The Bloody Canvas Page 8

  Baseball hat pulled the tape off of Oskar’s mouth, the adhesive stinging as it separated from his skin. “What do you want?” The question had slipped out of Oskar’s mouth faster than he could hold it in. Before the words even formed for him to apologize, he felt a fist connect with his face, his head twisting violently to the right. He felt dizzy, tasted blood in his mouth.

  “I think we’ve made our policy clear. Do you understand?”

  Oskar nodded, pain surging in his head.

  Baseball hat knelt down in front of Oskar. “This will go more smoothly if you just answer our questions. Then you can go home and do whatever you want to do, okay?”

  Oskar nodded again, licking the blood from his lip.

  “The boy. Remember the boy?”

  Oskar nodded.

  “What does he remember?”

  “Nothing.”

  Another fist crashed into Oskar’s face shattering his nose, blood streaming down his face.

  Baseball hat said, “It’s important that you are truthful with us, Oskar.”

  Oskar gagged from the stream of blood running down his throat. “I am. Why would I lie?”

  Baseball hat stood up and started to pace, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe so we don’t keep beating you?”

  “No, really. You can check the notes in my office. The medication worked perfectly. Miles doesn’t remember what happened. He’s got no idea that he stabbed that girl. No idea at all.”

  A fist slammed into Oskar’s stomach. He felt his ribs crack. He started to wheeze. “Please stop. I’m telling the truth.”

  “Who else knows about this, Oskar? Who else have you told?”

  “No one. All of the notes are secured. No one will look for them, I promise.”

  “Where did you hide them?”

  “In my desk,” Oskar dropped his head, unable to keep it up. There was a copy at his condo, too, but he didn’t say that.

  Baseball hat started to laugh, “In your desk? Like no one would ever look in your desk for paperwork, right?” He looked at the man that was delivering the punches, “The stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. The boss isn’t going to be happy.”

  “But I’ve done everything you asked!”

  Baseball hat came close and grabbed him by the shirt collar with one fist. “Not quite, Oskar. Remember the eighty thousand dollars you owe us? Did you forget about that?”

  Memories of sitting at the poker table flooded his mind. A friend from his golf club had invited him to join in the fun one Friday night. Not that sociable, Oskar decided to push out of his comfort zone — how could he not, when it was advice he gave to his patients all the time? He popped an Ativan to keep him calm and went. It was in the backroom of a restaurant that he enjoyed, so he figured it would be good fun.

  That night he won. It was the last time.

  He’d kept going to the poker tables, hoping for better luck. The man who ran the game, Steven Smith, or at least that was what he called himself, was more than gracious for a few weeks. But, as Oskar lost more and more, Mr. Smith became impatient. One night Mr. Smith and one of his men showed up at Oskar’s office as he was leaving.

  “I need a favor, Oskar.”

  “I’d be happy to talk to you, but I don’t have time right now.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Mr. Smith, wearing a tangerine short-sleeved shirt, white pressed shorts and loafers, settled into one of Oskar’s chairs and crossed his legs. “You owe me a lot of money.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back. I have a new contract coming in…”

  “I have another way that you can help.”

  “What’s that?” Oskar sat down, tightness in his chest, unsure of what Mr. Smith might say.

  “There’s a threat to a colleague of mine. I need to have someone taken care of. It has to be discreet. Think you can help?”

  “I can’t murder someone! Are you crazy?” Oskar shot up out of his seat, fear ripping through him. He wondered if they would kill him for saying that.

  “Relax, doc. We don’t need you to kill anyone. We just need you to prime the pump, if you know what I mean.”

  Oskar sat back down, feeling faint. “What are you asking me to do?”

  Mr. Smith stared at his hands, “I’d like you to motivate one of your patients to help. You don’t have to do the killing. That’s good news, right?”

  Oskar could barely breathe. “How would I do that?” He looked at Mr. Smith, who seemed to be perfectly relaxed and wondered how many of these negotiations he had done. Oskar knew it wasn’t really a negotiation, though. “I have no idea how to do that! I, I’ve never done this before. Nothing like it!” Oskar got up again and started to pace.

  “Sit down, Oskar.” Mr. Smith said, his tone turning serious. “Here’s the reality. Unless you want to take out a home equity loan on that pathetic little condo you have with your cat…”

  “How do you know about that?” Oskar plopped back down onto the nearest chair.

  “You owe me a lot of money. The number gets bigger each and every day that you don’t pay me. What I’m offering you is a way to get rid of the whole debt in one fell swoop. That would be good, right?”

  Oskar nodded.

  “I’m going to call you in twenty-four hours. When I call you, you are going to tell me which one of your patients you are going to use and how you are going to do it”

  “Even if I know, it could take months.”

  “I realize that. That’s why I’m coming to you now.” Mr. Smith stood up and held up his hands, “See, I’m a reasonable person, Oskar. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  That night, Oskar didn’t sleep. He canceled all of his appointments the following day and spent the time blockaded in his office going through files and research. Choosing a patient to do what Mr. Smith said was preposterous. But after calling his bank, he realized he had no choice. Even if he could get a loan, he knew Mr. Smith would insist that Oskar do what he’d asked. He dug through pharmaceutical books and tried to determine what drugs he could use to make a child suggestible and violent at the same time.

  At the end of the day, Oskar had narrowed his choices down to two kids: Miles and a teenager named Samson. Both had tendencies that Oskar had helped them to control. Miles was clearly psychopathic after his abuse. Samson had gotten in more fights at school than anyone Oskar had ever worked with.

  The call came in at precisely six o’clock. “Oskar, what did you decide?”

  “I, ahhh,” Oskar started to stammer.

  “I need to know you’ve made a decision.”

  Oskar didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t predict whether the child he chose would be capable of doing what Mr. Smith wanted. He also knew that if he didn’t choose, he’d face more problems than he wanted to think about. “Umm, I have a boy here. His name is Miles.”

  “Good. You think he can do the job?”

  “Yes, I’m relatively certain with some work that we can get it done.” Samson was unpredictable but violent. Miles was predictable and violent.

  “You’d better be. I’ll call you in two weeks for a progress report. And, if you give me good news, I’ll stop adding interest to your hefty bill.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, thank you. I’ll do my best…” Although Oskar was still talking, the call had ended.

  The next day, between patients, Oskar had gotten together the medication that he needed to start working with Miles. Before their session, he had called Barb, Miles’ foster mom, into his office. “I’d like to try something,” he said, crossing his legs in the chair, “With your permission, of course.”

  Barb furrowed her brow. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I think that if I use hypnotism, I can help Miles to not only remember his past but to move through it.”

  “Hypnotism? I thought that was a joke?”

  Oskar nodded, “I can understand why you’d think that way. In fact, there is a heavy scientific basis for the process. The mind is powerful. If I can g
et Miles to relax, he might be able to speed up his progress through the power of suggestion.”

  Barb shrugged. “Sure, do what you’ve got to do.”

  “Great. I just have this little form for you to sign that we are adjusting the treatment plan to include it.” Oskar wanted to have all of his paperwork in order. The situation was spiraling out of control.

  Barb scrawled her name, the pen scratching across the paper. She handed it back to Oskar. “Here you go. When will you start with him?”

  “Right now, if that’s okay with you?”

  Barb nodded, stood up and headed out of Oskar’s office.

  “Barb, one more thing… Miles might be a little sleepy after our sessions. Hypnotherapy can make people drowsy.”

  “No problem.”

  What Barb didn’t know was that Oskar had gotten some flunitrazepam ready for their session. Impossible to find in any drug test after a few hours, flunitrazepam would induce relaxation and loss of inhibition. Oskar had no idea if Mr. Smith’s plan would work, but he had to try.

  Miles came into Oskar’s office just a moment after Barb went out. “Hello, Miles, how are you today?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Listen, I talked to Barb and she said it was okay if we tried something new today. Is that okay with you?”

  Miles nodded again, still not speaking.

  “What I’d like you to do is to drink this juice for me and then we will begin, okay?” Oskar had smashed a dose of flunitrazepam and put it in a small cup of orange drink.

  Miles took the cup and drank down the liquid, smacking his lips a little.

  “Okay, Miles, now I’d like you to lay down on the couch and just relax. We will talk like we normally do, but just with you laying down.”

  Oskar watched as Miles leaned back, settling himself on the pillows. “Now what?”

  “I’m going to talk. You are going to listen. You might fall asleep. That’s okay. All I want you to do is to focus on my voice.”

  Their sessions, increased to twice a week because of the pressure from Mr. Smith, proceeded exactly the same way each time. Miles would drink the orange drink laced with the flunitrazepam and then he’d lay on the couch. Oskar would spend the next half hour making suggestions to him that took advantage of his naturally violent personality. “Think about what it would be like to take a knife and slice through someone’s skin,” he’d say, or “Imagine yourself finding the anger you see in Barb and cutting it out of her.” Though he hadn’t shown it yet, Oskar was certain the more he worked with Miles that he’d do anything he was asked to.

  “Now Miles, I’d like you to picture yourself holding a knife. Can you show me how you’d do that?” Miles lifted his hand up from where it was resting on the couch.

  “Very good, Miles. Can you show me how you would stab someone with the knife you are holding?” Miles made a few gestures that looked like stabbing motions.

  “Miles, how do you feel?”

  Still in his drug-induced stupor, Miles smiled.

  The pain in Oskar’s body brought him back to the warehouse. Oskar whispered, “If you kill me, I can’t pay you back.”

  Baseball hat looked at him. “Don’t you think I know that? This is a warning.”

  “I thought my debt would be paid when the girl got killed.”

  “Mr. Smith is considering his options. What do you think he should do?”

  “Let me go.”

  “That’s not quite the right answer.” Before Oskar could reply, a baseball bat hit him in the side of the head, the pain piercing every inch of his face. Blows covered his body, everywhere from his legs to his arms and chest. Oskar tried to cry out but found that he couldn’t make any noise other than groan.

  A few minutes later, he came to, still taped to the chair. He could barely move, his left eye swollen shut. He felt the tape being released from his wrists and ankles, strong hands pulling and dragging him into a vehicle. He couldn’t make his mouth move. Pain pulled and tore all over his body. There wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t ache. He whimpered and tried to roll over, but the pain in his chest was too severe.

  “Okay Doc, we are going to drop you off. It’s gonna be a bit of a rocky departure, but it’ll be good.”

  The van they had put Oskar in slowed down, the side door rolling open. The man who had done the beating shoved Oskar’s body out onto the sidewalk in front of Savannah Memorial Hospital near the main entrance. They sped off before Oskar’s body even hit the ground.

  “Oh my God,” Oskar heard a voice that sounded female. “Someone get a doctor!”

  That was the last Oskar remembered.

  12

  Kat got back to the hotel feeling unsure of herself. She went upstairs, unlocking the door and tossing her backpack on the bed. She ordered room service, a BLT and a side of fries. Staring around the room, she wasn’t sure what to do next. Finding Hailey’s locked art studio had been interesting, but how was it connected to her murder?

  Kat frowned and picked up her phone. Maybe calling home would make her feel better. “Hi, honey,” she said. “How was your day?”

  “Good,” he said, his mouth full of some sort of food. “I just got back from school. The dogs are being bad.”

  Their two dogs, Woof and Tyrant, were just as much a part of the family as the people in it. Woof had been rescued from the man who had kidnapped Jack. They had been inseparable for years. Tyrant, a beautiful Belgian Malinois, had joined the family two years before when her police handler had died. Kat smiled. The dogs were always up to some sort of shenanigans. “What are they doing?”

  “Remember that ball you picked out for them?”

  “Sure.”

  “They have pretty much torn it in half.”

  Kat chuckled. “Well, that sounds pretty typical. How are you doing, buddy?”

  “Good. Van is making ribs for dinner tonight.”

  “Wow, that sounds good. I’m jealous.”

  “When are you coming home, Ma?”

  “Couple of days. Is Van there? Can I talk to him?”

  Jack mumbled an uh-huh, his mouth still full of food.

  Van came on the phone. “How are things?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Kat spent the next few minutes explaining to Van about Eli and the artwork that had been locked up in Hailey’s apartment. She told him that the boy accused of stabbing her had left the station without being interviewed by the police.

  “That sounds strange. Why did they let him go without an interview?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’m not making much progress with the detective.”

  “Think there is a story here?”

  Kat sighed. “I’m not sure. I’m just so frustrated. It feels like there is something going on — I mean what motive does a ten-year-old boy have to stab a college student?”

  “That would be the question, wouldn’t it?”

  Kat tossed and turned all night. Dreams of her family stayed in her mind. She woke up the next morning determined that she needed to resolve the case one way or the other. She couldn’t wait any longer. There either needed to be something to investigate or she needed to get on the next plane home. She got out of bed, took a hot shower, and headed back to the police precinct. Once there, she looked for Carson Martino.

  “You’re back?” he said, sipping a cup of coffee. She had found him in his office.

  “Yes, I think there’s something you should see.” Kat had decided on the way over to the precinct to talk to Carson about the art that she had found the day before with the help of Eli. “And what’s that?”

  “I made another visit to Hailey’s apartment yesterday. There is a locked room that has more art in it than I’ve ever seen in any place in my life before. I’m wondering if her side job is what got her killed…”

  “Kat, we still have no idea what motivated someone to kill Hailey. This is an ongoing investigation. I’m not sure what you’re hoping to fi
nd here.”

  Another wave of frustration covered Kat. She felt her face flush. All she had been doing since she got on the ground in Savannah was trying to help solve Hailey’s murder. It seemed like every direction she went the doors were closed and locked, especially when it came to Carson Martino. He didn’t seem to understand that she was just trying to help. “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. All I need you to do is to come with me over to Hailey’s apartment and see what’s in that room. If you don’t think there’s a connection after that, I’ll get on a plane and be on my way this afternoon.”

  Carson nodded. “Okay, you win.”

  Kat followed Carson out of the police station. She got into his unmarked vehicle with him and they rode silently over to Hailey’s apartment. She sent Missy a quick text. When they got there, Kat pressed the button for Hailey and Missy’s apartment. Missy’s voice answered, “Who’s there?”

  “Missy, it’s Kat. I brought a detective with me. Can we come up?”

  “Sure.”

  Kat and Carson went up the steps and pushed the door open calling for Missy. Carson had met Missy before but didn’t know anything about the locked room with the art. “So, Kat tells me that Hailey had a room that was locked with a bunch of art in it?” Carson stared at Missy.

  “That’s right. It’s her studio.” Missy disappeared around the corner. She padded down the hallway and opened the door for Carson and Kat.

  As soon as she looked inside, Kat could tell something had changed. Instead of all the art stacked against the side wall, there was nothing there. The art was gone.

  “What happened? Where did all the art go?” Kat asked. She looked around the room and nearly every piece had been removed. “Missy? Did someone come in and take the art last night?”

  Missy stood in stunned silence. “I didn’t let anyone in! I left to get dinner with some friends for a little while. That was all! Someone must’ve broken in.” She walked around the room and seemed to be looking for something in particular, her color pale. “There had to be thirty pieces of art in here yesterday,” she said. “Why would someone come in and steal all of this art? They were just pieces for her classes.”