Murder as a Fine Art Read online

  “Around two o’clock this morning.”

  When his expression didn’t change, Corporal Lindstrom said, “It doesn’t seem to surprise you that she was in the studio at that hour.”

  “She often pulls ‘all-nighters’. It’s a hangover from her college days.” He turned to Laura. “I’d like to talk to you when you have a moment. About Erika.”

  “Of course. Why don’t you wait downstairs in the reception area, and I’ll see you in a few minutes or so.”

  “He has no alibi,” remarked Karen when she and Laura were alone.

  “Technically, no. But there’s no way he could have arranged that fire after arriving in Calgary at five yesterday afternoon. For one thing, he’d have no idea of the layout of the colony.”

  “That’s true, but it’s not impossible. He could have made an earlier trip up here and made all the necessary arrangements.” Frowning, the Mountie leaned back in her chair, and said, “I’m not saying he did it, Laura. I’m just saying he could have.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Laura peered dubiously into Geoff’s drawn face.

  “I’m sure,” he muttered, and they continued along the path toward the colony. Overhead a helicopter dragon-flied in low sweeping circles over the burnt-out area. “That’s the police,” Laura told him. “Corporal Lindstrom said they had hired a helicopter to take aerial photos of the fire.”

  “I just can’t get my mind around the fact that it was arson. There’s absolutely no reason why anyone would want to kill Erika.”

  Privately Laura thought how presumptuous and foolish it was for someone to think they knew all there was to know about another person. But all she said was, “There seems to be no doubt that the fire was deliberately set, but whoever did it may not have known someone was inside.”

  Geoff’s only comment was a skeptically raised eyebrow.

  As they went past the large music hut, Laura glanced in through the open window. Isabelle was seated at the concert grand playing what sounded like a requiem. Her back was to them but the long dark hair cascading down her back was unmistakable. The image was so striking that Laura knew some day she would try to capture it on canvas.

  The scene of the fire was still sealed off, but the Mountie on duty, after a quick, verifying glance at a photo the Centre had provided the police with, told Laura she and her guest could proceed to her studio. However, they would have to take the long way round by the road. This suited Laura perfectly because it would keep Geoff from getting too close a look at the place where Erika had died. As it was, all they could see were skeletal black tree trunks. The acrid smell of smoke and wet ash still hung heavily in the air. She let herself and Geoff in through the side door of her studio, the door that had been made extra high to allow large canvases to be moved in and out.

  Geoff stood and stared in silence at the paintings, lingering longest on the large still life. “You are very, very good,” he said finally with the air of one who knows. “Just as some musicians have perfect pitch, you have a perfect eye for colour.”

  Laura was impressed. Ever since her earliest days at art school she had been recognized as a superb colourist.

  Still gazing at the paintings, Geoff murmured, “Thank you for letting me see that there may still be some worthwhile things in life.”

  “Erika meant a great deal to you.” Without ever saying so, they had abandoned all pretense that Erika might still be alive.

  “It took a separation to do it, but I came to realize that I couldn’t live without her.” He paused, then said, “But that’s what I will have to learn how to do now, isn’t it?”

  “I take it Erika didn’t know you were coming?”

  “No. I wanted to surprise her. God help me.”

  You were taking a chance there, my friend, thought Laura. You could easily have found her involved in a new affair. Sometimes the mountains did that to people, especially those on the rebound.

  “I really do want to see her studio,” persisted Geoff.

  “There’s not much to see. Let me check it out with Corporal Lindstrom.” Laura picked up the emergency phone. Today everything was an emergency. “Geoff Hamilton is here with me in my studio. He wants to have a look at Erika’s studio and I thought I would ask if that would be all right with you,” said Laura, emphasizing the “all right.”

  “The body’s been removed, if that’s what you mean. The dental records have arrived from New York and they’re checking them now.”

  “That’s fine then.” Laura replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief. “We’ll walk as far as we can down the path,” she told Geoff. “We should be able to see it from there.”

  A huge black bird, at least three times the size of the average crow, plopped heavily down from a tree and swaggered along the trail in front of them, its tail insolently swinging from side to side. Geoff looked at it with something close to dread, as though it were an omen.

  “Erika said you were quite a bird watcher,” Laura found herself saying.

  “I am. And that’s the first northern raven I’ve seen. I hope to God I never see another one. I’ll always associate it with what happened here.”

  “You’re out of luck there, I’m afraid,” said Laura matter-of-factly. “Banff is overrun with them.”

  Geoff took one appalled look at the site of the fire and quickly turned away. “Let’s get out of here!” he said in a strangled voice.

  Back inside Laura’s studio, he took several deep breaths as he fought to regain his composure. “I wasn’t ready for that.” Moving agitatedly around the studio, he said, “I can’t believe that I’ve lost her. Not now. Not when the way was finally clear for us to spend our lives together.” He stopped his restless pacing to look at Laura. “I’ve asked my wife for a divorce.”

  “Are you going back to her?”

  “No. That part of my life is over. It’s been over for a long while. I just didn’t face up to it in time.”

  Corporal Lindstrom was standing beside a cruiser in the parking lot, talking to the uniformed driver. She waved Laura and Geoff over as they rounded the music hut.

  “The medical examiner has confirmed that the body is Erika’s . I’m very sorry, Mr. Hamilton.”

  Laura heard Geoff’s sharp intake of breath, then he said, “I guess we all knew that’s how it would turn out. Still ...” Blinking rapidly, he fished in his pocket for a Kleenex and blew his nose.

  The Mountie said, “May I ask what your plans are, Mr. Hamilton?”

  Geoff looked a little taken aback by the question, but answered civilly enough. “I really haven’t given it any thought. Maybe I’ll stay around here for a few days and take Erika’s body back to New York with me.”

  “I’m afraid it may be several weeks before her body is released. The medical examiner will want to have a number of tests done and ...” She let her voice trail off, but both her listeners silently finished the thought for her. There wasn’t much left for the medical experts to work with. “It would be very helpful if you would remain in the area for a day or so. To give us some background on the victim,” she added smoothly when the Wall Street lawyer shot her a sharp look.

  “I’ll be happy to help your investigation in any way I can,” he said formally. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “I’m still having a hard time accepting that this might be a deliberate murder. As Laura says, whoever torched the place may not have known she was inside.”

  “I guess I was just trying to make myself feel better,” Laura said and shook her head. “But I don’t really believe it. If that had been the case, Erika would have been able to escape through one of the port holes.”

  “Are you suggesting she was tied up?” asked Geoff in a shocked whisper.

  “Possibly. But it’s more likely she was drugged. We’ll know for sure when the tests are finished,” the corporal said.

  “That way she wouldn’t know what was happening,” Laura said in what she hoped was a comforting tone.

  “I guess so.�
� He didn’t look very comforted. “I was thinking I might check out of the Westin and get a hotel room here in Banff.”

  “That makes sense,” approved the corporal as Geoff unlocked his rental car, a black Chevrolet Caprice. “Let me know where you’ll be staying.”

  “I talked with the Westin,” she continued as she and Laura watched Geoff drive off. “He charged the parking fee to his room—which means he got a pass that allows him to drive in and out as he pleases.”

  “Oh? Did you check with the parking attendants to see if they saw him leave?”

  “Apparently there was a big do at the hotel last night — the premier’s dinner with more than 800 guests. You can imagine the parade of cars streaming in and out of the parkade. Nobody remembers seeing Geoff leave, but that doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “But what about coming back? There can’t have been many cars driving into the parkade at four o’clock in the morning.”

  “I thought of that. And he wouldn’t have to, if he’s the murderer. At that hour he could have left the car parked on one of the streets near the hotel.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” The policewoman shrugged. “I’m not saying he did it. It’s just that I haven’t been able to eliminate him.” She made a few notes in her notebook, then said, “Speaking of possible suspects, have you come across that performance artist in your travels?”

  “John Smith? No. Has he gone missing?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. It’s just that I haven’t been able to locate him. I’m sure he’ll turn up in his own good time. But if you do see him, let me know right away.”

  chapter seven

  Richard Madrin had returned from his TV stint in Edmonton in time for lunch, joining some of the colonists at their table in the dining room. He had heard about the fire on a couple of newscasts. Coupled with Montrose’s death, which seemed less of an accident now, the fatal fire and the presence of the arson squad had ignited the interest of the press. So far, the identity of the victim had not been made public, but he knew it was the boat studio that had burned and he nodded quiet acceptance when Laura told him the dental records confirmed that it was Erika.

  “What did she do? Fall asleep? She looked completely wiped the past few days.”

  “The police think she might have been drugged.”

  “You mean as in murder?”

  “There seems to be no doubt that the fire was deliberately set, so it kind of follows, doesn’t it?”

  “I hear you spent the morning with her ex-boyfriend?” Jeremy Switzer’s eyes were bright with curiosity as he leaned across the lunch table.

  “Yes,” replied Laura. “He’s a Wall Street lawyer. He was going to ask her to marry him.”

  “His timing wasn’t so hot, was it?” said Jeremy, then clapped his hand over his mouth as if realizing that his impulsive remark was too crass even for him.

  Laura gave him a scathing look, then turned back to Richard. “I don’t see Henry. Did he come back with you? Incidentally, I thought you were great.”

  “Henry decided to spend the day in Edmonton. He said there were some bookstores he wanted to visit.”

  “You sure showed him up,” grinned Jeremy. “That’s why he didn’t want to travel back with you.”

  “If anything, Henry showed himself up,” rejoined Laura.

  Richard was looking at Jeremy, but it was clear he meant to address the table as a whole. “I can assure you I had no intention of showing Henry up. I just answered the questions that were put to me.”

  Jeremy shrugged and changed the subject. “Speaking of missing persons, has anyone seen our illustrious performance artist? The Mounties ...” Jeremy lingered on the word as if savouring its romantic flavour, “have been looking for him everywhere. Disappearing like that can raise some nasty suspicions.”

  “There he is now,” remarked Richard casually.

  John Smith stood at the top of the stairs, looking like something the grave had given up with considerable misgivings. He was wearing a black armband and his face was daubed with streaks of white and black makeup that made it look as if it were covered with ash. Oblivious of his fellow artists, he went to an empty table where he immediately proceeded to gulp down three large glasses of orange juice.

  Murmuring something about going to the wash-room, Laura slipped away and hurried up the stairs to Corporal Lindstrom’s office where she found the police-woman at her desk munching on a toasted ham and cheese sandwich. Hastily swallowing the last bite, she sent a constable down to the dining room to collect the performance artist. “But wait until he’s finished his lunch,” she added.

  To the extent that a face daubed with macabre makeup could be said to be expressionless, John Smith’s was. He showed neither resentment nor interest, but simply stared with flat, dead eyes at the corporal through round-rimmed glasses.

  “Mr. Smith ...,” the corporal began.

  “John Smith,” he interrupted. “Plain John Smith.”

  “Very well, John Smith. I will need to have an account of your movements last night.”

  “I didn’t go to the bathroom once,” he replied.

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Lindstrom snapped. “This is a serious business, John Smith. We know you were at the scene of the fire. It seems you are a video enthusiast.”

  “Just like you.” The eyes behind the granny glasses suddenly gleamed with excitement. “I got some great footage. I’m going to use it in my project.”

  “What project is that?”

  “The performance I’m working on. It’s almost finished. It’ll be the highlight of the year around here. I’ll see that you get an invitation.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” The Mountie cleared her throat as if to get the interview back on track. “Now, if I could have an account of your ... of where you were last night? I noticed you were fully dressed at the fire.”

  “That’s because I hadn’t been to bed. John Smith does not sleep a third of his life away as other men do.”

  “Where were you when the fire broke out?”

  “In my room. Meditating on the project. Alone,” he added before she could ask the question.

  “How did you feel about Ms. Dekter? Did you like her?”

  “Yeah, I liked her. A lot. She didn’t look down on my art the way most of the other characters around here do.”

  “The word is that she was becoming annoyed with the way you were following her around.”

  John Smith scowled, then quickly reverted to his usual deadpan expression. Holding out his hands, he asked in tones of mock terror, “Are you going to arrest me, officer? Put me in manacles? Shouldn’t you read me my rights?”

  “I’m not reading you your rights because I’m not going to arrest you, John Smith. Not now, anyway. But I do want you to make out a statement and sign it. Could you let me have it sometime this afternoon?”

  John Smith paused at the door to look back at her. “I really did like Erika, you know. You’ll realize how much when you see my performance.”

  “A dreadful business,” said Alec Fraser. He and Kevin Lavoie were having a council-of-war over a sandwich lunch in the president’s corner office with windows facing the Sundance Range. “And to have it happen now, of all times!”

  “Have you talked to Harvey Benson?”

  “At length. And I’ve also been on the phone with the minister. Not to mention the press. We’re going to have to work up a press release.”

  “Did you get any feel of how Benson is reacting? He’s the one who really controls the Chinook Foundation.”

  “Let me put it this way. If we were just starting to woo them, the events of the past few days would blow us out of the water. But we’ve been negotiating with the Foundation for months now, and they’ve made certain commitments. Not official or papered, unfortunately, but the understanding is there. On both sides. So Benson is still on board. But he made it clear that he’s very concerned about the Centre’s reputa
tion with all this going on. If, God forbid, anything more happens, I expect he’ll jump ship.”

  “Then April second is still on?”

  “Yes.” Fraser brightened. “Maybe this mess will have been cleared up by then, and we can put it behind us. Do you know if the police are making any progress?”

  “It’s early days yet. Two detectives from Calgary arrived this morning and are questioning people, including me. Anyway, I’ll have a chat with Corporal Lindstrom.”

  “Do that.”

  Fraser’s secretary came in to clear away the plates and cutlery as Kevin left. Alec Fraser walked down the hall to the washroom. Bending over the sink to wash his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror. You’re nothing but a glorified fundraiser, he told himself. You’re not running this great institution; your job is to suck up to donors and politicians, some of whom you can barely stand. That self-righteous prig, Harvey Benson, for instance.

  Drying his hands on a paper towel, Fraser resolved to nail down the Chinook grant and then take some time to decide if his case of burnout was terminal.

  When Karen asked for an appointment to talk about Montrose’s death, she had made it very clear that she would like to meet in the studio so she could see the paintings again.

  “I envy you, Laura,” she said, gazing at the paintings that were taking up more and more space in Laura’s studio. “You’re creating something that will live on after you. In a way, you will be immortal. On the other hand, all I do is sift through the debris of other people’s lives.”

  “What you do is every bit as important,” Laura replied, although in her heart she knew it wasn’t true. Even in her darkest moments when inspiration failed her, seemingly never to return, she never doubted the importance of making art. “Society couldn’t function without the police,” she went on as she poured the tea. That was true.

  “I know police work is important and mostly I like what I do. But,” Karen gazed around the bright, airy studio, and eerily echoed Laura’s thoughts, “I also know it doesn’t begin to compare in importance with this.” Taking a sip of camomile tea, she said, “Speaking of police work, it looks as though you might be right about there being two murders in the colony.”