by Ted Clifton
“What’s that about?” Ilse looked concerned.
“I know you left our room that night. You took my car and went somewhere, but obviously I don’t know where. When I asked you about it, you exploded at me and then tried to kill yourself.” There was a moment of silence between them before he went on, “Wherever you went, I think the police have a witness or a video, because that would explain some of their actions, like putting a guard on your hospital room. This has to be dealt with in some way.” Ilse had her head down. Bobby talked softly. “I like this guy. I have no idea if he’s a good lawyer, but he seems like someone who won’t lie to you. You need to tell him everything, including what happened that night, and that might mean I shouldn’t be here.”
Ilse began to cry, softly. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m so scared.”
He hugged her. “I’m scared, too. Did you kill her?”
“Oh, no. No. I should have just told you what happened as soon as I got back, but I just wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t kill her, though. I know I’ve done some crazy things, so maybe you have a right to wonder what I might do, but I’m not that far gone. I hated Anna, for sure, but I didn’t do anything to her.”
“Do you want to tell this guy what happened, and see what he says?”
“Yes, I think I do. I’m sorry, Bobby. Maybe you should leave and go back to Denver. I should have never gotten you so involved.”
“I’m not going anywhere. If you want to talk to the lawyer in private, I understand, but I’m staying with you until this is resolved.”
They hugged again and hung on. After a moment, George returned.
“Need more time?”
“No. We’re ready,” Ilse said. “I want to hire you, and I need to give you some information about what happened on the night the art gallery owner was killed. I haven’t told anyone this, including Bobby, or the police or the Albuquerque attorneys.”
“Maybe we should go to my office. It’s just around the corner.”
Vincent entered Nancy’s house with the key she’d given him. Even so, he felt like he was trespassing. The place was very orderly, amazingly clean—he felt like he made a mess just standing in it. It crossed his mind—again—that this might not be the right decision. But the moment passed, and he unloaded some of his stuff. The house was too quiet, so he headed to the Crown as soon as he was done.
“Hello,” Nancy greeted him with a smile.
“Hello.”
“You seem a little down.”
“Took some stuff by your place. Are you real sure this is what we want to do? Everything’s so clean and orderly. I’m just going to mess stuff up.”
She laughed. “I spent hours last night cleaning the place just because you were coming. I should have left it the way it was. That way, you’d have felt right at home. This is going to take some getting used to. But I’m willing to try, if you are.”
“So, it’s not always that neat.”
“It may never be again.”
“Then I think we can make this work.”
“Me, too.”
Ilse and Bobby were surprised at the size of Younger’s office. He explained that he’d had a couple of partners, but the arrangement hadn’t worked out, and he simply held onto the space. He showed them into a conference room lined with an impressive assortment of electronic communications gear, and they settled into luxurious leather chairs.
“Do you mind if I take notes?” George had taken a leather-bound pad from his briefcase.
“No, that’s fine.”
“Should I be in on this or step out?” Bobby wasn’t sure what it might mean if he heard confidential information.
“If you don’t mind, I think it’s best if I have this conversation one-on-one with Ilse.”
“Sure, not a problem.” He touched Ilse on the shoulder and left.
“Okay, tell me what happened.”
“After the fight with Anna at the Inn reception, I was pretty upset. I grabbed a bottle of wine and went to my room. I just wanted to hide. I knew that a lot of the problem with Anna was because we’d had sex. I know you’ll think I’m an awful person, but it just didn’t mean that much to me. But, obviously, it was different for her. She said she was in love with me. So now her behavior was all mixed up, with the sex and the money. We both needed the show to be a financial success to fix our money problems. I didn’t know what to do, so I drank.”
“You must’ve been angry with her.”
“Yeah, I was. But there was something else. I was angry with myself. Everything had been going wrong for me for some time, and I knew I was causing problems with Anna, and my mother, and just about anyone else I had anything to do with. I felt like I was going crazy, and it scared me. I knew Anna was vulnerable. She was way over her head in the business. She really didn’t know what she was doing. The last thing I should have done was have some kind of stupid fling with her—I should have fired her, and moved on. It was like I was playing with people, and it made me feel horrible—I really started to hate myself.”
George wasn’t sure what to say. He knew all about the law. But this was personal, enough so that it made him uncomfortable. “Sounds like you both had a confusing situation. Did you just stay in your room that night?”
Ilse gave George a look that suggested it was a stupid question, giving him a brief glimpse of the harsher Ilse, the one she’d just been talking about. But she continued, “I drank enough to make me sleepy—that’s what wine does to me. I’d shunned Bobby, so he’d left me alone. I went to sleep—the ultimate escape. I had my phone on mute, but sometime in the night it vibrated, and I woke up. Someone had called and left a message. I was going to just go back to sleep, but I thought it might be something important. I don’t know who left it. It was from an unknown number, and I didn’t recognize the voice. It was a man, though. He said one of my paintings had been damaged, and that it was Clive’s fault, that he’d been careless. He hung up, and that was it. Bobby was in bed, sound asleep. It wasn’t the brightest decision in the world, but I decided I’d go to the gallery. I thought maybe someone would be there doing something about the damage—I was still drunk, so I wasn’t really thinking straight. I took Bobby’s car.”
“What time was this?”
“Sometime after eleven, maybe eleven-fifteen or so. I got to the gallery, and it was obvious there was no one there. I parked in front, and tried the door, even knocked on the glass, but nothing. Went around the side where there’s a small parking lot and a side entrance, and I saw Anna’s car there. I knocked on the side door, but still nothing. By that point, I felt kind of foolish standing out there in the middle of the night—maybe I was sobering up a little, too—so I left, and returned to the Inn.”
“Were there any video cameras that you saw?”
“No, I don’t remember any. But of course, I wasn’t looking for them, either.”
“Did Bobby know you’d been gone?”
Ilse hesitated. She couldn’t be sure if it was the right decision, but for now she decided to lie to protect Bobby. “I went back to the room and changed into my pajamas again, as I was getting into bed, he woke up. I told him I had been to the kitchen for a glass of milk, and he went back to sleep.”
“Did you see anyone else at the Inn when you were leaving or returning?”
“No.”
“Does the Inn have video cameras?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Since that night, have you been able to determine whether any of the paintings were actually damaged or not?”
“No. The police haven’t let me near them, so I don’t know if that was true or not.”
“Is there anything else I need to know about Anna’s murder?”
“Nothing that I know about. I didn’t kill her, and I don’t know who did.”
“Based on what Malone has told me, I’m guessing the police have some kind of evidence, probably a security video, putting you at the gallery that night. But more than likely, they cannot put you i
nside the gallery, and it’s clear that’s where they think she was killed. So, you’re their number one suspect, but they still don’t have enough evidence to charge you. If they come up with something inside the gallery, or in the car, or on the body, then they’ll probably go ahead with the charges. Based on what you’ve told me, I think the best approach for us is to provide your side of what happened that night. Without something further, other than the possible security video of you at the gallery, I don’t believe they have enough evidence to charge you with a crime. We need to talk some more, but right now I think you need to consider turning yourself in to the Durango police. I can arrange for you to have an interview here, in which case you might not have to go back to Santa Fe.”
Ilse wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to be charged for murder, but she also had a huge amount of money hanging in the balance, and the solution to the money problem was in Santa Fe.
“I need to talk to Bobby.”
Vincent opened his eyes, still half asleep, and didn’t realize for a moment where he was. Then he heard Nancy in the kitchen, and it came back to him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get up, just yet, but lying in bed seemed wrong. He went to the bathroom, freshened his tired face, and ran his fingers through his hair. He still had an impressive mane, though it was now mostly silver. It made him think of his brother, who had taken after their mother, while Vincent looked exactly like their bear of a dad. His poor brother had always felt undersized, and it had affected everything he did in life. Then, to top it off, he lost all his hair while he was still in his thirties. Life can be cruel.
“Good morning.” Vincent stood at the door, watching Nancy prepare coffee. “Can I help?”
“Help is always welcome. How did it feel to wake up in a strange house?” Nancy seemed to be a morning person—a definite potential conflict.
Vincent hesitated a moment. “Well, strange, I guess.”
Nancy laughed. “Not a morning person, are you?”
“More like mid-morning, post-coffee.” Vincent found a cup and poured himself some, placed his cup on the table, and walked to Nancy. They embraced. “Last night was wonderful. Thank you for letting me be in your life.”
They held on a while. Nancy sniffled a little. “So, where are you on your investigation of the art gallery murder?”
She turned away. She did not want Vincent to see her tears.
He played along with the change of subject. “Well, I’ve got a substantial list of suspects. Seems Anna Marks wasn’t an easy woman to be around, and a horrible boss. Combine that with all sorts of money entanglements and, of course, that old standby—sex—and suspects start to come into focus. Ilse’s disappearance has put the spotlight on her, but I think there are plenty of other people who had some reason to wish Anna the worst.”
Nancy frowned. “I almost feel sorry for her. Why was she so difficult?”
“Not real sure. Her father was a hard man, at least toward her, so there were bound to be some psychological problems associated with that. And she didn’t seem to have anyone in her life. Being alone isn’t good for the human soul, so she probably resented anyone who had a more normal life than she did. Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I feel a little sorry for her, too.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Vincent.”
“I’ve made up my mind.” Ilse stood at the foot of the bed, a cup of coffee from the hotel breakfast bar in each hand.
Bobby sat up and took one. “About?”
“I like this George guy, and it definitely feels safer to stay here and try to defend myself without going back to Santa Fe. But I’ve decided I’m not going to hide. I didn’t do anything wrong, other than kick her in the knee. I want to go back to Santa Fe, and turn myself in to the police. There’s too much money involved for me to stay hidden. I want that money, and I want to be free to go and do what I want.” She looked defiant.
Bobby smiled. “You are one strong, beautiful woman. Let’s go fight!”
Ilse called George Younger and told him what she’d decided. He said if she needed anything from him, to call anytime. She could tell he wasn’t pleased, but she couldn’t tell if it was because he was losing a client or because he thought her decision was wrong. But in the end, it didn’t matter—her mind was made up.
They packed, checked out of the hotel, loaded the car, and headed for Santa Fe, a little more nervous about what might happen than they’d been just a few hours before.
Vincent’s phone vibrated.
“Malone.”
“Mister Malone? This is Ilse De Vries. I’m in the car with Bobby. We’re headed back to Santa Fe. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.”
“I told George Younger everything that happened that night. Now I want to tell you. Can we do that over the phone?”
“You know your communication with Younger is protected client-attorney information, but it’s not the same with me.”
“I understand. I want you to know this.” Ilse gave Vincent the same details she’d related to George about what happened on the night Anna was killed.
“What are you going to do now?”
“We’re headed to the Santa Fe Police Department. I’m going to give them a statement about what happened. If they arrest me, then I’ll need someone to get me out of jail. And no matter what happens, I still need help with my money. I don’t know what Clive is trying to do, but he’s up to something, and the business manager at the gallery hasn’t been cooperative at all. I think his name’s Taylor. I know I signed a representation letter with the Albuquerque law firm, and they were going to hire you to do some investigation into the money and the paintings. Is that still true?”
“It is. I’ve done some work on it, but when you disappeared, things slowed down.”
“Okay. I want an all-out effort to protect my financial interests, and that includes any money anyone’s holding, and possession of my paintings. I’ll pay whatever it takes to get this sorted out. Should I call Mister Hill or Mister Tucker to tell them this?”
“I can pass your message along.”
Ilse seemed to have transformed into a different person—someone who was going to take charge one way or another, and set things right. “Good. Also, could you call the police chief and let him know that we should be there in about three hours? If he wants us to do something else for some reason, then just call me back.”
“I’ll let him know.” Vincent was in his car, but had pulled into a parking lot when the call began. “Ilse, I’m not a lawyer, but I’ll be at the police station when you get there in case I can help in some way. Tucker and Hill are going to want you not to say anything to the police without them present, apart from just identifying yourself. My guess is they’ll call you to set that up, and my advice is to take their advice. Wait for them to get there before you answer any questions or volunteer any information.”
Extended silence followed. “Look, Mister Malone, I know I should take that legal advice, but I just want to tell my story. If they advise me to just shut up and not say anything, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to. I didn’t kill Anna, and I don’t know who did. Now that I’m thinking more clearly, I’m not worried. I don’t want to run. I want to deal with it head-on.”
“I really do understand. Let me make sure they understand your position. They can’t stop you from doing what you think is right, and I don’t believe they’ll try, but you should have an attorney there with you, okay?”
“Okay, they can be there, but I want you there, too. Bobby and I trust you more than the attorneys. Thank you, Mister Malone.”
Vincent called Tucker, but got his voice mail. He left a message to call, saying it was urgent. Next, he called the chief. “I just got a call from Ilse De Vries. She and Bobby Hawkins are on their way to Santa Fe—be here in about three hours. She wants to make a statement about what happened that night. She told me she did go to the gallery, but didn’t see anyone, and then she went back to the Inn and went to sleep. She can
give you all the details, but she says she didn’t kill Anna, and doesn’t know who did.”
“Okay. Well, it’s good that she’s turning herself in. Depending on what she says, we may just let her go. I can tell you, Vincent, we can place her at the gallery, but we don’t have any other evidence against her. Will you be here when she arrives?”
“I will, and I imagine either Tucker or Jack Hill will be there, too, but she made it clear to me that she wants to tell her story, no matter what the attorneys say.”
“After her statement, maybe you and I should compare notes.”
“I’m open to that, unless what you actually mean is that I should tell you everything I know while you tell me squat.”
“That was my original plan. But actually, I’m sure I can tell you a few things you don’t already know.”
On that intriguing note, they disconnected. Vincent was near the gallery, and decided to swing by. He pulled into a parking spot across the street, in front of a medical supply company, got out, and used his phone to take pictures of the two security cameras he could see that pointed toward the front of the medical business. It was possible they could also capture the front of the gallery, or at least a portion of the street in front. He walked across to the gallery. The front door was locked, and bore a sign saying it was temporarily closed.
Looking around, he couldn’t see any cameras near the storefront. He walked toward the side of the building, where there was a small, empty parking lot and a side door. One of the spots in the lot had a sign saying it was reserved for Howard Marks. Interesting that Anna never had the sign changed after her father died. Moving to the back of the building, he could see a loading dock farther down, and it had a camera pointing onto it. There was a narrow alley leading to the loading dock, while another building butted up against the gallery on the far side. He went back to the side door. He pushed a button next to a sign reading, “Employees Only,” and could faintly hear a buzzer going off inside when he did, but no one came to the door. He walked around to the front. The gallery’s display window was empty and, peering through the glass, he couldn’t see any activity inside. He went back to his car.