SAGE: AN ADAM STONE MYSTERY (THE ADAM STONE MYSTERIES Book 1)

by D. L. EVANS

  I was thinking that she lives at the morgue now but I answered, “No idea. Alison Stanford will know.” We stood side by side at the waters edge with our backs to the car, looking out at the harbour. The rain had stopped again and a light wind scribbled patterns on the calm water. A wedge of Canada geese seemed to be suspended underneath grey clouds that hung across the sky like a false ceiling. I felt detached from everything, like it was happening to someone else and I was just watching. It was unlike Mack to be quiet for so long, but I knew he was getting to something, so I waited.

  “There’s somethin’ else I wanted to talk to you about,” he finally said. “Y’know I was planning to see Reese first thing this morning? Well, he was waiting for me at my desk when I came in - and I was early. He gave me an update but they’re not as close to an arrest as we want. Before we could get into it, Chief Lewis walked in and wanted to know what he was doing at my desk. I must admit, I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself but Reese jumped in with some bullshit that even impressed me. Very quick with the grease, our ‘prince of fraud’. Reese took off back to his office and I slipped in to see him as soon as I could and dropped the bomb about Roger and his buried past.” Mack looked at me intently and continued. “He was genuinely shocked Adam, blown away, to quote the younger generation. A little pissed that I couldn’t tell him my source, but swallowed it.

  “Does Reese have enough to pin anything on Smythe, or any of them?” I asked.

  “I would guess not,” Mack stated. “His big ears turned red when he started fuming about all the hours that have gone into the investigation so far. I think Reese’s team has the outline of the case, but was hoping to connect the dots. Y'know how these things get smoky in court.”

  That was an understatement, I thought. “I just wish something would happen so Lauren didn’t get in any deeper with Smythe. She’s going to be devastated when this comes out. Hopefully he’ll be charged soon…” I needed a drink. Shit, I hadn’t had breakfast yet. “And now I have to go and tell her about this” I gestured at the car behind us, “ before she hears it on the news.

  For a change, probably due to the crappy weather, the ever-present news vultures were conspicuously absent from the recovery scene.

  Mack said, “Lauren wouldn’t connect the dots anyway Adam, no names will be released yet, you know the drill.” I nodded and he continued. “Y’know, I keep gettin' the feeling that things ain’t what they seem anywhere I fuckin' look. I used to think I had a handle on life, but now, I don’t know… Maybe it was arrogance or maybe I’m just getting older... I mean, wasn’t it just yesterday when drugs were soft, stomachs were hard, and sex diseases were curable?” I didn't have an answer. He laughed at himself. “Maybe, the world just looked better through the bottom of a glass. Now, one small thing moves and all things change... “

  What could I say? He missed his youth and booze, I missed my wife. “Hey," I managed sarcastically, "this doesn't sound like Mason Green, super-cop extraordinaire? What the hell are you talking about? Do you miss the old days when you were a closet drunk? What happened to your eat-out-of-the-can attitude?”

  He stared out over the water and smiled at my remark.” We stood quietly for a few minutes. “Sometimes,” he speculated, “it takes a rainy fucking Monday and a dead body just to remind me that we’re all recyclable.”

  I said “Jesus, that’s a pleasant thought. Nobody gets out alive. Should I just slit my wrists and get it over with, or are you just reacting to this lousy day?” I sighed, wishing I had stayed in bed. “After all, if the ‘Flat Earth Society’ is right, we’re just going to fall off the edge one day soon anyway.”

  Mack flashed his toothy grin. “Hey, you’re no help, Sunshine. If you had your way, we’d have to give all this back to the Indians.” He gestured to the area around him. I laughed. “Too right,” he continued, “shit happens, that’s my motto. By the way, it’s going to hit the fan over this Morgan character, huh?”

  He always expected me to know what he was thinking so I nodded in agreement, faking it. He’d made another mental jump without me.

  “I mean,” he continued, “talk about publicity; people are going to be lining up to buy her work now...” He looked at me. “The stuff... I mean her work, whatever it is, goes up in value, doesn’t it, when she’s dead? Nothin’ better for a new business than a famous artist in the headlines. Too bad it wasn’t a ghoulish, bloody murder instead of a suicide or accident.” I sensed the most complex calculations under the casual remark. He was sounding more like himself. “We’ll see what the coroner has to say. I’m going to have a wee talk with the Stanford girls, about Burnanski’s state of mind... and her next of kin. If there’s anything suspicious about this, I’ll be talking to Lauren too, but not the way I’d planned.” I felt his posture stiffen. His eyes were as cold as camera lenses and his jaw was under tension. He was thinking about Smythe and so was I. ”Are you going to let her know about this?” he asked.

  “Yah, I’ll drop by the TV station and talk to her. Christ, what a mess. They weren’t close, I don’t think, but she’ll be upset.”

  It was late morning by the time I arrived at the CHAT television studios. I was hoping I could take Lauren to lunch; I was starving, but knew the chances were slim without calling ahead. Morgan’s death was something I wanted to tell her face-to-face if possible. I knew Lauren liked Morgan and this information was going to be a shock.

  Lauren was in the middle of taping her show and, like a brain surgeon, couldn’t possibly be interrupted, her new young assistant Mary, informed me. However, she was quite willing to get me a coffee, or if I read her correctly, anything else I desired if I wanted to wait an hour or two till she finished work. Mary was a high-energy college type, firm body and tight clothes and looked like an aerobics instructor. The aggressive perfume matched her attitude. She sported the latest hog bristle haircut, had a tiny gold ring through her nose and I would bet there was at least one tattoo somewhere strategically placed.

  Before I could ease toward the door, she proudly presented a copy of my book, ‘the best thing since Hemingway’, which I signed. ‘I was even better looking than the picture of me on the jacket cover’, she gushed with sincerity. It was flattering, considering the unshaven condition I was in, but I decided to leave before she bolted the door and started to undress. Kids today... (sigh).

  Since Mary hadn’t mentioned Lauren’s engagement, I guessed that it hadn’t been announced yet. I considered having a little chat with Mr. Smythe while I was in the building, but I didn’t think I could pull off a sincere congratulations and ‘welcome to the family’, and by-the-way, what did you do to your first wife Roger baby? I found myself wanting to work on a case, for the first time in years... maybe I might investigate Morgan’s murder... if it was a murder.

  It was late afternoon when I finally returned to my apartment and unlocked my door. Before it was fully open I realised that I’d had visitors while I was out. My apartment had been transformed. In less than one day, a miracle worker had turned my storage facility into a home. I was truly amazed. Everything was clean and organized and not a box in sight. The walls were covered with my Arizona Indian prints and someone with a degree in engineering had re-assembled a complicated wall unit and hooked up my stereo. And some things had been added that I didn’t recognize; patterned cushions on my brown couch and a healthy full sized palm tree lurked in a corner.

  Being a former detective, and quite clever, I knew Lauren had sent her housekeeper Louise Nader over to get the apartment organized. One woman, even a dynamo like Louise, couldn’t have done all this in one morning, I thought, looking around at my possessions now cleaned, dusted and beautifully positioned. I saw things I’d forgotten I owned. The windows sparkled. The view was gorgeous. No wonder I’d bought this place. Louise must have had help. I suspected a conspiracy, but it couldn’t have been Lauren personally, although she was obviously suffering from some sort of domestic fit due to her impending wedding. Louise had a grown son who was
studying electrical engineering and could easily have been conscripted for the technical support she needed to hook-up my gadgets. God I was good. Nothing gets by me. But why all this interest in my living conditions all of a sudden? I’ve been poking in boxes for a couple of years now. Still... the place looked great, so why should I question the mood swings of the family brains?

  Lauren told me once that since she wasn’t cursed with the ‘Y’ chromosome, she would always automatically do what was best for both of us. It was safer to concede.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ADAM STONE:

  The phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. It was Lauren, apologizing that she had missed me at her office earlier. I could tell from her voice that she was dying to hear what I thought of my newly decorated abode. I thanked her profusely, asking how Louise managed without five or ten people to help. She confessed finally that Louise’s son had dropped in for a few hours and did the heavy work and the hook ups. When I asked what to pay Louise and Co. for such thoughtful services, I was told in no uncertain terms, to consider the deed an early birthday present. I was suitably grateful.

  She was in such high spirits; I didn’t want to tell her about Morgan’s death or my (and Mack’s) concern about her intended. Unsure how she would take it, I started slow. “Remember that artist, Morgan that you wanted to introduce me to at the Gallery party last week?”

  “Funny you should mention her Adam. I was just going to tell you that she’s missing. Alison and Jessica Farr, that’s her agent, are frantic. Why, did you hear something?”

  “There’s no easy way to tell you this kid. The police found her earlier today when they fished her Mercedes out of the harbour. She was still behind the wheel.”

  An unbearable silence stretched for a few seconds. “Dead? She's dead? Oh no, Adam ... no... The harbour? She drowned? How could that happen? How…? Did she lose control of her new car?”

  I said, “It was a well marked ‘dead end’ off Cherry Street. Mack Mackenzie is on the case and so far, he says it looks like suicide. Forensics will tell us for sure. She’s been there for a few days.”

  “Suicide! That’s crazy. You tell him that’s crazy Adam! She’s on top of the world... I mean, she was... God, this is awful. I can’t think... Does Alison know yet? They’re worried about her.”

  “Yes hon, they’ll know by now. Mack is investigating and he’ll be interviewing Alison, and Morgan’s agent. It’s probably already happening. Are you alright?”

  “Yes... yes, I’m fine Adam, thanks for telling me. It’s just such a shock. Morgan was supposed to come down to my office yesterday with Jessica to finalize arrangements for the TV interview. It was cancelled. Jessica called my assistant Mary, and put the meeting on again for next week. I was talking to Alison, you know, arranging the gallery shoot, and she confided to me that Morgan was missing... They were trying to keep it quiet. Oh god... None of us took it seriously because she’s done this before... gone off for a few days, ‘to recharge’, she would say. I’m getting used to dealing with these artistic temperaments so I wasn’t concerned either. I liked her... I was just annoyed, to tell you the truth... and she was dead all the time... in the harbour... God rest her soul.”

  I gave her a minute to get control. “Lauren, … at the party, when we first saw her talking at the table? Remember, she stopped suddenly and left the gallery? Not part of her diva style. You said that she looked frightened. Did you follow up on that?”

  “Yes, I remember. I asked Alison if she knew of anyone that would upset Morgan or anyone she was avoiding that would cause her to leave in a hurry but Alison didn’t know. Morgan was afraid, wasn’t she Adam? You saw her face too, didn’t you?”

  “No, actually I didn’t, but I did see her disappear down the stairs like she was being chased... although she wasn’t. Listen... if the death is ruled accidental or suicide, then the whole matter will be dropped but if something else happened, Mackenzie will be talking to you. Tell him everything Lauren. He’s got a nose for things that don’t line up.”

  “Could an autopsy prove suicide or an accident?” Lauren asked.

  “No,” I replied relieved to be on professional ground, “nothing can be proven in an autopsy unless there’s something obvious, like a gunshot wound, or other physical evidence. Drowning is a diagnosis of exclusion, based on the circumstances of death. The pathologist may be able to tell how much alcohol she had consumed or if drugs were involved, but that’s about it.”

  “You think she could have been murdered? She was the gentlest creature. No one would want to hurt her. Dear God. I better call Alison and see if there’s anything I can do. Morgan’s family is in Poland. I’ll call you when I know about the funeral arrangements... you’ll come with me, …please?”

  “Of course I will. But before you go Lauren, I want to ask you something that’s been on my mind lately. It’s about Annie Stanford. It’ll just take a minute. Exactly what are her talents, you know, this psychic ability that I’ve been hearing about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, what does she do, exactly... to earn a living?”

  “She’s in art restoration, as I told you before. She cleans, and sometimes repairs old masterpieces, but her real talent, and value to their business, is her ability to authenticate any piece of art. She just knows instinctively if something is a fake or not. I don’t know if there’s anything else. Why?”

  “I just wanted to know what everybody means by ‘psychic ability’. The creeps that we worked with years ago, when Mack and I were investigating those child killings, said that they could see the future; pick up vibes from the kids clothing; feel that they were still alive, even though they weren’t.... stuff like that. It’s just that if Annie is legit, then why didn’t she know, or sense, that Morgan was dead? I keep thinking about questions to ask her.”

  “Then, why don’t you? That’s an excellent idea. She keeps a low profile, Adam. You can imagine the flak she would face if the press got hold of this, especially those disgusting tabloids. I told Alison that she didn’t have to worry about us, you and me, discussing Annie’s abilities. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is. Roger, all of a sudden wants to wait to announce our engagement because of trouble with the new satellite or some damn thing. I don’t know why the one thing has anything to do with the other, but whatever it is, has him stressed out and I’m giving him some space.”

  I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Maybe we had the time to get him after all, one way or the other. Fraud or murder, maybe both. Poor Lauren.

  Lauren said, “Things are not going well on any front it seems. Adam, I think Annie will be more relaxed if you see her on her own turf. Like you, she hates crowds. Her studio is over the gallery storage warehouse on Unwin Street, just opposite the container yard. You can’t miss it. Go over and talk to her. The security there is incredible but either she’ll buzz you in or she won’t. I’m going to finish up here and find Alice. Call me when you know something.”

  Chapter Twenty

  MACK MACKENZIE:

  By the time Mack had finished his shift at the precinct, evening had settled over the city. Homeless people appeared out of the shadows, shuffling along the sidewalk, their faces empty, eyes glazed by defeat. God must not be watching, he thought as he glanced at the magnificent facade of Sacred Heart Catholic church on his way to the parking lot. Inside the open doors he could see a benign Jesus staring down from the cross. His mind drifted to his mother and her warm respect for the church and the lifetime of comfort it gave her.

  She never questioned anything that happened to her and never understood why he always had to have answers. Didn’t faith protect the soul? Nothing protected her from the man she loved and his vicious fists. If there was a hell he knew his father was in it. But all his dear Mother wanted to know was why he needed to embarrass the priest with unanswerable questions? The end result of his religious investigations convinced Mack that if God existed, He was probably a whimsical spirit with a layer o
f cruelty who never returned your calls. He could live with that.

  The apartment seemed dark and lonely. Was it because he had been thinking of his mother? Her smiling face stared back at him from the silver frame on the mantle. She brought laughter and sunshine wherever she went and she’d died too young. He had God and his father to thank for that. A quick sandwich and a handful of peanuts served as dinner but he would spend a few minutes preparing the perfect cup of coffee before calling it an early night. The doorbell rang.

  He debated answering it and peeked out the kitchen window blinds. His annoyance evaporated instantly. Lauren Stone stood looking furtively up and down the street as she waited.

  Mack opened the door, unable to find the words of welcome he wanted and not quite believing his eyes. It really was Lauren! She stood in a wedge of light from behind him awkwardly clutching a light coat at her throat but managed a stiff smile. A few moments of silence seemed like an hour to him as Mack let his pulse slow to a jog before he could speak.