“So George was with you on all the interviews?”
“That’s right. He even helped carry the tripod for Wayne when we were shooting the scenic stuff. Nice guy. Is Xavier the only person you’ve watched so far?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“Wow, you’ve got a long way to go.”
“Yeah. I’ll probably be up most of the night watching the videos,” I said.
“Sorry for giving you so much work to do.”
“Not at all. These interviews are my best chance at this point.”
I thanked Nakia once more and than hung up the phone. Were these DVDs really my best chance to solve the murder case? Unfortunately, yes.
I popped the next video in and fast forwarded past all the Maui scenic shots Wayne had shot. The next interview I came to was Nick James. Nick was interviewed in his home studio. There was a large painting of a school of dolphins in the background. Is that what you call a group of dolphins, a school?
Nick was just as obnoxious, arrogant, and boastful during the interview as he was in the gallery when I first met him.
Nick: Most people don’t realize that I started the marine art movement. There was no marine art movement until I released a handful of painting experiments in the early 1980’s.
Nakia: Were the paintings an immediate success?
Nick: Of course. People had never seen anything like them. The tourists couldn’t buy enough of them. But that didn’t mean anything to me. Tourists will buy a piece of dog shit if you put a bright logo on it. Have you ever been to New York City?
Nakia: Yes.
Nick: Tell me this, then. Why would anyone in their right mind buy one of those four inch replicas of the Statue of Liberty? What a piece of shit.
At this point in the interview I started to cringe. You guessed it. I’ve bought one of those Statue of Liberty trinkets.
Nakia: So if you didn’t measure your success by sales, how did you determine you were successful?
Nick: By imitation. Within six months of those initial paintings every artist on Maui was diving into marine art. No pun intended. But it wasn’t just the paintings. The marine art was driving people to Maui, and the other arts prospered as well. Photography. Sculpting. Woodworking. All of these benefited from my art.
Nakia: What do you think is the most important part of being an artist?
Nick: If you had asked me that question when I started out, I would have said creativity. But now I think it’s originality. There’s nothing worse than being unoriginal.
Nakia: So all the other artists are-
Nick: The scum of the earth. For the past twenty years I’ve watched other people get rich off my ideas. Most people are ignorant, Nakia. They don’t know the difference between good art and bad art. They just want something cheap and colorful to throw on their wall when they get home. So I’ve tried to educate the masses. To convince them that it’s better to spend a little more money on something that will hold up over time. Don’t you want something you can pass down to your children instead of something that you’d be lucky to get fifty cents for at a garage sale?
Nakia: Nick, I notice that you have several works-in-progress here in the studio. Would it be possible to show some of them and have you talk about what you’re trying to accomplish with them?
Nick: Of course.
George: Do you think that’s a good idea, Nick?
Nick looked off camera for a several seconds (I assume he was looking at George) and then turned back to Nakia.
Nick: I don’t want to show any works-in-progress.
Nakia: Why not?
Nick: Currently I’m in the middle of a lawsuit with Lauren Rogers. Every time I release a painting she comes out with one a few months later which is virtually identical. She changes one or two details, just enough to say she didn’t copy me. But we’ll let a judge decide that.
Nakia: But this show probably won’t air for a couple of years. I’m sure by that time all these paintings will have been completed and released.
Nick: No offense, miss. But I don’t know you, nor do I trust you. I would hate for someone to get a hold of this video and have access to all of my works-in-progress. That would certainly be bad for you and your pocketbook.
So Nick had threatened Nakia and Wayne with a lawsuit. Had that contributed to Wayne fingering Nick as a possible suspect?
The phone rang. I looked at my watch. It was three a.m.
“Hello.”
“Hi. It’s Alana. Sorry to wake you.”
“It’s okay. I was awake anyway.”
“Listen, I’m at George’s apartment. It’s about a twenty minute drive from where you’re staying. I think you might want to come out here.”
“Now? At three a.m.”
“Yeah.”
“What does George think about that?” I asked.
“I don’t think George would mind. Don’t delay.”
CHAPTER 29
George
Alana gave me directions to George’s. When I pulled up there were several police cars parked in front of the apartment building. They had their lights flashing, but not the sirens, obviously not wanting to wake the neighbors at such a late hour. It didn’t make a difference. It looked like the entire apartment complex was wide awake, most of them standing on their balconies and watching the drama unfold. But what exactly was unfolding?
George’s apartment was on the second floor, but a police officer stopped me before I could reach the first step of the cement staircase.
“It’s all right. He’s with me,” Alana called out from the top of the stairs.
The policeman stepped aside, and I jogged up to meet Alana.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Not here.” Alana looked at all the anxious neighbors, now staring at her and me. “Let’s move inside.”
I followed Alana into the apartment. Several officers were already in there. I saw camera flashes going off down the hallway. My fear was that George was dead in the other room.
Alana led me over to the coffee table. She picked a slip of paper off the table and handed it to me. The writing on the paper was something of a surprise.
“This is Foxx’s address,” I said.
“I know. Why do you think he had it?” Alana asked.
“I have no idea.” That was the truth. I didn’t, and it kind of freaked me out. Was George planning something that involved me?
“Pam told me she heard you and George were arguing today at the restaurant.”
“That’s right. We were.” There was no point in denying it. Only about twenty people saw us yelling at each other.
“Do you mind telling me what you two were arguing about?”
“Alana, what’s going on?”
“Please answer the question.”
Did Alana suspect me of killing George? Had George been murdered? I still hadn’t seen a body. What the hell was I going to find when they let me walk back there? Would they let me walk back there?
“We were arguing about Lauren and about Bernard,” I said. “George admitted to me that he had been sleeping with Lauren.”
“If he was having an affair with her, why did he need her address written down?” she asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Is that all you two talked about?” she asked.
“Pretty much. I was just trying to rattle his cage a little, hoping he would let something slip.”
“Did he?”
“Unfortunately no. But I’m certain I got to him. The guy tried to kill me afterwards.”
“Kill you?”
I brought Alana up to date on how George tried to force me off the cliff and our subsequent fight in the store. I knew that painted me as suspect number one, but I also didn’t want to lie to her. Besides, she would find out from someone. It would be better if it came from me, or at least that’s what I hoped.
“Where did you hit him?”
“In the face.”
> “That explains the bruising. You know you can be arrested for assault,” she said.
“I know. And he can be arrested for attempted murder.”
Alana looked towards the other officers walking in and out of the room. I assumed she was wondering if anyone was listening to our conversation. As far as I could tell, they weren’t.
“Did you ask me all the way over here in the middle of the night so I could tell you about my conversation with George? Or did you want to show me something in that back room?” I asked.
Alana didn’t respond. She turned and headed down the hallway. I followed her into George’s bedroom. George was in there all right, but definitely not in the manner I had expected, nor in a manner I would have ever guessed in a thousand years. George was hanging from his closet door, his toes barely touching the door. He had tied a rope to the door handle on the opposite side of the door. The other end of the rope was around his neck. He was wearing a T-shirt but no pants.
“He committed suicide?” I asked.
“We don’t believe so. An officer responded to a disturbing-the-piece report about two hours ago. Apparently George had the television set so loud his neighbors complained.”
“So the officer found him like this?”
“Yes.”
“So why do you say he didn’t commit suicide?” I asked.
“There was a porno on the television. We think George was choking himself for sexual arousal. But he went too far and accidentally killed himself.”
“I think I’ve heard of that before. There’s a name for it, but I can’t remember.”
“I can’t either,” she said.
“I hate to ask this. But do you think there’s a chance this was murder?”
She didn’t answer me.
“You don’t think I did this?” I asked.
She didn’t answer me.
“If you need to hear me say it, I will. I didn’t kill him. I didn’t even know where he lived until you called me tonight.”
“I don’t think you killed him. I don’t know if anyone killed him. But three deaths in less than a week? There’s something very wrong.”
Alana walked outside with me. I thought of telling her about the videos from Nakia, but aside from confirming that Xavier was a nutcase and Nick hated Lauren, there really wasn’t anything new to be told. I leaned up against the back of Foxx’s Ford Explorer and looked up into the dark, cloudy sky.
“I was so ugly to him, Alana.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
I turned to her.
“Why did you really invite me over here? I thought you didn’t want me to be part of this anymore. You could have asked me all this in the morning.”
Alana didn’t answer me. Maybe she didn’t have an answer. We just looked at each other, both of us exhausted, both of us wanting to be anywhere but at the scene of George’s death. I thought about my relationship with Alana, how things had completely gone down hill since the evening of our one and only date. We both seemed to be letting our guard down now. Was this a good time to make amends?
“I need to be getting back to the station,” she said.
“Okay. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”
Alana started to walk towards her car.
“Alana,” I called.
She stopped and turned around.
“Yes.”
“Nothing. I’ll call you tomorrow. Or I guess I should say later today.”
“Okay.”
I climbed into the Explorer. What’s wrong with me? I asked myself.
The timing just didn’t feel right.
CHAPTER 30
Video Confessions Continued
I couldn’t bring myself to watch another artist interview when I got back to Foxx’s place. My eyes were blurring over and my legs felt like I was wearing lead pants. I slept for a few hours on the sofa, but when I awoke, I actually felt even more drained. Thank God no one was around me. I was one cranky bastard.
It was safe to say I was more confused than ever before. So I picked up a pencil and pad of paper and starting making notes.
Lauren had been stabbed to death behind the art gallery. There were hundreds of people at the show, meaning tons of potential suspects.
Foxx’s fingerprints were on the knife. How did they get there? If Foxx didn’t do it, why weren’t there any other fingerprints on the knife? If the person was wearing gloves, why were Foxx’s fingerprints all over the handle? Wouldn’t his fingerprints have been smeared?
Lauren was stealing creative ideas from Nick James. Nick James was in the middle of a lawsuit against Lauren. He hated her. Enough to kill?
Xavier had taught Lauren as a teenager. Then she quit suddenly and he hasn’t heard from her since. Is he telling the truth about that? If so, why did she quit?
George used to work as Bernard’s assistant. He claims he took all of Bernard’s photographs the last few years. George was angry and resentful because he couldn’t take credit for his work. Is this somehow connected?
Bernard fired George. George told me he thought it was Bernard who killed Lauren. Why would he implicate Bernard?
George gave me nude photographs of Lauren and he denied taking them himself. George claims he stole them from Lauren’s home.
Bernard died from falling down a wooden staircase. Was he pushed? Why would anyone want Bernard dead?
George died while strangling himself for heightened sexual pleasure. Or was it suicide? Or was it murder? If so, why would anyone want George dead?
Sally has great breasts. But she’s a loon, agreeing to marry a man who lives in a tree house.
So now I had my list, but I still didn’t feel like I had a better handle on the case. With no other options available at the moment, I decided to finish off the videos Nakia sent me.
I went through the interviews of Ray London and William Kelly fairly quickly. Ray’s interview was a wonderful relief from watching the bizarreness of Xavier and the venom of Nick James. Ray spent most of his camera time giving a demonstration of how to craft a large lipped fish out of clay. He used seashells to create the groves and patterns of the fish fins. William impressed me with his knowledge of Hawaiian history. Did you know Captain Cook was the first Englishman to visit the islands? I had no idea.
Then I got to Bernard’s interview. Surprisingly, he didn’t look drunk. He did look down-trodden, though. Bernard spent a great deal of time discussing photography. He yearned for the return to the old days when photographers worked their magic in the camera and the darkroom, not on a computer with a souped-up version of Photoshop. Bernard had a real dislike for technology. He claimed it removed the truth from photography.
I somewhat agree with him, but only somewhat, because I feel there wasn’t much truth to ever begin with. Having dabbled in photography myself, I know how easy it is to distort reality by carefully manipulating the composition or focal length. There are so many tricks a photographer can use to shape the mood any way they want to.
Sorry I’m spending so much time talking about pictures. The real juicy stuff in Bernard’s interview didn’t start until Nakia asked him about Maui.
Nakia: When did you first come to Maui?
Bernard: I came over to Maui in the early 1980’s when Maui was just starting to be known for its art community. My fiancée at the time was a sculptor, and she convinced me that Maui was the place we needed to be.
Nakia: Does she still live on Maui?
Bernard: Yes, she does.
Nakia: I wish we had known about her before. We could have interviewed her about her sculpting.
Bernard: She doesn’t sculpt anymore. She gave that up when she met him.
There was a pause of several seconds in the interview. My guess was that Nakia was feeling as awkward as I had felt just watching the interview. The way Bernard said “him” was filled with more spite and anger than I believe I’ve ever heard in my life. But it wasn’t just what he said. It was his eyes. They were filled with a murderous
rage.
Bernard: I’m certain you’ve already met my ex-fiancée. Didn’t you tell me you interviewed Xavier yesterday?
Nakia: Yes.
Bernard: Then you met her, Gina, Xavier’s wife.
I think that qualifies as a stunner. Bernard and Gina had been an item until Xavier had her convinced she was the Queen of Egypt. Was this what had pushed Bernard to drink? Was this in any way connected to my case? I didn’t think so. But you have to admit, it’s pretty juicy stuff.
The doorbell rang and my spirits soared. It had to be Alana. But when I opened the door there was no one there. I looked on the doormat, thinking maybe the mailman had delivered another package. Nothing.
I closed the door and went back to the living room. I think if I had not been so sleep deprived my guard would have been up more. But it wasn’t up at all, and I walked right into danger.
The sliding glass door on the back of the house was wide open. Nick was standing in the doorway. He was sobbing. But that wasn’t what had my attention. It was the gun in his hand and where it was pointing - me. I instinctively raised my hands like the victim of a robbery.
“How could you?” he sobbed.
“How could I what?”
Nick clicked the safety of his gun to the off position.
“He had his whole life ahead of him,” Nick said.
“You’re talking about George?” I asked. Did he blame me for George’s death? Was I about to join George in the great beyond?
“Turn around,” he demanded.
I did as he said, reluctantly of course. I didn’t like the idea of taking my eyes off him - off that gun actually.
“Are you going to shoot me in the back, Nick?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. But would it have made a difference? No doubt the word of Nick James meant nothing.
I heard his footsteps approaching. Then I felt the sharp pain of what I assumed was the butt of the gun smashing into the back of my skull. I went down to the floor. My vision blurred. The pain felt like I had been run over by a bus. But I didn’t go out. That is until he struck me a second time, then a third. I don’t remember anything after that.
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