Stolen Secrets: A Collection Of Riveting Mysteries

by J. S. Donovan

  Ellie glanced at the dark red and black paint that was still hardened under her fingernails. He must’ve noticed that too. “It’s what I do for a living.”

  “Following the dream?” Peaches asked.

  Ellie didn’t hear the question as she pulled the portrait into full view. Ellie’s palm sweated. “I want you to know, Detective, I painted this twenty-four hours before the murder. I have never seen Kimberly in my life. I’ve never stepped foot into her shop.”

  “I see,” Peaches replied, doing well at hiding his suspicion. “May I?”

  No turning back now. Ellie took a deep breath. Her eyes watered slightly.

  She spun the canvas around, resting the bottom edge on her thighs so the detective could see its entirety.

  Peaches scanned over the mastery of the disturbing creation. After a long moment of silence, he looked into Ellie’s eyes. With a slightly shaken smile, he said. “You’re right. I think it would be best if we looked over this somewhere private.”

  Ellie put the painting back into the package and followed him to one of the conference rooms. The detective let her enter first.

  Peaches lingered at the doorway. “You want anything? Coffee? Water? Donut?”

  “Water, please,” Ellie replied.

  Peaches smiled briefly. “I’ll be back in a jiffy; if you could just set the painting on the table, that would be a big help.”

  Ellie thanked him and did as he said. After the painting was in full display on the table, she dug her fingernails into the top of the cushion of one of the chairs and stared into Kimberly’s dead eyes. The painting was dated and signed in the corner. Harold Gatts said the body was two days old. Surely the detective remembered that. The longer she waited in the empty conference room, the stuffier it became. Something didn’t sit right, like she was being set up for some gag. With two fingers, she parted the window blinds and peered into the bullpen. The officers went about their normal routines. Detective Peaches was nowhere in sight. Ellie became goose skinned. She tried the doorknob out of cautious curiosity. It jiggled but didn’t twist. She was locked inside. Her insides sank.

  Footfall and muffled voices approached. Ellie backed away a few steps. The doorknob twisted. Ellie swiftly took a seat in the nearest chair and hid her anxiety behind relaxed shoulders and a neutral face. Instinct told that she was doing a horrible job, and that only made it worse.

  Detective Peaches and another man entered.

  “Ellie, I’d like you meet Detective Skinner. We work Homicide together,” said Peaches.

  Ellie got up from the seat she had just sat in and shook the other man’s hand.

  Whereas Peaches was tall and skinny, Skinner was short and muscular with slumped shoulders and the face like a bulldog. He had a black eye, swollen nose with stitches across the swollen bridge, and thinning chestnut hair. His handshake was clammy and ruthlessly hard, and his dark eyes were rife with judgment. He wore tan slacks, an off-white wrinkled button-up, a loose-fitted caramel tie, and a tan blazer that had a small ketchup stain just below the pocket.

  “My pleasure,” Skinner said, though there was nothing pleasing about his tone.

  The three of them sat at the table. The detectives on one side, and Ellie on the other. After giving Ellie the water cup she requested, Peaches sat at the edge of the seat with nice posture and had his legal pad ready. Skinner hunched, fingers locked on the tabletop with legs spread wide below. Ellie crossed her arms, making herself small.

  “Tell us everything,” Peaches said.

  “My husband and I returned home from our honeymoon --”

  Skinner interrupted. “Where was that?”

  “Naples, Florida,” Ellie said. “We stayed for a week at a beachside resort.”

  Skinner spoke again. “When was this?”

  “Four days ago,” Ellie said. “We got home the evening of April 21st. May I continue?”

  Skinner gestured for her to do so.

  Ellie felt her nerves already getting shot before she started talking again. “That night, the night we returned, I wanted to get a little work done before going to bed. So I started to paint, and then, this happened…”

  The three of them looked over the painting.

  “I have never seen this woman in my life,” Ellie’s voice wavered. “Nor have I painted anything this disturbing, but suddenly, it was finished and I packed it away. Two days later, the police found the woman’s body. She died in the same way as I painted, yet, as I said, I’ve never seen her or been to her vase shop. I know it sounds crazy, Detectives, but that’s God’s honest truth.”

  Skinner glared at her. “You have a history of mental illness?”

  “What?” The question took Ellie off-guard. “No, I don’t. No one in my family does.”

  Peaches hovered his pencil’s point over the legal pad, listening intently. “Ellie, why did you bring this in here? What was the intent behind your visit?”

  “I asked myself the same thing,” Ellie admitted. “But I believe you’re looking at this investigation the wrong way. It wasn’t a robbery that had gone awry. Kimberly Jannis was murdered in cold blood.”

  “You’re sure of this?” Peaches asked.

  Ellie squeezed herself tighter and nodded. “Compare it to the crime photos. You’ll see some key differences, namely the window and crow. The glass is not broken in my painting, yet it is at vase shop. The owner, Harold Gatts, told you that the bird burst in and was killed by the glass, but I think the killer left it here as a call sign. Even stranger, on its wing is the number 42A. I’m not quite sure if that is just part of the painting or if the real bird has a similar tattoo. And, look at this, in its blood is an apartment building with an old water tower. See it? I think we should check there.”

  The two detectives stared at her in stupid silence.

  Skinner hunched further over the table, getting closer to Ellie with his dog-like face. “Let me ask you something, Mrs. Batter. Did you murder Kimberly Jannis?”

  Ellie’s heart skipped a beat. “N-no. I-I-I don’t even know the woman. That’s why I’m freaking out. I thought the police could help me. That I could help you by putting you on the right trail. This painting could be the lead you’re looking for.”

  Skinner turned to Peaches, but Peaches kept studying Ellie. Seeing that his partner wasn’t paying attention to him, Skinner addressed Ellie again. “Mrs. Batter, you’re not making a good case for yourself. You’re saying things that just don’t make any sense.”

  “I’m not crazy!” Ellie shouted. She quickly recoiled, averted her eyes, and instantly regretted the outburst.

  Peaches smiled with pity. “Ellie, do you mind if Detective Skinner and I excuse ourselves for a few moments to get the evidence folder?”

  “Go ahead,” Ellie said quietly. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.

  “Okay, we’ll be back soon.” Peaches said softly and got up from his seat. “More water?”

  Ellie shook her head.

  Skinner glared at her for a moment and then followed his partner out the door. The last thing he said before the door shut was “Nut job.”

  Ellie put her feet on the cushion of the seat and pulled her knees close to her chest. With wet eyes, she looked at the painting. I need to get out of here.

  The wall clock’s ticking killed the room’s silence. Ellie lowered her head and shut her eyes. She reminded herself that she was innocent, but it wasn’t her who needed convincing, it was Peaches and Skinner. How could she show them? How could she make them believe?

  Fifteen long minutes later, Peaches and Skinner returned to the room and took their seats. Peaches pulled out the crime scene photos, laying them out perfectly flush with exactly an inch between each one of them. Ellie glanced at the photo of the two-day-old cadaver and felt nauseous. Kimberly’s chiseled face has sunken and her half-opened eyes were deeply set, dry, and rotting. Thick and black, the blood oozed from her wounds. A handful of flies walked across her clay-stained apron. One walked on her lef
t pupil, rubbing its front legs together like a greedy banker. The next few pictures showed close ups of the various wounds, the blood spatter on the wall, and finally the rotting crow pricked with small glass shards and maggot larva nesting in its lacerations. Bile climbed into Ellie’s mouth, but she kept herself from looking away. She needed to know if there were any other differences.

  Peaches set out the final photo, a wide shot of the entire storeroom. “And you said you went to visit Harold Gatts?”

  “I met him yesterday,” Ellie confessed. In case they gave Gatts a call, Ellie needed to have a matching story. No better way to do that than to tell the truth. “We had lunch together and discussed Kimberly. That’s how I knew the painting and the real murder are nearly identical.”

  “The similarities...” Peaches started saying as he compared the crime phones with the painting, “are uncanny. Even the blood spatter follows the same trajectory. You’ve got quite the eye for detail, Ellie.”

  Skinner added. “It’s almost like she killed the woman herself.”

  Ellie didn’t reply.

  Peaches bounced his eyes between the picture of the rotting bird and the freshly dead one in the painting. “The wounds are consistent, but the glass shards look too fine to have caused such a wound. Skinner, when you were at the crime scene, was the window shattered from the inside out or the outside in?”

  “How should I know?” Skinner asked. “I was looking over the body.”

  “I see,” Peaches replied.

  He glanced at the bird and pointed at the small number etched into the bone of its wing and then compared it to the one of the painting. “42A. Do you know what it means, Ellie?”

  “If I knew what it meant, I would’ve told you,” Ellie replied.

  “Where were you the night Kimberly was killed?”

  “Eating dinner with my husband,” Ellie replied and gestured to the apartment hidden in the fake bird’s blood. “Your focus should be on this building and the number, not me.”

  “Where is the building, Mrs. Batter?” Skinner inquired, slouching in his chair. His demeanor had changed since he last left the room. Ellie wondered what Peaches had told him.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. I was hoping you would find out,” Ellie replied. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound so rude, but I’m as frustrated as you.”

  “I’m going to call your husband Troy,” said Peaches.

  Ellie rubbed her forehead.

  “Will that be an issue?” Peaches asked.

  “No,” Ellie said with defeat. She gave the detective Troy’s number.

  Peaches took it and left the room. His silhouette lingered behind the conference room’s blinds. Ellie could see him pull out his cellphone and dial the number.

  Skinner drummed his fingers on the desk. Mixed with the ticking of the clock, the noise quickly became annoying. Maybe that was Skinner’s intention.

  “I can leave anytime I want, right?” Ellie asked.

  Skinner smiled at her and kept drumming his fingers.

  Peaches opened the door and gestured for Skinner. Ellie didn’t look at the man as he got up and walked out of the room. As soon as the door shut, Ellie burst from her seat and pressed her ear on the door.

  The detectives’ conversation was muffled.

  Peaches spoke first. “The alibi checks out. The husband was at home with Ellie during the murder.”

  “He could be lying. They could’ve killed the woman together.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Peaches replied.

  Skinner scoffed. “Don’t tell me you believe she had some sort of premonition, then?”

  “I don’t believe that, but according to the husband, Ellie painted the murder the night they returned from their honeymoon, which was the night before Kimberly died.”

  “You saw the details in that painting, Peaches. There’s no way she could be that accurate unless she either killed woman or saw the body. Most of those details we didn’t even release to the public. I say we keep her in here overnight, see if she spills anything else.”

  “Under what charges?” Peaches ask.

  “Murder.”

  “We don’t have anything solid.”

  “The painting should be reason enough, and if it’s not, we’ll find something.”

  The doorknob jiggled. Ellie rushed back to her seat but didn’t have time to sit.

  The detectives stepped inside. Peaches smiled softly. “Your husband is on the way here. I’m hoping the two of you could answer a few questions together.”

  “No,” Ellie said defiantly. “I want out of this room or you’ll be speaking to my attorney.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Skinner said. “No need to be hasty. It’s only an hour more of your time.”

  “No,” Ellie said. “I came here to tell you what I know, and I’ve told you. Take a picture of the painting if you wish, but I’m leaving. Right now.”

  Skinner walked toward her. “That’s very suspicious of you, Mrs. Batter. You don’t want people thinking you’re a suspect, do you?”

  “Goodbye, Detectives.” Ellie grabbed her painting and slid it into the cardboard box. “I wish you luck on your investigation.”

  She stormed by Skinner and halted in front of Peaches, who stood in the doorway. He fished out a business card and slipped it into the lip of the cardboard box.

  “My line is always open,” Peaches said kindly and stepped aside.

  Holding the painting close to her, Ellie hurried out of the bullpen.

  Behind her, she heard Skinner exclaim. “You’re going to let her walk? No wonder they transferred you from Chicago.”

  Without a word, Detective Peaches watched Ellie go. His thoughts were hidden behind a small smile.

  Ellie didn’t stop her speedy walk until she was out the door and down the police department steps. She turned and craned her head up to the sky and told herself to breathe. It wasn’t helping.

  “Idiot,” she mumbled and pulled out her phone. There was an unread text from Troy. He would be at the station in ten minutes. Ellie saw a light post nearby and wondered how many times she’d have to hit her head against it before she died. You really screwed the pooch on this one, Ellie. She wanted to vomit but could scarcely gag.

  When Troy pulled up, he opened the Jeep’s passenger side door.

  With sunken shoulders, Ellie slipped the painting into the back seat and got into the passenger seat. She closed the door, having to do it a second time because her seatbelt got caught. Just another bad thing to add to her list of her most crappy day. Troy turned to her with wide, angry eyes as he drove.

  Ellie kept her eyes on the road. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Troy replied, his knuckles turning frosty white on the steering wheel.

  Ellie frowned. “I messed up. I thought I could help. I didn’t. It won’t happen again.”

  “Should we get a lawyer?” Troy asked.

  Ellie shrugged. “How should I know? I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket.”

  The drive was quiet. Ellie wondered if she should turn on the radio, but thought better of it. The silence did a good job of reminding her of her mistakes.

  When they pulled up to the apartment, Troy turned off the Jeep, and neither one of them got out. Ellie couldn’t escape her frown. Inside she was screaming.

  Troy let go of the steering wheel.

  “Are you happy, Ellie?” he asked genuinely.

  “At this moment?” Ellie replied with snark.

  “With our marriage?”

  Ellie turned to him for the first time since she got into the car. “Of course.”

  Troy pursed his lips for a moment. “Then why are you pursuing this investigation instead of enjoying our relationship?”

  Ellie didn’t reply.

  “It’s been two weeks since we said our vows,” Troy carried the conservation. “We shouldn’t be fighting like this.”

  “Yeah, well, we dated for four years
,” Ellie reminded him.

  “And we might’ve dated another four if you didn’t get that career breakthrough you needed,” said Troy. “I never pressured you when you turned down my proposals. I waited like a good boy because I didn’t want you to take the plunge until you were ready. You said yes, but are you ready, Ellie? Because I am.”

  “I won’t go back to the police, if that’s what you want to hear,” Ellie replied.

  “Don’t tell me what I want to hear. Tell me the truth,” Troy ordered.

  Ellie locked eyes with him. “I will not go back to the police.”

  Troy inhaled, held the air, and let it blow from his nose. He checked the dashboard clock. “I have to get back to work. We can finish this tonight.”

  I’d rather not, Ellie thought as she got out of the Jeep and grabbed the painting.

  “I love you,” Troy said, trying to end the fight on a positive note, but his heart obviously wasn’t in it.

  She shut the back door and watched her husband speed down the road.

  When she got into the apartment, she went straight to the art room and sealed away the painting. Most of the day had been burned away at the police station, and she was behind on commissions already. Ellie pulled out a blank canvas, wheeled her paint supply cart next to the easel, and plopped down on her bench. She booted up her laptop and saw the ten painting requests that were pushing deadline. She clicked on the first one. A stallion racing through a hay field. She dipped her brush into the light blue shade and stopped herself. She put the dipped brush into a mason jar full of muddy water and opened up another tab on her computer. Google Maps.

  She input Gatts Jannis Pottery and Antiques, went into the street view, and studied the 360-degree profile. Not finding what she was looking for, she clicked on the road ahead and did the same for that street. Minutes slipped by like seconds as she began her tour through Northampton that led her past her favorite boutique restaurants, art galleries, the gothic-looking First Church, Smiths Women College, and other significant landmarks. Her head throbbed and her vision blurred, but eventually she found her prize: a four-story apartment building made of red brick and in a sorry state. On top of it stood a rust-spotted water tower with an umbrella roof.