by Carsen Taite
“He’s had a rough couple of weeks,” she mused out loud.
“The Frank Flynn case? But I thought he wasn’t the one who squirreled away the evidence. It was his partner.”
She heard the trace of doubt that accompanied the last statement, and she didn’t blame him. She found it hard to imagine a circumstance where Nick could break the law and she’d be clueless about it, but Bruce’s relationship with his former partner might not have been as close as theirs. “You’re right, but the press doesn’t parse things out that finely. Everyone who is involved with the case is getting smeared with a broad brush.”
“Can you imagine doing fifteen years for a crime you didn’t commit?”
Claire knew Nick well enough to know this was his way of shifting the perspective. He was right. If Frank Flynn was indeed innocent of murder, then he’d been dealt a horrible injustice, but they’d likely never know the real truth since it would be impossible to re-create the circumstances of his first trial, now that they knew another man’s DNA had been found on the scene.
An hour later at the restaurant, Bruce had the same thoughts. “Just because some other guy’s DNA was at the scene, doesn’t mean Flynn wasn’t involved. He could’ve been there too but using his college smarts to make sure he didn’t leave any evidence behind. It wasn’t like we arrested him out of the blue. We had cause.” He stopped buttering a roll and shook his knife in the air. “Let this be a lesson to you.”
Claire took a sip of her iced tea, while she waited for the crux of the lesson. Frank Flynn’s case predated her time in the department, but she’d read every detail she could find on the subject, conveniently avoiding nagging internal questions about whether her exhaustive digging for information was normal curiosity or a search for reassurance that Bruce hadn’t done anything wrong. The look on Nick’s face when they’d spoken flashed into her head, but she brushed it off. Nick wasn’t your typical cop when it came to the thin blue line. He was definitely loyal to his fellow officers, but not blindly so. She liked to think her loyalty wasn’t blind either, but she knew she was prone to give added deference to a cop’s side of a story, and she didn’t see anything wrong with her approach. Trust was an important part of the work they did, and if officers started to doubt each other, their ability to perform their jobs would be at risk, not to mention their safety.
“The courts are getting soft,” he said. “Ever since that Michael Morton case, they’ve been acting like they have to bend over backwards to appease these prisoner advocacy groups, giving convicted felons the benefit of the doubt. We do the best with the information we have at the time. It’s really easy for people to come in after the fact and tell us what we should’ve seen or done. Flynn confessed to knowing the girl and seeing her that night. A jury thought they had enough evidence to convict him.” He shook his head. “Maybe they would’ve made a different decision if they’d known someone else’s DNA was at the scene or maybe the prosecutor would’ve successfully argued that didn’t preclude his involvement, but we’ll never know now. And with all the press this is getting, any potential new jury pool is already tainted.”
Claire nodded. He had a point. A retrial would be shaded by all the attention the case had gotten in the press plus all the attention these types of cases had garnered lately on shows like Dateline and 20/20. She wanted to ask him the kind of hard questions one of those reporters would, but knew it was best not to, so she settled on something innocuous. “How’s Danny taking this?” Claire asked, referring to his former partner.
“Not well. There’s been talk of letting him go.”
“Ouch. Isn’t he near retirement?”
“Five months to pension. His wife’s not in good health either. This could devastate him.”
“I’m sure. What are you going to do?”
“Officially, there’s nothing I can do. Unofficially, I’m calling in every favor I have coming and I have a lot.”
Claire nodded, silently wondering if he’d ever called in any favors for her. She liked to think she’d made detective all on her own, but she knew she was young for the promotion and a word from Bruce would’ve put her in front of other candidates. Still, she’d done everything she could to excel and it wasn’t her fault if she knew people in high places. “I’m sure he’ll be fine with your help. He’s lucky to have you on his side.”
“But enough about all that,” he said. “Let’s talk about your future. There’s a squad commander spot opening up and I’ve been talking to Baxter about you. You’re interested, right?”
Claire didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
“Great, I’ll set up a meeting.”
Claire barely heard anything else he said the rest of the lunch. This was the break she’d been working toward her entire career. A surge of confidence surged through her. She was going to make commander. Solving this case would pave the way.
Chapter Three
Riley had barely cleared the door at the Lofton Gallery when a tall blonde wearing a midnight blue suit that looked like it had been custom-made for her slender curves greeted her. She recognized her from the gallery website as Lacy Lofton, the owner, and immediately felt underdressed in her Docs, jeans, and black leather jacket.
“May I help you?”
Riley stuck out her hand. “Riley Flynn, and you’re Ms. Lofton, right?”
“Yes, but please call me Lacy.” Lacy clasped her hand. “A pleasure to meet you in person. May I get you something to drink?”
“Thanks, but I’m good.” Riley held up her portfolio. “I brought the other work you wanted to see.” On her first trip to the gallery, she’d dropped off a sampling of her work which had apparently piqued enough interest to secure this appointment.
Lacy gave her a broad smile. “Excellent. I want to see everything you have, but how about I show you around the gallery first?”
“That would be great.”
“The space you’re in is designed to whet the appetite.” She gestured to the three walls behind them. “We hold the center wall for artists who’ve been with us for a while because, well, they’re a draw. On each side, we showcase our favorite new artists who might not have enough work to carry a full show.”
Lacy motioned for Riley to follow her and she led them into the next room. Riley noted with approval the cascade of natural light from windows high on the wall. “This is an amazing space.”
Lacy followed the line of her gaze to the windows. “You can’t see it from here, but there are recessed automatic shades on those, so we can black out the entire room, which gives us a lot of flexibility in the type of installations we can use.” She pointed to the walls. “This side of the room features some of the artists whose work we carry on a regular basis. We rotate their work as it sells and as it complements our featured artists for the month. On the other side of the room, we tease upcoming shows. On the night of the show, the entire room will be dedicated to the featured artist with installations suiting the work. Any initial impressions?”
Riley tore her attention from the art around her. “I’m definitely impressed. But I have to say, most of the work I see here is very different from my style. Do you think your clientele will be interested in what I have to offer?”
“Absolutely. We’ve been wanting to feature a local artist with local imagery for some time, and we think you’re the perfect fit. You’ve captured a different side of the city than what people usually see. It’s like tourist meets gritty local. The fact you’ve never shown any of your work in public before is going to make it even more of a get for collectors. Our clients are going to buy everything you have. Speaking of which, let’s see what you’ve brought today.”
Riley worked hard to contain her excitement as she watched Lacy flip through her portfolio. The Lofton Gallery was the top of her list of desired venues to land her first showing, but she didn’t want to ruin it by acting like an amateur. “Do you have any particular pieces you’d like featured?”
Lacy pointed to a sketch of th
e old Lakewood Theater. “I’m envisioning a timeline of Dallas, from the older neighborhoods, like this one, to the newer development to the South, featuring a combination of the pencil sketches, the watercolors, and the oil paintings. We could use the installation to highlight the features you focus on in your work, and then show them in the context of the city that surrounds them.” She smiled. “I realize that sounds very esoteric, but I have a vision if you’ll trust me to execute it.”
It was Riley’s turn to smile. “You were the curator at the Kimball before you opened your own gallery. Plus you come highly recommended by Buster Creel. I think I can trust you to make me shine.”
“You’ve done your research.”
“Always.” Riley paused while she debated asking one of the main questions that had been on her mind. “There is one question I haven’t been able to answer.”
“Ask away.”
“Why here? I mean this gallery is amazing, but with your credentials, you could get a gig anywhere you wanted.”
“Key word, wanted. I can boil it down to one thing—control. Don’t get me wrong, I loved working at all of those places, but at the end of the day, I had a board of directors to report to and a sometimes very, how shall we say, opinionated membership to appease. I quickly learned you can’t please everyone, and if you try, the museum displays look like pages from an encyclopedia, and if you don’t try, you’re constantly being called on the carpet to defend your job. I own this place, so I can do whatever I want.” She put her hands on her hips as if in challenge. “Does that answer your question?”
“It does. There’s nowhere else I’d like to have my debut.”
“Perfect. Let’s take a few minutes now and I’ll give you more specifics about my initial thoughts. I’ll draw up a plan and you can come by later in the week to look it over.”
“Sounds good.”
For the next hour they went through Riley’s sketches and paintings one by one. “Do you have any more sketches of these?” Lacy asked, pointing to a group of paintings of the Deep Ellum and downtown area. “Maybe some earlier renderings? I’d love to display some partially finished work to illustrate your process.”
“I’ll check. I have stacks of old sketchbooks at home.”
“See if you can find some of this particular mural,” Lacy pointed to one of the paintings. “It will really resonate with our patrons since it’s such an iconic Dallas image. Speaking of which, did you see the news about the body they found there Saturday night?”
Riley pulled her attention from the mural, not entirely sure she’d heard Lacy correctly. “I was there Saturday.”
“With the police?”
“Wait, what? Did you say body?”
Lacy nodded vigorously. “Yes. A woman. She was found just below the mural. The paper doesn’t have many details.” She grabbed a copy of the Dallas Morning News sitting on the counter, turned it to the Metro section, and handed it over. “This is from Sunday, but I don’t think there’ve been any new developments. Pretty eerie, isn’t it?”
Riley took the paper from her and stared at the photo, which was low on detail about the crime but high on drama with crime scene tape draped in the foreground and the familiar mural looming large behind. She scanned the story, but Lacy was right, either the police didn’t know much or they’d chosen not to share anything other than the victim was a woman. Riley shuddered at the memory of standing and staring at that same spot less than forty-eight hours ago. “Definitely.”
A couple of hours later, Riley waved to her favorite bartender, Eric, as she made her way to the bar at the Ginger Man. “You on your own this evening?” Eric asked.
“Meeting Buster and Natalie for dinner, but I’m early. Pour me a Temptress while I wait?”
“You got it.”
She scrolled through her phone while she watched him pull her a perfect pour. There were a lot of hits on her search for info about the dead body in Deep Ellum, but they all appeared to be reposts of the same story, revealing zero details about how the woman had died or who she was. Riley didn’t know why she was obsessed about it, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact she’d been there, sketching that very same scene, sans body, within hours of it becoming a crime scene.
“Here’s your beer,” Eric said, setting the glass on a fresh coaster. “Let me know when you’d like a table and we’ll get you all set up.”
Riley set her phone to the side and took a deep drink, trying to set aside her questions about the woman and ease into the evening, but one detail in the story stood out and she knew exactly why. The dead woman was white and in her early twenties. Just like…Riley shook the thought away. She had great news to report and she wasn’t going to let the news mar the telling.
“I should’ve known you’d start drinking without us,” Buster said as he grabbed her from behind and pulled her into a big hug. He signaled to Eric to bring them another round, including one for Riley. She started to tell him she was all set, but then noticed her almost empty glass. She didn’t remember downing the beer, but in her distraction, she must have.
After he served their drinks, Eric pointed at a booth that had just opened up. “You all should grab that. Mavericks game on tonight. It’s going to get crazy in a bit.”
They took his suggestion and snagged the booth after placing an order for way too much food. Once they settled in, Buster and Natalie started peppering Riley with questions.
“How was the meeting?”
“Did they like your work?”
Riley didn’t answer at first, enjoying the excited anticipation on both of their faces until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Lacy Lofton met with me personally, and not only is she as nice as Buster claimed, but she loved my work. She’s got a ton of great ideas about the installation and my first solo show is set for next month.”
“Next month?” Buster asked. “That’s fast.”
“The show they had scheduled fell through. It’s definitely going to be a lot of work to get ready so quickly, but Lacy assures me they can do it and that she has clients ready to buy.” Riley took a drink to quiet the voice in her head warning her things were moving too quickly. “Promise me you’ll be there.”
“Of course we’ll be there,” Natalie said. “The whole group will be there. I’m so excited for you.”
Buster raised his glass. “To Riley. We knew her when.”
Riley clinked her glass against each of theirs. “Oh, please, says the man who’s had plenty of his own gallery shows. I’ll be calling on you for pointers.”
“You got it.”
Buster was regaling them with stories of his first gallery opening when their food came and they dove into soft, warm pretzels, beer cheese dip, and French dip sandwiches, and for a few minutes it was all quiet at the table. After they surrendered to what was left of the mountain of food, Buster asked, “Did you hear about the body they found in Deep Ellum Saturday night?”
“I did,” Riley said. “Paper didn’t seem to have many details.”
“Horrible,” Natalie said. “I can’t believe we were in that very spot just hours earlier.” She shuddered. “New rule, no one stays behind. I’m looking at you, Riley Flynn.”
“I can handle myself,” Riley said, play flexing her bicep. “But it is pretty creepy. I worry about Mrs. Henry closing up her store after dark during the winter.”
“I know,” Buster said. “Last I heard, the police haven’t released any new info. Have you heard anything?”
“Nope,” Riley said. “Of course, I was hanging out all afternoon with my new patron of the arts, not watching news alerts on my phone. Speaking of which, should we have one more beer to celebrate? On me.” She glanced over at the bar where Eric was engaged in conversation with a woman standing in front of him. Riley started to get up and walk over to place the order, but before she could stand, the woman turned and locked eyes with her. She was about twenty feet away, but the distance didn’t dim the intensity in her royal blue eyes or the dete
rmined set of her sculpted jawline. For the next few seconds, Riley was locked in the obvious interest of the woman’s stare, unable to look away and not wanting to. She was powerfully beautiful, and Riley basked in her attention. She memorized every feature, determined to capture the image in a sketch as soon as she was back at home.
“Do you know her?” Natalie asked.
Embarrassed she’d been caught staring, Riley tore her gaze away from the woman. “I don’t.”
“Maybe you should offer to buy her a drink. She’s still looking at you.”
Riley wanted to play it cool, but she was unable to resist, and she turned back toward the bar. But before she could reply to Natalie’s suggestion, the woman started walking toward their table. Whoever she was and whatever she wanted, Riley was about to find out and she could not wait.
* * *
Claire leaned across the bar and motioned to the harried bartender. If she’d remembered the Mavericks game was on tonight, she would’ve told Nick they should show up tomorrow around lunchtime, but he’d insisted they come straight here from the autopsy. Too bad they couldn’t have a beer to drown out the replay of sawed bones and sliced skin from the last couple of hours.
“What’s your pleasure?” the bartender asked. “I have a nice coffee stout on tap tonight.”
“We’re looking for members of the Eastside Sketchers. I heard they meet up here sometimes. Any chance any of them are here tonight?”
“You an artist? I fancied you as a cop.”
Claire smiled at his astute perception. “And you’d be right. We’re following up on a lead. Help us out?”
He stared at them for a moment as if assessing whether or not they could be trusted before finally deciding they would pass. “They’re usually here on Saturdays, but you’re in luck tonight.” He pointed to a booth to the side of the bar. “Three of them are here right now, having a bite to eat.”