by Hadena James
The walls seemed to be mocking him. Their colors unchanged for years, colors that had always felt inviting, now seemed cold and distant. The light mauve coloring with sage green accents no longer appealed to him. Staring at the colors made his stomach churn. He fought the urge to vomit.
Was he sick, he wondered. Was he coming down with some unknown disease? Or was he losing his mind, finally having that breakdown everyone had whispered about after the death of his wife?
His hands searched for his phone. With closed eyes, he speed dialed his brother.
“Hello?”
“I think I need a hospital,” Kyle croaked into the phone.
“Kyle?” His brother’s voice was suddenly filled with concern.
“I don’t feel well,” Kyle whispered as he dropped the phone. His brother’s voice drifted away from him. A buzzing noise filled his ears, made his head throb. His vision started to tunnel, blackening at the edges as it slimmed down until he had gone blind. He heard himself groan once, then there was nothing.
He woke sometime later to someone beating on his door. He struggled to get up and found his legs didn’t work. His feet tingled, his calves tingled, his thighs seemed to have lost all their muscles, his back hurt and he didn’t know why. His head hurt and he couldn’t explain it either. He tried to call out and his voice didn’t work.
There was a deafening noise. The front door splintered and broke. Firemen rushed into the room. They stood around as paramedics surged into the room. These were followed by a handful of police officers, some of them Kyle knew, but couldn’t remember their names.
“Mr. Summers, can you hear me?” One of the paramedics asked.
Kyle tried to answer and made a small grunting noise. The paramedic was busy doing something to his shirt. He kept trying to stop him, but his arms didn’t work. He tried his voice again and nothing came out.
“Oh my god,” one of the firemen said as Kyle’s shirt was opened. Kyle tried again to speak and again only managed a grunt. He closed his eyes.
Twenty-Five
“What the hell is up with the weird ass photos?” Xavier asked as he walked into the conference room in the partially destroyed Marshals building.
“Look familiar?” I asked.
“Not really,” Xavier answered, opening his phone again and swiping through the pictures.
“It reminds me of a woman who’s been poisoned by arsenic,” I said.
“Maybe,” Xavier frowned. “It’s hard to tell from these photos. However, from what I’ve been reading, elemental mercury poisoning does the same thing. It hasn’t happened very often, I’ve only found about three cases where someone has been injected with elemental mercury, but it says the symptoms are very similar to arsenic poisoning.”
“Wait,” Lucas said. “You bought the statue because you thought it looked like the model had been poisoned?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That explains why you went all creepy,” Lucas said. “You blanked after you noticed the statue.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I gave him a sheepish grin.
“I’m used to it. I think it scared the shit out of Kyle Summers though. He seemed to be confused by it,” Lucas answered.
“Well, if one statue looks like it has been poisoned, there might be others. That might be the inspiration behind the other statue, the one on his business card. And the painting I saw in the hospital. It looked like the woman was orgasming, but poisoning spasms would look pretty much the same,” I said.
“And the prostitutes we interviewed said that some of their colleagues were going missing after being approached by a man who wanted them to model,” Lucas said slowly. “So, let’s say he picks out models from all walks of life. Some of them are prostitutes, some homeless people and some regular people, like our politician’s wife, but he only kills the ones that won’t be missed or the locals won’t create search parties to scour the countryside for their whereabouts. It would lend legitimacy to his work. He could say ‘yeah, she modeled for me, but so did all these other people and they aren’t dead’.”
“Death as art?” Gabriel asked.
“Death has always been art,” I answered. “That’s what made me think of it when I looked at the statue. Some of the greatest pieces of artwork in the world, are paintings of death. It is never real death, always a clean, sanitized version, but still death. And in the criminal cases of poisoners from past centuries, there are renderings of how the victim was found. So, I’ve looked at several pictures of people who have been poisoned. There is some artist interpretation, but since they were used in courts and things, it was kept to a minimum.”
“Our killer is an artist,” Xavier said. “How sad.”
“How is Michael?” I asked.
“Wondering why the hell he touched a cactus. His hands are still swollen and sore,” Gabriel said.
“Great,” I frowned.
“Why?” Gabriel asked.
“I wanted him to search for exhibited pieces of Summers work,” I answered.
“You know how to use Google,” Xavier said.
“Yes, but he’s our geek. If he doesn’t do Google searches for us,” I shrugged. “What good is he?”
“He provides comic relief. The rest of us didn’t touch a cactus just because we thought it looked fuzzy,” Lucas said.
“That’s mean,” I gave him a look and silently agreed with him.
Gabriel rolled his eyes and passed me his laptop. It was already open to a Google search page. I typed in the artist’s name and clicked on the “pictures” option when the search results came back.
Xavier leaned over my shoulder and together we scanned the images of Summers work. Neither of us talked, Xavier would occasionally grunt and point at a picture. I’d enlarge it and he’d make a note of it on a piece of paper.
At the end of the search, I had identified no fewer than sixty pieces of art that Xavier and I thought contained death poses. Five of them looked like victims we had found in the desert. I sighed. Xavier groaned and sat down.
“What?” Gabriel asked.
“Our artist really is a serial killer,” Xavier said. “I think we have about thirty victims in his artwork that are in death poses. And honestly, I’m being conservative.”
“If you aren’t being conservative?” Lucas asked.
“Double, maybe triple that number. It’s hard to tell. The sculptures and the paintings have some cross-over models that are obvious, but others not so much,” Xavier said.
“And some of them are questionable about whether they are posing in an erotic, sexual manner at the height of pleasure or in a death pose,” I said. “Ironically, the two look the same when poisoning is involved, especially if elemental mercury mimics arsenic. An arched back with twisted arms and legs might be arsenic or mercury poisoning or it might be an orgasm. It’s impossible to tell.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Gabriel groaned.
“No, unfortunately not. Orgasms are like miniature deaths. The heart skips beats, the breathing becomes irregular and brainwave patterns change. Also, while we think of muscle contractions only in the genital region, it actually happens all over the body. The arms, the eyes, the nostrils, even the muscles in the legs and feet contract and release creating minute body convulsions. Strong orgasms can create contortions of the body because of the muscle contractions. There is also a small disconnect between the nerves and the brain, sensation becomes heightened by erratic and stronger nerve impulses. This can lead to all sorts of strange happenings in the body and brain,” Xavier said. “Orgasms and death are nearly impossible to diagnosis based on photos or paintings because they have the same physical symptoms. Only being present can prove which one the patient is experiencing.”
“Should I change your name from Doctor Death to Doctor Ruth?” I asked Xavier.
“I didn’t know you called me Doctor Death,” Xavier said.
“Only when you’re treating us for something,” I assured him. “The
rest of the time, you’re just Xavier.”
“Good to know, next time you need a script written for painkillers. I’m going to give you Advil,” Xavier grinned at me.
“Joking aside,” Lucas said. “Trevor’s favorite artist is probably our serial killer. That just sucks.”
“Hope he gets our sculptures shipped before we arrest him,” I said.
“Why dump the bodies in Death Valley?” Gabriel asked.
“It has significance to him,” Lucas said. “A lot of his paintings are set in an ambiguous desert setting or an ambiguous sky setting.”
There was a long pause after that statement. Lucas closed his eyes and put his head on the table. His knuckles flushed as he balled his hands into fists.
“What?” I asked.
“He also tends to paint the moon in silver,” Lucas said.
“Mercury is silver colored,” Gabriel said.
“I know,” Lucas said. “I stare at a painting every night with a woman in the desert on a rock with a silver moon shining down on her nude body. Trevor has always said she is waiting for her lover and possibly, has just finished masturbating and orgasmed. Now, I’m wondering if she’s dead.”
“Eyes open or closed?” Xavier asked.
“Open,” Lucas said.
“Probably dead then,” Xavier answered.
“You’ve never seen it?” I asked.
“I am not allowed in their bedroom. Trevor thinks I’ll taint it with my presence,” Xavier said without a single trace of malice or sarcasm.
“I can see that,” Gabriel answered for me. “Ok, so you may have a dead woman on your wall. Aislinn bought a statue of a dead woman who had been poisoned by arsenic or elemental mercury. There’s a hospital with a painting that might have a dead woman in it. This has been staring us in the face all along and we were too dense to put that together.”
“In our defense, without seeing that sculpture, I wouldn’t have thought he was a killer. I didn’t after seeing the agony statue. I imagine Lucas and Trevor have been staring at their lady for a decade mesmerized by her beauty and sexuality. They wouldn’t have known she was actually in the midst of dying by poison,” I said.
“I still feel like we should have seen this earlier,” Gabriel pulled out his phone.
As he talked, he took notes. When he hung up, his face was red and his hand was shaking.
“What?” Lucas asked.
“That was the Henderson Police Department. They spoke to Kyle Summers about the missing wife of the politician after finding his card at their house. He told them that he just randomly gives his card to people who he wants to model for him. Some of the police department has even had their wives and family members model for him in the past twenty-two years.”
“Sounds like the same MO as our prostitute killer,” Lucas said.
“And it gets worse. They were just dispatched to Kyle Summers house, he’s dead,” Gabriel said.
“Dead? How? We just left there three or four hours ago!” I said.
“They think he was poisoned,” Gabriel said.
“By what?” Xavier asked.
“They don’t know. But he lapsed into a coma and died quickly. They report he lost the ability to move and the ability to talk,” Gabriel said.
“Did he go blind?” Xavier asked.
“They didn’t say,” Gabriel said.
“If he did, good chance it was a large dose of arsenic. Any vomiting or nausea?” Xavier continued.
“I don’t know, Xavier,” Gabriel said, his voice was strained and he was starting to shake all over.
“One doesn’t poison themselves with arsenic,” I said.
“Maybe it wasn’t arsenic,” Xavier frowned. “If he’s been using elemental mercury for decades to poison people, he might have just had a severe reaction to methyl mercury or some other compound and that’s what killed him.”
“That would mean there would be a body in his house now,” I said.
“We should go,” Gabriel started towards the door.
Twenty-Six
There was no crime scene tape around the Summers’ home. The gaggle of neighborhood lookie-loos stood over to one side, watching the officers stand around. Gabriel’s call to have the place sealed off while we drove there seemed to have gone nowhere.
As we exited the SUV a large man, both round and tall, with aviator style sunglasses and a dark colored 1970’s porn-star style mustache walked up to us. He was dressed in a brown uniform with a large, wide-brimmed hat that reminded me of John Wayne. I guessed he was a sheriff, but he failed to introduce himself as he stared at our group of societal rejects that made up the US Marshals Serial Crimes Tracking Unit.
“You had better hope to god you’re right about this accusation,” the unknown man, stuck his finger in Gabriel’s chest, poking the red-headed team leader as he spoke. Gabriel at first didn’t react, when he did, it was badly. I was very proud of him.
He grabbed the annoying and offending police officer by the hand that had just been poking him and jerked it up around the large man’s body, pinning it in an uncomfortable position and knocking off the asshole’s sunglasses. For a couple of seconds, Gabriel didn’t speak, just held him there in that position. When the larger man finally made a sound that seemed like he was in pain, Gabriel leaned into him and spoke.
“Look you arrogant fuck, we don’t answer to you and nothing you say or do will be brought down upon us in some sort of punishment. We have yet to invade the home of anyone that might even remotely be considered innocent. I doubt your beloved artist is any different. We’ve seen serial killers of all sorts in our line of work and if you ever touch me again, I will not only break your hand, I will break off your fucking fingers and shove them down your throat, do you understand?” Gabriel said this all very calmly and quietly. Not for the first time, I wondered if he was a little closer to me than to the average person in mental form.
The officer croaked something that might have been a yes. Gabriel let go. As the cop scurried away, Gabriel lead us into the house.
There was some overturned furniture, including a couch and an end table. On the floor was a glass that had been emptied and the contents had soaked into the carpet. It smelled like whiskey.
“That is probably your culprit,” Xavier said to me in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Whiskey?” I asked.
“Alcohol,” Xavier corrected. “Alcohol can interact with methyl mercury and a few other compounds to create a deadly poison.”
“Think it was an accident?” I asked.
“Most likely,” Xavier said.
“Do you find any mercury?” Gabriel asked, his tone irritated.
“Not yet,” Xavier answered.
“Well then go find it,” Gabriel said.
“Just because you are pissed at the locals, doesn’t mean you can take it out on us,” Lucas said as he grabbed a FBI Crime Scene tech and tugged him into the studio that we had not been allowed in earlier.
I did the same, grabbing a technician in a white suit and together, we began walking through the hallway. There was a recessed door in the kitchen that I opened. The air from the stairwell smelled of bleach, paint and other cleaning supplies. It was also cooler than the air that circulated upstairs. I dragged the technician into the dark basement.
Once down the stairs, I found a light switch and felt the first stirrings of a migraine. The smells were overwhelming now that we were at the bottom of the stairs. The technician looked at me as I reached for the wall and felt the world swim a little.
“I don’t think this is a good environment,” the tech said.
“Me either. What the fruck did he mix together down here?” I stumbled back up the stairs, the crime scene tech at my heels.
“Ace,” Xavier was at the top, I fell into his arms. “Are you ok?”
“I think I know what killed him,” I gasped in the fresher air. Xavier led me to a chair. The crime scene tech sat down with me.
“He has
about forty different types of cleaning supplies down there. I think he was mixing them,” the tech said. “I think he created a toxic cloud that he was breathing in.”
“Really?” Xavier looked at me.
“Yeah,” I nodded emphatically. My heart was slowing, my breathing getting better, my head was still pounding a little and the world felt off as if it had fallen off its axis, but even that was clearing with the fresh air. Xavier kicked the door closed. It made a sharp, loud, cracking noise as it slammed against the frame, bringing others into the room.
“What happened?” Gabriel asked.
“The basement is full of toxic fumes,” the crime scene tech answered. “Too many cleaning supplies, no air flow.”
“Ace, are you ok?” Gabriel no longer looked pissed, he was now concerned. I guessed I looked pretty bad.
“I’m getting there,” I answered. “And no, I will not go to the hospital. Did we find anything?”
Xavier held up a small glass vial with a stopper in it. Inside was a beautiful liquid that shined in the dimly lit room. Elemental mercury was always beautiful, like melted silver, it caught the available light and reflected it. Inside the glass, there was a small rainbow effect above it caused by vapors sealed in the tube. However, while the vapors caused the amazing colors, they were lethal when inhaled and the death was painful as well as ugly. The toxic fumes were the epitome of death hidden by beauty.
“There are also about two dozen unfinished paintings and sculptures that Xavier thinks might be death related,” Gabriel said.
“Great, I’m going outside,” I told them. Xavier followed me into the backyard, away from the prying eyes of the neighbors.
The heat was overwhelming the moment I stepped into it. It sucked the air out of my lungs. I stood in the shade of the house to let myself adjust to the bright, summer day. Xavier handed me my sunglasses.
“You left them in the kitchen,” he said.
We stood staring out across the backyard. A twelve foot tall privacy fence was on either side bordered by neighbors. A shorter wooden fence ran along the back of the property. The house was built on a plateau. Beyond the fence was a terrace that led into a ravine and beyond that, was seemingly endless desert. I could see the beauty of the view and understood why it had been left open. Standing on the poured patio, I knew the view could be admired from the comfort of the sliding glass door in the living room.