case.”

  “Hailey Park, the art student?” Niels looked Kat up and down, “You don’t look like you are from California,” he said with a thick European accent.

  “Really?” Kat tilted her head at him, “And, what do people from California look like?”

  Eli quickly jumped in the middle of the conversation, “I’m sorry, Kat. My friend has lost

  his manners. Niels, let’s stick to the work at hand. Chit chat gets you in trouble.”

  The two men walked down the hall. Kat could smell the wake of cologne coming off of Niels. Eli pointed to the padlock. “We need to get in here. Can you open it?”

  “Ya,” Niels said, lifting the lock. “I’ll get my kit from the car.” Niels walked back down the hall, his body slumping side to side with each step.

  Eli pursed his lips, “My apologies, Kat,” he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Niels is a bit rough, you might say.”

  “I’ve dealt with worse, Eli. Don’t worry about it.” Kat looked down the hall and then back at Eli. She smiled, “What’s his story, anyway?”

  “Niels? His name is Niels von Hammond. He came here from Holland about ten years ago. Got into some trouble and spent a couple years in jail. He helps me with projects from time to time.”

  The fact that straight-laced Eli Langster hung around with someone like Niels von Hammond struck Kat as strange. Eli seemed so restrained in everything he did, so careful, that it was hard for Kat to reconcile the fact that someone he worked with was an ex-con. Interesting, she thought. Maybe there was more to Eli than it seemed.

  Within a minute, Niels was back with a small bag of tools. Out of it, he pulled a flashlight and a set of small picks. “Hold this, will you?” he handed Kat the flashlight. Kat shone it on the bottom of the lock. Niels inserted two picks in the slot where the key should go. He turned the picks and moved them into position. As he twisted, the lock fell open.

  “What are you doing?” Missy called.

  Kat looked back down the hallway. Missy was standing in the doorway of her bedroom holding a pile of clothes. “Just getting the lock open. You said it was okay, right?”

  “Yeah.” She looked at Niels. “Who are you?”

  “Niels.”

  Missy nodded and walked
away before Niels finished. Kat stared after her in part wondering why she’d let three strangers into her house to rifle through her roommate’s things. She shook her head. College kids.

  Kat heard a pop. Niels took the lock off the door and pulled the flange apart. As he turned the knob and opened the door, sunlight flooded down the hallway. Kat peered in, following them in.

  The room must have been what was originally designed to be the master bedroom. It was spacious, with high ceilings and exposed brick that went from floor to ceiling. Natural light poured into the room. To one side there was a set of doors. Kat walked over and looked inside. A full bathroom with a walk-in shower and tub flowed right off the space. The floors in the bedroom were wood and looked to be reclaimed from an older structure. In the center of the room was the largest easel Kat had ever seen. On the wall behind her were two large shelving units, filled with art supplies, brushes, large containers of paint, and even a box with rags and gloves. A portable fan stood tall in the corner near the window. It was running at low speed, the blades barely moving. In the corner of the room, a wash sink had been installed. On the edge were three brushes that looked like they had been set there to dry. Eli and Niels had gone to the far wall of the room, where there were more canvases leaning against the wall. As she walked over, Kat realized there had to be thirty of them, some of them larger than others, but mostly about four feet by four feet. Hailey had certainly liked her large-format works, that was for sure.

  “Interesting, very interesting,” Eli said, looking through the canvases. While Kat had been investigating the room, Eli had been focused on the art piled in the corner.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, every piece of art I’ve found is the replica of an old master. If they weren’t sitting in this apartment, I’d have a hard time figuring out whether they were real or a duplicate.”

  Kat frowned and leaned over, looking at the canvases. “They are that good?”

  Eli nodded. “They are.”

  Missy stood in the doorway. “Oh, you guys got in. Good. I just need my brushes and pencils.” She reached over onto the shelf where the supplies were and took what she needed. She left Eli, Kat and Niels still looking at the paintings.

  “Eli,” Kat looked right at him, seeing the smudges on his glasses, “Could this be what she was selling? Could this be the side job that kept her at school?”

  Eli pressed his lips together and nodded. “Indeed.”

  Kat took a few pictures of the room and the artwork and followed Eli and Niels out. Kat called to Missy, “Thanks. We left the room unlocked for you.”

  Missy came out of her room again, staring at them. “Is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Missy turned away from them and walked back down the hallway.

  Kat closed the door behind her as they left. Outside, Niels wandered away without so much as a goodbye. Eli got back in the car with Kat. “You can just drop me off at the front door.” He looked at an old-fashioned watch on his wrist. “My wife will be expecting me for dinner soon.”

  “Do you want me to drive you home?”

  “No. I’d prefer to walk.”

  Kat hadn’t realized the time until Eli had mentioned dinner. Just getting the door open and finding the art in Hailey’s apartment had taken up the entire afternoon. As she pulled up to the front of the shop, Kat looked at Eli. “Thanks for helping out today.”

  “Certainly. Stop back if you need more information. That was quite interesting.” Eli got out of the car, muttering to himself as he walked away.

  Kat pulled away from the curb and headed to her hotel. She needed time to think.

  11

  Dr. Oskar Kellum left work at precisely seven o’clock every night. His last patient was always at six o’clock. With his psychiatry sessions running exactly fifty minutes, that meant he had ten minutes to close the office and start his drive home.

  The evening was humid and hazy. Parking in Savannah was challenging, so he typically left his blue Mercedes down the street in a municipal parking lot, leaving another spot open in the parking lot for his building that his patients could use. As he walked, he thought back on the day. He’d seen six patients, renewed prescriptions for four of them, and did an intake on one new patient. As he shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other, his mind drifted to Miles.

  There was no doubt in Oskar’s mind that Miles had the makings of a psychopath. His mind had been so injured as a child that Oskar doubted that he would ever be much of a functioning adult. He’d likely just barely get through school and take a low-paying job at a store somewhere. Relationships would be nearly impossible for him and the urge to express his psychopathology would haunt him. Oskar hadn’t seen a lot of cases like Miles’ in his career, mostly working with kids who had depression, suicidal ideation, or even anxiety. A true psychopath wasn’t something that many psychiatrists dealt with except in cases of incarceration.

  Oskar turned the corner to get to his car. He had taken the long way today, wanting to get some fresh air. The medication cocktail that he had prescribed for Miles had worked exactly the way he thought. There were two parts to the plan — the short term medication that Oskar had used for the last three months in the office with Miles that left him suggestible and with a case of memory loss and the change in dosage he had prescribed in his daily medication just last week. While he seemed to be mild-mannered enough every time Oskar saw him, his foster mom and the reports from child and family services told another tale. Miles was easy to deal with unless he was challenged. If he felt threatened in any way, he became like a wild animal. His efforts to survive at a young age had begun to turn. Instead of just isolating himself and withdrawing, his mind had become aggressive. Barb, his foster mom, had confided to Oskar that she was becoming afraid of him.

  Oskar got into the deep blue Mercedes coupe and started it up with one touch to the button, feeling the surge of cool air coming out of the cabin’s ventilation system. He put the car in gear and pulled out, away from the parking lot, driving down the street. He decided to take the riverfront back to his condominium. There was no hurry to get home. There was no one waiting except for his cat, Ralph. Ralph had been his father’s name.

  As he passed the riverfront, he saw couples walking to dinner. It was dusky now, the shadows long on the sidewalks. Each restaurant’s front window glowed with celebratory lights even though it was the middle of the week. That was normal for Savannah with the tourist vibe. Oskar had no desire to join in what other people thought to be fun. All he wanted to do was go home, make a proper cup of tea using his mother’s finest teapot and the spiced loose tea he found online at a specialty shop.

  Behind him, the traffic merged and swayed, cars jockeying for position as they got to the stoplights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black SUV cutting it a little close. He gripped the wheel and jerked the car into the other lane. As soon as he did, he heard a popping noise and felt the car jolt. The front end of the Mercedes, normally highly responsive, was sluggish. It felt like he had a flat tire. He turned up an alleyway to get off the congested road, frustrated. All he wanted was his cup of tea.

  Oskar threw the Mercedes into park and jumped out, anger flowing through him at what he expected would be nothing short of a long inconvenience. His mind was already racing ahead to tow trucks and the inevitable delay in getting home. As he stared down at the left front tire, he saw that it was beyond totally flat. It was shredded. He looked back at the street corner and saw a metal strip with tacks on it, a man wearing a baseball cap leaning over to pick it up and move it off the street. So worried about his tires, Oskar never saw the second man behind him.

  A hand clamped over his mouth and pulled him backward. Oskar struggled, mostly because he felt like he was going to fall backward, his arms and legs flailing, fear surging through his body. His eyes were wide, his heart pumping at near double the rate it normally did. He couldn’t breathe. As the hands pulled him into the building next t
o the alleyway, he saw a man get into the Mercedes and drive off. Oskar was sure the rims of his precious sedan would be dented and destroyed.

  The person behind him slammed him down in a chair in the middle of the room. Another set of hands, from where he wasn’t sure, held him to the chair and taped his wrists and ankles. “Wait! What is this? I don’t have any money!” he protested. The two men said nothing, just putting another line of tape across his mouth. They walked away, leaving him in the dusky darkness of the building.

  Terror ripped through Oskar’s chest, cold sweat forming on his brow. His chest was tight. He felt like he could hardly breathe. He was alone. He tried to access the rational part of his brain, forcing himself to take long, deep breaths out of his nose. The pounding of his heart hardly responded. He felt the sweat run down the back of his neck and onto his collar. It itched. His guts were churning. Nausea flooded over him. He looked every direction, trying to calm down, though he knew with his own weak constitution, that would be a futile effort. His mother had always told him he was weak. At that moment, he knew she was right.

  After a few minutes, Oskar was able to slow his breathing, his vision broadening. The building he was in looked abandoned. Dust and dirt on the floor could have been there for a decade or more. The space was open, two stories of the skeleton of a building. Oskar guessed there had been some sort of manufacturing operation where he now sat. He grunted and mumbled, hoping someone would come and free him.

  “You’ve calmed down a bit now, Oskar?” a man in a baseball cap walked toward him out of the darkness. Another man followed. Oskar guessed the second man was the one that pulled him into the building. Baseball hat leaned over and tugged at the tape on his mouth. “If you make any noise, other than answering our questions, I’ll put this right back on. You understand?”

  Oskar nodded.