Stroke of Death

by Dale Mayer

  He thought about that, nodded, and said, “Okay, if you think of anything else, keep in touch.”

  “I wish I could say the same to you,” she said, “because this is driving me nuts. Now that there’s another victim I know, that just feels so very wrong. When it was just Elena, I thought maybe it was one of her friends or somebody who would target her because she’s so beautiful, but what purpose could Elena’s killer have for targeting Thorne?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said, “but I guarantee you that we’ll get to the bottom of it.” He thought she’d hung up, and then she said in a broken whisper, “Thanks.” He winced as he hung up his phone. But he turned to face the others and shook his head. “She knows him. His name is Thorne Matson. He worked on the installation, through a company called Mediacorp. Actually on several of her installations.” He looked at his phone. “I forgot to ask if he worked on the same one that Elena was the model for. I’ll send her a quick text. She has no reason why or how, but she did say that he wasn’t a good candidate for body-paint modeling because he was quite hairy.”

  The two men looked at him in surprise, then nodded. “I guess that completely changes the paint medium.”

  “She also said that most of the models with aspirations for this body modeling work, or any like it, do laser hair removal. She said, for her, if she’s doing something where the hair fits her needs, then she would use them. However, that’s a fairly rare occurrence, so generally it’s not a model that she would use.”

  He sent her text now. Had Matson worked on the same installation as Elena? And do you ever use male models? It seemed like there were always questions that he never thought to ask at the time.

  When he didn’t get a response right away, he figured she had probably put down her phone and wasn’t willing to talk to him right now. He motioned at the team. “Let’s get going on this one as much as we can. I can stop by her work later today and get these answers if I don’t hear back from her soon.”

  Andy walked over and said in a low voice, “Just don’t get too attached.”

  He looked at him in surprise, before motioning at his phone. “To her, you mean?”

  “Something is very compelling about her presence. I don’t want you to get sucked into that.”

  “Why would I?” Richard asked in astonishment.

  “Because she’s the kind you like.”

  He stared at his friend and coworker in surprise. “She’s a suspect,” he said. “I’ve never crossed that line before.”

  “What about when she’s cleared from being a suspect?”

  “Then what difference does it make?” he said briskly.

  “I don’t want you added to the body count. People around her are dying.”

  “I’m hardly involved in her artwork.”

  “But we don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “That could be just where it starts.”

  “Maybe. I hope not,” he snapped, more interested in Cayce than he was willing to admit. And pissed that Andy had seen signs of his interest. Because, of course, he was interested. What the hell was not to like? She was talented, beautiful, lean, and the creativity that she expounded, the things that she managed to create? Well, they were just astonishing.

  “Just remember,” Andy said, as he walked away.

  Richard took his place up close to the dumpster, studying the area, studying the location. The trouble was, it was just another damn alleyway and just another damn dumpster. If he had a dollar for every dead body that somebody had thought was just garbage and had thrown away, he’d have been a rich man, and he could have retired. He stared at the scene and knew that very little forensic evidence would be found to go on.

  Just then the coroner arrived, bustling forward and shooing them all out of the way. Dr. Bankster was a pro. Efficient, super diligent, and somebody they could trust. He took one look at Richard. “What the hell are you doing here now? I don’t want any more bodies like this.”

  “Neither do we,” Richard snapped.

  “Then get the hell out of my way, and go find the asshole who did this,” he said, as if Richard wasn’t already on it.

  “We’re still checking out the crime scene,” Richard said in a soothing tone, but the doctor waved his hand at him.

  “Nothing here to find. If there is, we’ll find it. Just go.” And with a final dismissive look from the coroner, Andy, Richard, and Thomas turned and left.

  “We still have two more names on the will list to track down,” Andy said. “The lawyer gave us the last known addresses, but they are no longer current.”

  “When was this will made?” Richard asked Andy.

  “Ten years ago, and she updated it a couple years back. She didn’t make any other changes. She added power of attorney for Cayce in there.”

  “Always back to Cayce?” Thomas asked.

  “Absolutely,” Richard said. “Apparently they were best friends when they were young, and I believe she said something about Elena helped her out, but she had helped Elena out earlier on. Then they came back together again as adults, and now they were best friends again.”

  “That’s an interesting way to go through life,” Andy said. He asked Richard, “Where are you heading now?”

  “To the installation where she’ll be working,” Richard said, “but first I’ll stop off at her gallery, get a list of everybody she works with there, then find out from Anita who else from Mediacorp might have worked on that installation last night and any others they are currently involved with. We need to know if there are other suspects but also other potential victims.”

  “Okay,” Andy said. “I’ll head back to the station and call Mediacorp to confirm what Anita tells you hopefully, about Thorne and any others assigned from Mediacorp, and make some more calls off the attendee list from Cayce’s assistant as to Elena’s installation. Then, if there’s a moment of free time, I’ll start tracking down those other two people in the will.”

  “Ten years is a long time.”

  “The lawyer said Elena didn’t care about changing the other beneficiaries. She apparently knew about some of their deaths but didn’t want to wait to make the signature changes that were required to take them off, something about, if they’re dead, they’re dead. We can’t do anything about it. Cayce can have it all. So, as far as Elena was concerned, if it went to these other people, that was fine. If not, it was all okay for Cayce to have the whole shebang.”

  “Apparently, Cayce didn’t even know that she was in the will in the first place, so I would assume she doesn’t know about the power of attorney either,” Richard said.

  “Do we believe her?” Andy asked.

  Richard turned to see Thomas already heading out to his vehicle, going off on another case. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but, at this point, I’d have to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Like I said, watch your step.”

  “Will do,” he said. “I’ll stop at her gallery first.”

  “Well, it’s walking distance almost.” He pointed in that direction. “Or do you want me to drop you off?”

  Richard turned and looked that way, saying, “Go on. I’ll walk.” He started in that direction. He didn’t really want to piss on her day any more than he had already, but they were well past the point of being polite. He would just rip her world apart until they found out who was killing the people in it.

  *

  He should have known they would find the body so fast. It was disappointing in a way because, if it had been any other body, they wouldn’t have. He could have dumped it any place, and nobody would have given a shit. But because it was his body, they were all over it. Not that he was concerned about the police, but he was concerned about not having enough time to solve the problem currently vexing him.

  He turned to look at the new sample that he had stretched out. The hair was an interesting quandary. He hadn’t really thought about it, until he started cutting. A rookie mistake. Cayce never would have made it. He was green compar
ed to her.

  He wasn’t even sure what the hell he was doing with this canvas right now, but it fascinated him. He ran his hand over the hair and smiled. It was still soft.

  He expected it to go hard and bristly. But then, why would it? It did appear to be slightly longer though, and that concerned him, until he’d looked online and realized that it wasn’t so much that the hair was longer but that the skin had shrunk back in, and the hair follicles were out more. And, as he worked on the backside with the softening moisturizer that he was putting on both sides, it pushed the hair out farther and farther.

  How would paint look on it?

  Instinctively he knew he should have stuck with females. But something had been really appealing about the young man, and having spent the night with him, the opportunity had presented itself, and he couldn’t refuse. His young lover had no idea how his night would end. He’d hoped, and he’d certainly worked the angles enough that his lover had gotten what he wanted, and lots of it, so he certainly didn’t feel bad about taking a young life after giving him such a pleasurable evening.

  He heard something in the other room. “I’m coming, Mom. Hold on. I need just another minute to finish this.”

  Damn, she needed him, but that need was pissing him off.

  Another sound came again from the next room.

  He turned to face the door, then groaned as he returned to his creation.

  The fact remained that this was not the morning-after that young Thorne had hoped for. But it also alerted him to the fact that he had allowed his own personal issues to interfere or to get in the way of what he should have been doing. If it was business, it should be just business. If it was pleasure, it should be just pleasure. Now having crossed that line, he had to make sure he had alibis set up so he wouldn’t be on any suspect list, at least not for long.

  He looked at the canvas in front of him and reached for the moisturizer once again. He had tried several different kinds of treatments for the underside, but, so far, the oil seemed to be preserving it the best. The moisturizer on the top and different oils on the bottom were a good mix. He had tried a lot of oils, from coconut to olive to walnut even. He’d gone to a tannery supply house and gotten an odd mix as well. Because he hadn’t been such a fool as to get it from the tannery house in person, he’d ordered it online. Have to love that. Everything was available for a price, and, in today’s world, that price was too damn cheap.

  *

  “How did it go last night?”

  “It went wonderfully. Of course it went wonderfully,” she snapped. She groaned, cradled her head, and said, “Sorry. I appear to be a little more hungover than I thought I’d be.”

  “I thought alcohol was something you weren’t supposed to have,” Derek said.

  She glared at him. “Really? You’ll lecture me?”

  He just shrugged. They were sitting inside a coffee shop. He was eating breakfast; she was having coffee.

  “On the other hand, the installation was a wonderful success,” she said. “I was brilliant.”

  “I did show up, but I didn’t stay for long,” he added apologetically.

  She shrugged.

  “You probably couldn’t have given me any more connections than I made for myself anyway.”

  “And I suppose you came with him too.” She knew that the bitchy side of her was coming out more because of the alcohol and her lack of sleep and a little bit of disappointment because she had really planned on going home with somebody last night. Instead she’d ended up alone. Like how did that happen? She never slept alone, if she didn’t want to. But then she’d been a little too drunk, too upset, with too many choices. Maybe she hadn’t made a decision fast enough and had lost the two who were on the hook.

  She shrugged, looked over at the toast, picked up a piece, and took a bite. But the melted butter on the top made her stomach curdle and her throat gag. She hurriedly threw down the toast, reached for her coffee, swallowing the thick black brew several times, forcing down the butter and toast.

  “That bad?” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  She glared at him. “Yeah, that bad.”

  “When is your next job?” he asked, as he worked away on his crab omelet.

  He was the only person she knew who ate seafood with eggs. The thought just made her sicker, but he loved the good life, and he had the money to afford it. She, on the other hand, didn’t, and it pissed her off. “I think I have another one next week, but I’m not sure. I’m up against somebody else,” she said with a sneer.

  “So, in other words, it’s your job. You just haven’t officially been given it yet,” he said with that bright confidence that she loved and so needed.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she said, “but I sure hope so.”

  “You’re not broke again, are you?”

  “No, not broke yet,” she said, “but that apartment of yours is eating me alive.”

  “That’s because you put yourself into a world full of expensive trappings that you have to maintain. If you would just step back a bit and live in a place more reasonably priced, you could save money.”

  “Why would I?” she asked, her voice strident, attracting attention from other restaurant customers. “It’s what I’m meant for. You know that.”

  He gave her that sad smile and said, “Remember not to keep grasping for what you can’t have.”

  “But I can have it,” she said. “You and I both know that. Elena had it, and I can have it.”

  “But Elena had money behind her,” he said.

  “Maybe. She also made very good money, more than I’m making right now,” she snapped, “and that’s not fair. I should be getting paid more for these huge art pieces.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, if it had been Elena there with me,” she said, “you know she would have been paid more.”

  “Maybe,” he said, “maybe not.”

  “No,” she said, “there’s no maybe about it. Elena didn’t ever stand still for less than ten thousand dollars.”

  He looked at her in surprise.

  She shrugged. “You know that she was the favorite. You know that they kept paying her a lot of money, even though she had millions of other jobs.”

  “Maybe something else was between them?”

  She sneered. “I’d sleep with the bitch too if I thought it would get me that kind of money.”

  “Depends if the bitch wants you,” he pointed out with his words, at the same time as he pointed his fork at her.

  Her glare fell off his shoulders as he laughed. “You have to remember. A lot of things go on between two people, and it’s not always about what they can get out of the relationship.”

  “All relationships are what people can get out of them,” she snapped. “Don’t ever forget that.”

  He smiled, picked up another bite, and popped it into his mouth.

  Recovering, she asked him with a faint smile, “What are you doing today?”

  He nodded, put down his knife and fork, pushed away his half-eaten omelet, and said, “I’ll be gone all day, possibly all night.”

  “New boyfriend?”

  “No,” he said. “Remember? There’s more to a relationship than what people get out of it.”

  “You’re an idiot there,” she said. “You’ve been going strong for a couple years now. Isn’t it time to move it up?”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “If you think about it, we have everything we need.”

  “Not really,” she said. “You have each other, and that’s only part-time.”

  His face closed down slightly because they’d had this conversation repeatedly. “Maybe,” he said. “It’s good enough for us right now.”

  “Unless he gets jealous again,” she said slyly. “When he sees you with a potential lover. Or an old one, … like Kenneth, wasn’t it?”

  “Not likely,” he said with the patience that she knew he’d worn out when dealing with her. “It’s not about what you get
out of a relationship.”

  “The only reason you’re still with Benjamin is for the time that he deigns to give to you,” she snapped, shoving her face across the table. “And don’t you forget that.” She pushed her chair back. “I’m heading home to collapse.”

  “You do that. Maybe you’ll wake up a sweeter person.”

  “Not likely.” With a wave, she walked out of the restaurant.

  The two of them knew each other inside and out. She didn’t understand why they were friends and how that friendship had even remained, and sometimes she wondered if she was just a curiosity for him to study and to ponder. But, at the end of the day, it worked, and he was a necessary part of the fabric of her life.

  She didn’t have to be anything special with him, just herself. And if there was one thing she highly valued, it was just being her nasty self. And her friendship with Derek was the place to do that, to be that. Fully. Without condemnation.

  When she was a model, she had to be the perfect model. Not only the perfect model, but she had to actually become whatever it was that these people expected of her. Whether she liked it or not, she had to grin and bear it—or stand completely still or tear up or do this or that. She followed instructions and orders, and it chafed at her. It bit at her. It snapped the bounds of what was and was not acceptable. She did it anyway because she needed the money, and she wanted, desperately craved, the fame that went with it.

  Now that the damn bitch Elena was gone, she was prepared to take her rightful place at the top of this modeling world. It was still a relatively small world, but it was the path that would lead her on to so much more. And no way anybody else would take that from her.

  Chapter 9

  Tired after a rough night and a crappy morning at her office in her gallery, Cayce had just packed up her stuff in her cramped office, ready to head out the door to work on an installation, when the detective walked into her gallery. Her feet stopped, and her heart stopped. Her whole body sensed his presence as the main door opened. She knew it was him, even though she couldn’t see him yet. Something about that energy field of his as he moved toward her. The thing was, outside of him, she only saw the energy of her models.