by Ted Clifton
“Did anyone at the Inn hear from her after that?”
“Not that I know of. I’m sure that if she’d called Jerry or Cindy, the owners out there, they’d have told me about it this morning. I know Ilse and her group hadn’t heard anything, because they were nervous about how Anna might act today at the big opening.”
“I’ve been told this show could bring in as much as twenty million. Is that true?” The chief sounded dubious.
Vincent nodded. “I don’t know for sure how much these other paintings would have sold for, but at the reception at the Inn yesterday three paintings sold for a total of over two million.”
The chief still seemed skeptical. “I know I should have a better understanding of a major business segment of this town, but I just find that hard to believe. Most of what I saw in here I wouldn’t pay much of anything for, much less millions.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly an expert on art, either. But I saw it with my own eyes yesterday—this stuff was bringing in amazing sums. There were buyers there from all over the world. This is a big business, and there’s no doubt in my mind that Anna’s death is tied directly to all that money.”
“Money and sex—it’s always one or the other. Or both. You can hang around if you want. I have investigators questioning everyone, but we should be releasing people pretty quick. We’re going to close the gallery, though, despite some guy—a Mister Walton—raising hell about it. It’s my understanding that the financial side of everything was finished, anyway, and it was just the reception that was left. Anyway, even if I’ve got that wrong, Walton can object all he wants, but we’re still closing it down so we can do our forensics. We also have security video to review. If we get really lucky, we might learn something important—maybe even who did it.”
The chief headed off to attend to the full plate the murder had handed him. Vincent looked around, but didn’t see any of his passengers. He had a lot of confidence in the chief. They hadn’t known each other all that long, but they’d quickly developed a mutual respect for each other’s abilities. Once again it seemed that one of the prime suspects in a murder was a Blue Door Inn guest. Poor Cindy was going to be in tears—again.
The police cleared the front area with practiced precision. There was some grumbling from the crowd, but mostly it seemed about not knowing what was going on. The police issued and reissued their standard response, “We’ll let you know something when we know something.”
Soon the only people left were in a large room that had been meant for the reception. Clive still looked angry, going back and forth between saying, far too loudly, how awful the police had been in handling the matter and whispering secretively to his friend Francis about something that was clearly not only private, but also very important.
Bobby and Ilse sat quietly at a small table in a corner. He held her hand to give her some reassurance, but she looked dazed. Her mother and Dirk, who seemed more interested in Bente than in managing Ilse’s business, stood against a wall opposite them. Something must have happened between the mother and daughter, Vincent figured.
Another man, whom Vincent didn’t know, moved about like he was important, but didn’t talk to anyone. Vincent had heard the name Trent Taylor, and thought it might be him. For his part, Vincent kept to himself. Soon Bobby approached him.
“Saw you talking to the police chief. Do you know what they’re going to do?”
Vincent wasn’t sure he should offer his opinion to anyone. “No. I know the chief, but he didn’t tell me anything we don’t already know.”
Bobby looked troubled. “Ilse should have a New Mexico attorney. Jerry told me you used to be a lawyer, and that you’ve done investigative work for lawyers, too. Any chance you know someone we could call?”
There was a brief pause while Vincent debated with himself about what to say. “Why do you think Ilse needs an attorney?”
Bobby looked briefly annoyed. “They haven’t accused her of murder, if that’s what you mean. It’s to do with the paintings and the money. I know someone’s dead, and I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I didn’t even know Anna—my concern has to be for Ilse. She has a huge amount of money floating around, as well as some very valuable paintings, and we’re not even sure who has the authority to do what. Anna being dead has created legal issues that need to be dealt with sooner rather than later. Ilse can bring in her attorneys from New York, but I told her it might make more sense if she had someone local. Do you think that’s wrong?”
“Nope, you’re right,” Vincent agreed. “Ilse needs to get some legal help to make sure she protects her assets. The best lawyer in the state is probably Jack Hill, at Johnson, Johnson and Hill.” He took out his phone, looked up Hill’s number, and gave it to Bobby. “I’ve worked for someone associated with that firm, and Hill’s asked me to do some investigative work, so I’ve looked into them a bit. I’ve been told that Hill is the best—not just by New Mexico standards, but on a national level.”
“I know that name. Is that the same firm as the one in Denver?”
“Yeah, they have an office in Denver.” Vincent dearly wanted to ask Bobby about Ilse’s alibi for the night before, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate. He sure as hell was curious as to whether she had one, though. At that moment, the chief came out and had a brief conversation with each group, then made a general announcement.
“There’ll be follow-up questions for each of you. We have your contact information, and we ask that you do not leave the area without notifying us first. We’ll move as quickly as we can to solve this, but during that period the gallery will be sealed as a possible crime scene. Everyone should have my card. If anything occurs to you that you think we should know, please give me a call. For now, everyone is free to go. Thank you.”
Vincent went over to Bobby and Ilse to tell them he would get the van and that he’d be out front in just a few minutes. The trip to the Inn was uncomfortably quiet, and at the moment they arrived, everyone headed to their rooms.
Jerry found Vincent in the back yard, smoking one of his few daily cigarettes. “My god, we just heard. Anna was murdered?”
Vincent filled Jerry in on what he knew, which wasn’t much. “I suppose this could have been some kind of random killing, and had nothing to do with the art show. But my gut says that’s not the case.”
“So, you think it is something to do with the gallery, which means the murderer is someone we’ve met. Maybe even one of our guests?” Jerry was looking a little pale.
Vincent’s phone vibrated before he could respond. “Malone.” He listened. “Sure, I can do that.” He put his phone back in his coat.
“Something important?” Jerry couldn’t help being a little nosy.
“That was Tucker. Looks like Ilse hired Jack Hill to help her with some financial matters regarding the art gallery. Tucker wants me to do a little research for them.” Vincent remained silent after that, for a little too long.
“Something wrong?”
“Jerry, you and Cindy have been incredibly generous to me, and I sure don’t want to cause any problems. But I think it’s going to be hard for me to continue being the van driver. Also, I’m thinkin’ about movin’ in with Nancy. We haven’t settled everything yet, so please give me a few days to be sure what’s going to happen. I just don’t want to put you and Cindy in a bind. I’ll still help any time I can, at no cost. But I think I’m going to be a little busy doing investigations again.”
“Hell, Vincent, that’s great. Don’t worry about us, we’ll manage.” He gave Vincent a grin. “Movin’ in with Nancy—how about you!”
Vincent ignored the grin, and the comment. “What about offering my job to Rick? He told me he quit his job in Denver. I think he’d be great.”
“Did you kill her?” Bobby didn’t know how else to ask.
Ilse looked shocked. “What kind of an insane question is that? Of course, I didn’t kill her!”
“You left the room and took my car. Where did you go?”
“I’m not going to be interrogated by you! Fuck you! Get out!” Now she was yelling and crying, completely out of control. She picked up a glass and threw it at him.
The glass hit him in the shoulder and broke, scattering glass across the floor. “Damn it, Ilse, calm down. I’m trying to help you.” He stood, staring at her, then began cleaning up the pieces.
Ilse ran into the bathroom, slammed the door, and locked it.
Bobby didn’t know if he would lie for Ilse. He cared about her, maybe even loved her, but lying to the police, and possibly covering up a crime, weren’t ideas he was comfortable with. He knew from overhearing a couple of gossiping cops talking about Ilse’s alibi; that she had told them she’d been in the casita with him all night. They hadn’t asked him to confirm that story yet, but they would. He knew she was scared, and that her actions pointed toward her having killed Anna. And he was having trouble dealing with what it said about her—the kind of person she was. Could she really kill someone? He knew she was volatile, but something that extreme was hard to believe. He decided to go to the kitchen and get a cup of coffee, since it looked like Ilse wasn’t coming out of the bathroom anytime soon. On the way back to their rooms with his coffee, he spotted Vincent. “Got a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Could we go out back?”
Vincent shrugged, then headed to the gazebo. It had been a cool morning, but as the middle of the afternoon approached the temperature was rising quickly. “How’s Ilse after this morning’s events?”
“Not good. I’ve got a problem, Vincent, and not sure if I should be talking to you at all. But I need some advice.”
“We don’t know each other very well, but if this has anything to do with the murder, or the financial matters at the art gallery, you should only talk to a lawyer. If you say something to me, that isn’t a privileged communication. And if I’m asked about it, I have to tell the truth.”
Now Bobby seemed even more unsure what to do, but with some difficulty he made up his mind to forge ahead. “Okay, I understand. Ilse called the Albuquerque attorney, and she’s supposed to meet with him tomorrow. My problem is that I don’t know that Ilse will tell him the truth.”
Vincent thought that was an odd thing for Bobby to say; and wondered why he would say it, but decided to just convey legal-like advice. “You need to tell her to tell her attorney the truth—never lie to your own lawyer. If she killed Anna, tell the attorney. It’ll be her best chance of coming up with a defense. If she didn’t kill her, but she knows something she didn’t tell the police, she needs to tell that to her attorney, too.”
Bobby looked unhappy. “Could you talk to her?”
Vincent sighed. “I don’t think I should. You should know I’ve been hired by the Hill firm to do investigative work on this case. But even so, I’m still not the person she should talk to. She needs to call her attorney and go see him, probably right now.”
“Well, she had a bit of a fit and locked herself in the bathroom. She needs someone to talk to, and I’m not sure I know what to say. This is really not my thing. Can you come to the room and just tell her the same stuff you’re telling me? I’m worried sick about this, and if I go to her mother, Ilse will be livid.”
In the casita, Vincent knocked gently on the bathroom door.
“Ilse? This is Vincent Malone. I work here at the Inn. Bobby’s very concerned about you, and asked if I’d come and talk to you. I know a lot about the police and how these matters work, so maybe we could talk some, and decide what you should do next. Is that okay?”
There was no response. He knocked again, but no sound came from inside the bathroom. Vincent went back into the yard, where Bobby had decided to stay, thinking it might make it easier for Ilse to consider coming out. “Are you sure she’s in there?” Vincent asked him.
Bobby looked stressed. “I don’t know—I don’t have any way to know. She was in there when I left. Jeez, what should we do?”
Vincent decided he’d had enough of this game. He went back to the bathroom door and used a small tool from his wallet to pick the lock. Inside, Ilse lay on the floor, unconscious, and she didn’t look well. After a brief search, he found an empty medication bottle. He took out his phone and called 911. “Need an ambulance at the Blue Door Inn.” He gave them the address and said the person in distress appeared to have taken some pills and was unconscious. He gave them the name of the drug and described, as best he could, her breathing and overall appearance. The dispatcher assured him an ambulance was on the way.
Vincent told Bobby what happened and asked him to get Ilse’s mother. He called Jerry to tell him what was going on, asking him to be on the lookout for the ambulance. He went back into the bathroom and covered Ilse with a blanket from the bed. He could see she was breathing, but it seemed shallower than before. His instinct was to do something, but he knew doing something wrong could be worse than doing nothing at all. Hearing voices, he went back into the back yard.
“Please, everyone shut up!” he hissed to Ilse’s mother and manager, both of whom had begun yelling the moment he appeared. “She’s unconscious, and we shouldn’t do anything until the ambulance gets here.” He sure as hell hoped he was doing the right thing, but he was pretty damned certain that having her mother stand over her and scream while she lay unconscious wasn’t going to help. They heard the siren.
With professional detachment, the emergency responders quickly took over. The medics communicated with the hospital and followed orders to start an IV. After checking various critical signs and relaying the information to the hospital, they put Ilse on a gurney. They had a brief conversation with the waiting group, then took Ilse and the pill bottle and headed to the hospital.
“You bastard, what did you do to her?” Bente Smit was crying, pointing a shaky finger at Bobby. Dirk strained to hold her back.
Bobby fumed right back at her. “If anyone did anything to her, it was you. Why can’t you just leave her alone?”
“Everybody shut the hell up, right now!” Vincent hated drama for drama’s sake. He glared at everyone until they were quiet. “Bobby, you take your car to the hospital. You two,” he nodded toward Bente and Dirk, “can come with me.”
He gave Bobby directions. Bente and Dirk headed out to the van without comment, though it was clear they thought they’d been treated badly. Vincent decided that before he could leave, he needed to give Jerry and Cindy an update. He found them in the kitchen, obviously worried.
“What’s going on, can we help; we’ve stayed out of the way, but we will do whatever is needed.” Jerry was holding Cindy’s hand and they both seemed very upset.
“We’re headed to the hospital. I’m taking the mother and that manager guy with me in the van. Bobby went in his car. Everyone’s pretty upset, and they’ve been saying some stupid things to one another. Last I saw, Ilse was still unconscious. Didn’t look encouraging. But there is nothing anyone can do now but wait and see what happens.”
“Do you think she’s really in danger?” Cindy was tearing up some.
“Yes. I’m not sure what the stuff was that she took, but it was definitely powerful and fast. She hadn’t been in the bathroom all that long, so it’s a bad sign that she was already unconscious when I got there.”
“Do you want us to go with you to the hospital?” Jerry asked, looking pale.
“No. I don’t think that is necessary. I’ll call you as soon as I know something. The only reason I’m going to stay is to make sure her loved ones don’t kill one another.”
Vincent had barely settled into the van when Dirk spoke up.
“Is there more than one hospital in this town?”
“Yes. They took her to Saint Vincent’s.” If it hadn’t been such a serious situation, he would have thrown in several wiseass remarks, but he kept those to himself.
“How long to get there?” Dirk didn’t look pleased.
“Fifteen minutes or so.”
Bente hadn’t said any
thing, but her glare at the back of Vincent’s head seemed to suggest she thought he was somehow at fault. Maybe he could make it in ten if he ran a few red lights.
The hospital was an imposing facility, filled to the brim with bustling medical professionals. That seemed to reassure Bente and Dirk. It certainly looked like a real hospital. They entered through the emergency room door, and Bobby saw them immediately, looking relieved to have them there.
“They haven’t told me anything yet. A nurse came out and got some information about Ilse, but wouldn’t say anything about her condition.” Bobby was suffering from the anxiety, born of helplessness, that thrives in hospital waiting rooms.
“I’ll see what I can find out.” It sounded good, but Vincent really only wanted an excuse to leave. He needed some space, and knew there would be a designated smoking area. Soon a cop came out. Vincent hoped he wasn’t the smoke police.
“You Vincent Malone?”
“Yeah.”
“Chief wants to talk to you.” He handed Vincent his phone.
“Malone.”
“Got word Ilse tried to kill herself. What can you tell me?” The chief was direct, and more than a little demanding, which annoyed Vincent.
“Nothing you don’t already know, I’m sure. She locked herself in the bathroom in her room at the Inn and took some pills—I’m not sure what they were—and passed out, fast. I picked the lock and found her on the floor, called 911. The hospital hasn’t told us squat, so I don’t know how she’s doing. But she didn’t look good when they put her in the ambulance.”
“I know this is going to sound heartless, but we have enough evidence at this point to charge Ilse for the murder of Anna Marks. We won’t actually do anything about that just yet, not under these circumstances. But I’m placing a guard on her room at the hospital.”
“What’s the evidence?”
“Not going to discuss every detail right now, but she told us she was in her room at the Blue Door Inn the whole night—didn’t leave. We have video evidence that’s not true—she was at the gallery during the night. That and a few other items give us probable cause to charge her. I’m sorry she tried to kill herself, but it’s my job to enforce the law. And that’s what I’m going to do, even at the hospital.”