The Finished Masterpiece (Master of Trickery Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  He’d warned me he’d start sweet and swiftly divert into dark. I’d been waiting for the hard questions but it still made my heart skip. “I think anyone would if it was justified.”

  “Did you kill those innocent girls?”

  I sat taller, keeping my hands on my thighs. “No, I did not. My uncle, Jeffrey Clark, did.”

  “The same Jeffrey Clark you killed?”

  I nodded. “I ended his life for killing those girls as well as hurting Olin Moss and kidnapping my daughter.”

  My eyes searched out O’s. Her skin had turned white and lips bitten with nervousness.

  “So you admit that you are a murderer.”

  “Of a man who’d murdered girls, blackmailed me, and threatened rape to the only woman I’ve ever loved, yes. I am. I killed him.”

  A buzz of energy came from the jury again.

  Brad ignored them. “But you didn’t kill the other girls?”

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then why was the same brand and batch number of your paint found on their skin?”

  I braced myself. “Because I painted them.”

  The buzz of energy became a tidal wave of tension.

  I stayed focused on my lawyer, trusting him to navigate through the next chaos.

  “How is it that you painted them and didn’t stop them from being killed? If you painted them for your uncle to murder, you knew what their fate was. That makes you an accessory. You had a moral and civil obligation to report the crime.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  My lawyer scoffed before the jury could. Such a weak and useless answer. But it was the truth, regardless. “You didn’t know? How did you not know? You painted them to match the undergrowth where they were killed.”

  “He did that.”

  “You’re saying he staged each murder depending on how the girls were painted?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do realise how this sounds? That you’re asking the jury to believe in an unbelievable excuse that you didn’t ...know?”

  This was where he wanted me to play my trump card.

  I’d rehearsed my paragraph. I had my truth. It wouldn’t set me free, but it would grant some resemblance of peace.

  Looking again at O, I said, “I’ve done many commissions over the past few years. Some are garish and bright, some are fantastical and mythical, others are natural and pure. Those are the jobs I love the most. The ones where I get to use nature as my palette. The designs where foliage and shadow, flora and fauna consume the model and make her a part of their world.”

  Some of the jurors rolled their eyes. Others stared at me with doubt. Only a few kept judgement from showing.

  “The girls were painted because of me. I can show you the invoices and emails requesting that sort of camouflage. I can show you where the photo shoot was taken and even present a couple of magazines where the photos were used. What I can’t show you is the location of where Jeffrey Clark put them because if you look very closely, they weren’t designed to go with that body paint.”

  “So they were canvases you’d hired?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “If you look at their bank accounts, you’ll see payment for the time we spent together.”

  “How did your uncle grab them before they’d showered off their paint?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, cursing once again for being an idiot. “The number of canvases who ask if they can keep the paint on to show loved ones before washing is extremely high. I always offer them a shower before they leave. Some take it, but most don’t. I’m not responsible for them when they walk out the door.”

  “No, but you are responsible if they get killed.”

  I hung my head. “I’ll always feel guilty for playing even a small part in their demise. I’m guilty for a great many things. But I didn’t kill them. I didn’t know they’d been targeted until it was too late. When the ransom demands came in, I always paid. I paid countless times and he held off killing—or at least, I hope he did. When the girls started showing up, I didn’t know it was my paint they wore. After all, Jeffrey taught me. He was just as capable of the artwork as I was.”

  “But you had a suspicion?”

  “By the second girl, yes...I worried.”

  “And why didn’t you go to the police then? When you knew lives were being taken?”

  “I honestly can’t answer that.” I sighed. “I was still afraid of Olive being taken away from me, but she’d already been taken so that wasn’t such a big restriction. I guess, I knew I was in too deep. And if I was arrested, how could I keep working and paying him? How could I prevent him from killing Olive if I was in jail? She would die.”

  “So you kept paying him, hoping you could stop him yourself?”

  “Yes. I paid until I was bankrupt. I sold my warehouse, my furniture, everything I could. On the nights when the demands came in, I’d trawl the streets until dawn, looking for him, searching for Olive, for a girl he might have taken. I walked up and down the length of England. I explored countless forests and estates. I kept trying, but I always failed.”

  “Is that why your footprints were found at the location of the fourth girl?”

  “Yes. Jeffrey gave me her location. I hadn’t painted anyone in camouflage that week and hoped...I hoped she’d still be alive to save.” My head hung. “But he hadn’t waited for nature to kill her. He’d done it himself somewhere else, then painted her to match the bluebells where he dumped her body.”

  “And you didn’t report this?”

  I winced, accepting how it sounded. “No.”

  More noise in the court. More hate.

  Hearing it out loud was worse. Everything I’d done, I’d done for Olive. I’d sacrificed everything I could—my fortune, my freedom, my very fucking soul. But it wasn’t up to me to play God and let those girls die.

  I had killed them. I’d played executioner just by keeping silent.

  That was my true crime.

  Staying silent when a teacher took advantage of me, staying silent when O came back into my life, staying silent when my daughter was taken.

  Fuck.

  Silence was my mistake.

  For everything.

  Brad paced for a moment, working up to his next question. “How many girls did you save by paying his ransoms?” He stopped and looked at me. “Do you know?”

  I shook my head. “I can only go by what he told me. But he was a killer before he took Olive. I don’t know how many lives he took while he had her.”

  “Just a guess is fine.”

  “Seven, eight? Enough to know at least my money saved a few girls, even if I couldn’t save my daughter.”

  “And when you found him that night, when he went back on his word to trade the woman you loved for your daughter, you decided enough was enough?”

  Temper curled through me. My mind shot back to the night in question. The guilt in my veins. The self-disgust in my heart. “Yes. It was pre-emptive.”

  “How so?”

  “I bought succinylcholine, also known as sux, on the black market. It’s a drug they use in anaesthesia.”

  “And you injected him?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you almost died before you could.”

  “I did.” I rubbed my side, poking at the soreness that still lingered. “I almost lost the two people I love most in the world with my idiotic behaviour. I thought I could fix what I’d caused. I tried to do the right thing.”

  “By killing someone.”

  “By killing a monster who’d already taken far too many lives.”

  Brad nodded and turned to face the jury. He spread his arms and delivered his closing statement. “Gilbert Clark is a boy from a bad neighbourhood, born to an abusive father, and someone who prefers to suffer in silence than ask for help. He’s admitted to the crime he did. He’s willing to pay for taking a life of a man who murdered an unknown number of innocents and kidnapped his daughter for over a year. A man who took every
penny he had and left him homeless because he didn’t want to involve the police in case his daughter was taken away for the second time by the courts. He’s also a man who dedicated his time teaching art part-time at his daughter’s school—even though his childhood was traumatised by a teacher who raped him. Living through these traumas has had profound psychological effects. He’s now bankrupt after a year of failing to protect his daughter. Overall, Gilbert Clark is not a bad man. He’s just one who fell into bad situations and didn’t ask for help. Thank you.”

  Nodding at the judge, he added, “That’s all, your honour.” To me, he said, “You may leave the stand.”

  I stood, searched for O in the crowd one last time, then returned to my seat for sentencing.

  Chapter Thirty

  ______________________________

  Olin

  “ALL RISE FOR Honourable Judge Hoft.”

  I stood with the crowd, gritty-eyed and heart-racing, staring at Gil’s back.

  I hadn’t slept at all last night.

  I doubted he did either.

  I worried that I hadn’t been called to testify. If that was a good or a bad thing.

  I worried about so many, many things.

  After his time on the stand yesterday, the judge adjourned for the next day, giving the jury time to mull it over and for any other evidence to be presented when it wasn’t so late in the day. I’d waited for the police to pop by again—prepared to battle on his behalf.

  But no one knocked on my door, and I’d forced myself to stay away from Justin’s, even though I basically had to chain myself to my apartment not to intrude on Gil and Olive’s final night together. He hadn’t expected the extra night. And I wouldn’t get in the middle of an already excruciating goodbye with his daughter.

  Instead, Justin had text me and filled me in. How Gil had told Olive the truth about what he faced today. About how jail worked and why he was going away. He said Olive had taken it okay but he feared how things would go when Gil didn’t go home.

  I’d tried to drown out my worry about Gil with concern about my own life. I hated my job. I despised my apartment. I was done living here alone and doing my best to settle for things I didn’t want.

  Gil was almost out of my reach.

  Justin and Olive would become close.

  I wasn’t needed in their future anymore.

  But that didn’t stop me from returning to the crown court the next day. It didn’t prevent me from sitting stiff with goosebumps as Gil and his lawyer returned in suits that didn’t have a speck of paint on them.

  He’d never looked so presentable or so tragic.

  His hair was tamed off his face as he sat in front of the audience. His hands remained balled on the table even when his lawyer scooted closer to talk to him.

  The aura of the court was hushed and waiting.

  Judge Holt glanced over the jury as she settled on her podium. Smoothing her gown, she asked, “Is there any other evidence or closing statements from either party?”

  Sweat rolled down my spine as both lawyers shook their heads.

  She nodded and turned to the jury. “In that case, do you have a verdict?”

  A slim woman with a blonde plait nodded. “We do, your honour.”

  “And?”

  The woman opened an envelope.

  Everyone held their breath.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Gil as he stiffened and braced himself.

  The woman locked eyes with him and read in crisp firm voice. “We find the defendant, Gilbert Clark, guilty for the murder of Jeffrey Clark.”

  The judge scribbled something down before looking up. “And the four painted girls?”

  Tears prickled my eyes.

  I wanted so much to hug Gil. To tell him I’d changed my mind. That I did have the strength to be his...if he still wanted me.

  “Not guilty,” the woman announced.

  Gil’s spine rolled. His hands dove into his hair, his elbows wedged on the table.

  His lawyer patted his back with a rough slap.

  The judge waited for the murmurs of the court to die down before rapping her gavel loudly. Her steely gaze caught Gil’s. “Mr. Clark. After your testimony and the evidence presented yesterday, I can say you are not a threat to society. You killed out of self-defense of those you loved, and, although your paint obscured the girls who were killed, you aren’t directly responsible. However, you did take a life, and for that, you must pay. Taking the law into your own hands always comes with consequences. If you’d spoken up about what had happened, those four young women might still be alive today.”

  She shuffled a few pieces of paper. “The court demands you pay a fine to the families of the deceased of four hundred thousand pounds, one hundred thousand per family. You will not be charged with accessory before the act which carries up to fifteen years and instead will serve five years with one hundred hours of community service upon release.”

  Her gavel slammed down.

  It was done.

  My ears rang with the sentencing.

  Five years?

  Five years?

  Such a long time, but really...incredibly short for murder.

  He’d been lucky.

  Life had finally been kind.

  “Bailiff, please escort Mr. Clark to his new home. Thank you, jury, for your help in delivering justice today.” The judge stood. “Court dismissed.”

  People sprang from their seats, journalists crammed to listen to what Gil’s lawyer said to him, and I wriggled my way through the crowd to say goodbye.

  All over again.

  Gil seemed to sense my closeness, turning to catch me from the crowd before he was ushered out and into places I couldn’t go.

  I searched his eyes for panic or pain, but I only saw relief.

  “You okay?” I asked softly, barely audible above the hum of other conversation.

  He nodded. “I don’t want to leave Olive. But I’m okay with serving what I owe.”

  “Five years is a long time.”

  “It is. But if it helps rid some of my guilt, then I’ll do it without complaint.” His eyes dropped to my lips. “My one huge regret in this is that I hurt you so much, O. There’s no punishment that can take that guilt away.”

  My mouth went dry.

  I ached with so many things.

  Justin and Olive should be here.

  They should be allowed to hug him, so he wasn’t shuffled off without knowing he was loved.

  Words crowded on my tongue.

  Promises and commitments that I wanted so much to give to him.

  But the bailiff pushed Gil forward, breaking our connection, ending the time we had.

  “I’ll come visit you.” I walked with him on the opposite side of the rail, getting caught up in journalists and tape recorders shoved in Gil’s direction.

  He smiled softly. “I don’t expect it.” He held my eyes as the guard opened a side door and ushered him through. “Be happy, O. Find a new dream and forget me.”

  The door shut.

  Gil was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ______________________________

  Olin

  MY APARTMENT WAS terrifyingly lonely.

  After having Gil and Olive share it, after being painted and made love to, after all the sleepless nights thinking about him, the walls were ever more depressing. The sparse furnishing and lack of home—the aching loneliness...everything was a disease.

  A disease I couldn’t suffer anymore.

  It hurt.

  It stung.

  I can’t stay here.

  All I could think about was Gil locked up for five years, his hardship of figuring out how to pay such a massive fine, and the knowledge that even when he was released, his punishment wasn’t over.

  I was being so selfish. So what if my flat made me claustrophobic with the need to run? Gil didn’t have the luxury of his own place anymore and he couldn’t run, no matter how much he wanted to.

&
nbsp; God.

  I hugged myself, unable to stop thinking about Gil in prison. Gil being shoved into inmate population. Gil dying inside a cell.

  What about his art?

  What about his need to create?

  What about Olive?

  I...I can’t do this.

  I needed to leave.

  Immediately.

  Grabbing my handbag, I swept out of my flat in the same cream blouse and black skirt I’d worn to court. Fighting tears, I summoned an Uber to take me to Justin’s.

  He answered the door before I could even knock, yanking me into his arms, his nose buried in my hair, his body tight and tall. “You holding up okay?”

  I nodded, breathing him in, finding some resemblance of strength. “How’s Olive?”

  Pulling away, Justin closed the door and led me into his minimalist bachelor pad. The two-bedroom apartment had epic views over the Birmingham business district and the twinkling lights looked too merry for my liking.

  Apart from the colouring pencils on his breakfast bar and a small purple hoodie thrown on his couch, it still looked like he lived alone.

  Now, he lived with a little girl.

  A little girl he was godfather to for a friend serving time for murder.

  “She’s about as expected.” He cocked his head to the spare room which had become hers.

  “Do you mind if I see her?”

  “Not at all.” He let his arm slip from around my shoulders. “She’d love that. She’s learned to trust me but she still doesn’t like living alone with me. She’s going to take it hard. If I’m honest, I’m kind of terrified that I’m going to set her back. That I should find a good therapist so she has someone she can talk to when it all becomes too much.”

  I didn’t really have an answer for that. “You’re already doing a great job, Justin. You’ve got this.”

  “Not so sure about that.” He squeezed the back of his neck. “Go on. Go see her.”

  Giving him a slight smile, I headed down the corridor and knocked on Olive’s door. “Olive, it’s me? Can I come in?”

  Her tears were my answer.

  I turned the handle and entered. Moving swiftly to her bed, I sat beside her as she cried with her face buried into a pillow. My hand rested between her tiny shoulder blades, rubbing soft circles. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”