‘They will definitely be well loved,’ said Penner. ‘Have you guys met? Gabe, this is Natasha Kulcheski and Cornelius Grant.’
‘You can call me Neil,’ Grant said. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m looking forward to having a look around.’
‘Same. I really like this painting here,’ Kulcheski said, pointing to a mid-sized canvas. In the centre of the canvas was the outline of a bison in a rusty orange paint. The background looked like it was copper with a patina of different shades of green. In the middle of the bison was an arrow.
‘Thanks. That one’s called “Disappeared”. The arrow represents how the bison was almost hunted to extinction. Such a magical animal. Have you ever seen one?’ Gabe asked.
‘No—at least, not in real life. Only in pictures and videos online,’ Kulcheski said.
‘A few years ago, I went camping at Elk Island National Park, just outside of Edmonton,’ Gabe said. ‘It was so cool. I got to the park when it was just starting to get dark. It was a nice, warm evening, so I was driving slowly down the park road, my windows open. In the distance, you could hear the trumpeting of a couple of elk, which is an almost haunting sound when you’re not expecting it. Anyway, I continued driving, and I saw what I thought were really large boulders lining the road. As I got closer, I realized they were actually bison. It was incredible. If I’d been in the passenger seat, I could have leaned out my window and touched them.’ Gabe reached out with his arm, re-enacting the memory.
‘Wow, that sounds amazing,’ Kulcheski said, spellbound by Gabe’s story.
‘It really was. The next day, I decided to try and find them again—get to see them in the light, you know? I drove back to where I had seen them the night before and parked beside a large field next to a huge stand of trees. There was a small group of bison in the field, a bit off in the distance. I grabbed my camera and took a bunch of shots. Next thing I knew, I heard what sounded like a low rumble of thunder. I looked around and bam! Twelve bison ran out of the trees, right beside where I was parked, into the field. There were some massive bulls, cows and even three little calves. It was amazing. Ever since then, I’ve loved the bison motif, and I usually have a few paintings on the go.’
‘One of the paintings I got is a bison. You should come check it out,’ Penner said to Kulcheski. ‘The other one’s a moose. I think the two will go really well on either side of my sofa.’ She wrapped her arm through Kulcheski’s and walked her over to the wall that had her new paintings on.
‘She seems rather excited about buying your pieces,’ Grant said.
Gabe laughed. ‘Yeah. I think I could have sold her a few more if I’d tried harder.’
‘You really should be pushing harder then,’ Beverly said, walking up with Arden Wall in tow. ‘Gabe, Arden would like to do another short interview with you, if you don’t mind. Where would be good? It may be a little loud in here.’
‘I was thinking we could do it outside. That way we can get a shot of you with the sign of the gallery,’ Arden said. ‘Unless you think it’s too cold?’
‘Not for me,’ said Gabe. ‘I could use some fresh air. Just let me grab my sweater from the back.’
‘Perfect. We’ll go out and set up the shot,’ Arden said, signalling his cameraman toward the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY
‘Well, what a wonderful collection of work,’ Gail said, having circled around the room twice with the Captain.
‘I heard Penner bought a couple of pieces,’ the Captain said. ‘Never really took her for an art collector.’ He saw Gabe walk past, slipping on a sweater as he headed outside.
‘Anyone can become a collector,’ said Beverly. ‘They just have to find the right piece.’
‘Well, there’s a piece over there I would love to take home,’ Gail said, pointing. ‘It’s the one with the two puffins on the rock wall. Love it.’
‘That’s a great one. I was tempted to buy it myself. And I might, yet, if it’s still here at the end of the show,’ Beverly said. ‘But it would look great in your office.’ She raised her eyebrows playfully at Gail.
‘Don’t you go encouraging her,’ said the Captain. ‘She doesn’t need any help spending her money.’
‘No, I don’t need anyone’s help—just the help of another glass of wine,’ Gail said, passing the Captain her empty glass.
‘Anyone else?’ asked the Captain.
‘I’ll get one, if you don’t mind. Gail and I will just be over there, checking out the painting again,’ Beverly said.
‘Great. Try not to spend too much, okay?’
‘No promises,’ Gail said, walking off with Beverly.
Millar felt a wave of cold air as the front door opened and another group of people walked into the gallery. As the door was swinging shut, Millar heard someone yelling out on the street.
‘Wonder what’s going on out there?’ Millar said to Grant. He stepped towards the door and tried to look out the window, but it was covered in frost. ‘I’m going to have a look.’
‘I’ll come out, too,’ Grant said, putting Kulcheski’s coat between his knees as he put on his own. He grabbed her coat again and followed Millar outside.
Half a dozen people were braving the cold, standing in a circle and smoking cigarettes. Millar could detect one very smelly cigar. Off to his left, he could hear someone yelling out a name. It sounded like “Jeremy” but with a drunken slur. Millar and Grant made their way over to the yelling.
‘Hey, Jeremy! It’s us. Hey! Hey! It’s Stan and Rod. We seen. We saw you on TV. Hey Jerm…Jermy.’
Millar saw two guys in their early twenties standing behind Arden Wall and his cameraman. It looked like they were trying to get Gabe’s attention, who was doing his best to ignore them.
‘Do you guys mind? I’m trying to do an interview,’ Arden said, turning towards the hecklers.
‘You’re the news guy,’ the man who was yelling said. ‘My mom really hates you. But I like you. Man, you’re so short,’ he said, swaying back and forth, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus.
‘Why don’t you just get out of here,’ Arden said. ‘Or at least stand there and be quiet while we work.’
‘Okay. We’ll be quiet,’ the man said. ‘But I just…We just want to say hi to Jeremy. Jeremy, it’s us. Ran and Stod. I mean, Stan and Rod. From school. It’s us.’
‘Who’s Jeremy?’ Arden said. ‘Can you keep your friend quiet for a while?’ he said to the other man.
‘That’s Jeremy,’ the man said, pointing to Gabe. ‘From school.’
‘Yes, so you’ve said. But that’s not Jeremy. You’ve got the wrong person,’ Arden said. ‘Should we try to do this later?’ he asked his cameraman.
‘Nope. That’s Jeremy. I’m sure,’ the man’s friend said, squinting. ‘I think. Maybe.’
Millar walked over. Gabe looked like he wanted to run—like he wanted to be anywhere except for right there. ‘Understandable,’ Millar thought. It must be tough being away from home, surrounded by a bunch of strangers and then being yelled at by a couple of drunks on the street.
‘Guys, why don’t you move along and head home. Let them do their job, okay?’ Millar said. He gently put his arm around the shoulder of the more vocal of the two and led them down the street, well past Gabe and Arden. On the corner, he pointed the men down the cross street. They turned and disappeared into the night.
Millar walked back towards the gallery. Now that the spectacle was over, the group of smokers had returned to their conversation. He saw Arden standing with his cameraman. Gabe was gone.
‘Where’d Gabe go?’ Millar asked Grant.
‘Said he needed to grab some juice, so he went back inside,’ Grant said. ‘That was weird.’
‘Just a couple of drunks on their way home from having a few too many. Nothing too strange. You used to work the streets down in the market during the night shift. You must have seen your share of yelling drunks.’
‘And then some,’ Grant said. ‘Should we go back in? It’s way
too cold out here.’
Millar and Grant went back inside the gallery where a crowd of people had formed around the window.
‘What happened?’ the Captain asked. ‘Gabe just came in and went right to the back.’
‘Just a couple of drunk guys and a case of mistaken identity,’ Millar said.
‘Seemed pretty upset when he went past me. Beverly went back to see if he was okay,’ said the Captain. He handed Gail her glass of wine.
‘I can kind of relate to those guys, though. I can’t get past the feeling that I’ve seen Gabe somewhere before, but I can’t think where it could have been,’ Grant said.
‘Maybe it was the interview he did on the news the other night with Arden,’ Penner said as she and Kulcheski joined the group.
‘I don’t think I saw it, but who knows. Maybe I walked by the TV when it was on, or saw a promo for it. Can’t think where else it could have been.’
Beverly came out of the back room. ‘How’s Gabe?’ the Captain asked.
‘Oh, he’s fine. He’ll be out in a minute to finish his interview. He’s quite a shy person and doesn’t like confrontation. But I told him how important it was to make sure to be seen. People buy art because of the artist as often as for the art itself. Speaking of buying art, did your lovely wife tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’ the Captain asked, looking at Gail. She gave him a large, worried smile.
‘I may have bought some art.’
‘Some?’
‘Well, I got the one I really liked with the puffins. Going to be great over my desk in the office,’ said Gail. She took a large sip of her wine. ‘That really is a nice wine. Where’s it from?’
‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘I may have bought another small, little, tiny piece. For your office. Surprise.’
‘Well, I guess I should check it out,’ said the Captain.
‘It’s just over here. You’ll love it. It’s a stylized polar bear waiting above a hole in the ice with two seals swimming by underneath. Of course, if you don’t think it would be a good fit for your office, it would probably work with the colours in the living room. We have a nice space over the sofa.’
‘And if I do like it for my office?’
‘Well, then I guess I’ll have to buy another piece for above the sofa,’ Gail said.
‘I have to say, I hope he likes it then,’ Beverly said.
‘I’m sure I’ll hate it,’ the Captain said rolling his eyes. To Beverly, he added, ‘And you really need to stop spending my wife’s money.’
‘I’m just helping her discover what it is she really wants,’ Beverly argued. ‘Besides, you’re helping a new artist start their career. Think of it as an investment in someone’s life. And the more pieces he sells, the more popular his work becomes—ergo, the more they increase in value. In a few years, you can sell them for a profit to help fund your retirement.’
The Captain pointed his finger at Beverly. ‘You’re good.’
‘I try.’
Kulcheski looked at her watch. ‘I should probably think about heading home soon. I have an early rollcall meeting. Do you mind giving me a lift?’ she said to Grant.
‘Of course, no problem.’
‘Thanks. First though, I think I am going to buy that painting of the killer whale over there. Give me a minute. I’m just going to go pay for it—if someone else hasn’t beat me to it.’
‘Gabe might sell out on opening night,’ Penner said.
‘Every artist’s dream,’ said Beverly.
Penner looked at her empty glass. ‘When were you wanting to head out?’ she asked Millar.
‘If you want another one, go ahead,’ he said.
‘Good idea. That will give you time to see if there’s a painting that sparks your fancy,’ Beverly said to Millar.
‘We’ll see,’ he said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Penner didn’t roll into the office until almost ten the next morning. She wasn’t too sure what time she had gotten home, but she knew she’d had a good evening. And, just maybe, one glass of wine too many. After dropping her coat off in her office, she went to Millar’s.
Millar and Grant were already there, staring at the white board that Grant had taken from Penner’s office. Millar had crossed off the first three items on the list.
‘Well, nice of you to join us,’ Millar said as Penner wandered in. ‘You look pretty rough.’
‘Thanks,’ Penner said, sitting heavily in one of the chairs. She put her head in her hands. ‘You have any ibuprofen or anything? My head is pounding.’
‘Not enough water before you went to bed?’ Millar asked. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of pills, tossing them to Penner.
‘Not sure any extra water would have helped,’ she said, opening the bottle. She shook out two pills, put them in her mouth and swallowed.
‘How do you swallow pills without water?’ Grant asked in amazement.
‘You swallow food without water, right? What’s the difference?’ Penner asked. She handed the bottle back to Millar.
‘Not sure, but I’ve never been able to do it,’ Grant said.
‘So, when do you get to pick up your paintings?’ asked Millar.
‘Oh, right. I bought some art last night, didn’t I. I should check and see what bank account I used—make sure I have enough money for my car payment,’ Penner said. ‘Not sure. I guess once the show’s done. I assume someone will get in touch with me.’
‘How much did you drink last night?’
‘I wasn’t counting. But I don’t remember not having a glass in my hand, so probably a few.’
‘I think it was more than a few,’ Millar said. ‘You wouldn’t stop singing ABBA on the drive home.’
‘Yeah, I remember that. You wouldn’t sing along with me.’
‘No, I figured you were doing a good enough job butchering the songs by yourself.’
‘Well, I had fun at least,’ Penner said.
‘It was a fun night,’ Grant said.
‘So, what’s going on with you and Kulcheski?’ Millar asked.
‘Nothing, why?’ Grant said.
‘Well, you showed up together. Left together. You carried her coat around all night.’
‘We’re just getting to know each other. She seems nice,’ Grant said. He looked down, feeling his face redden again.
‘Okay, Romeo.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Why is that so loud,’ Penner said, grabbing her ringing phone from her pocket. ‘Penner.’
‘Hey, Sue. How’s it going?’
‘Hi, Faye. Not too bad. Bit of a headache today.’
‘She’s hungover,’ Millar yelled out. Penner grabbed her head again.
‘Too much happy sauce last night?’
‘Something like that. What’s up?’
‘Well, I ran some more tox screens on Mr. Williams. I think I’ve finally figured out what he died from.’
‘Really? What?’ Penner said, perking up a bit.
‘Seems like he had an insulin overdose.’
‘Really? How would that happen?’
‘Well, it’s not that difficult, actually. It can happen if a diabetic accidentally injects too much insulin, either at one time or if they take their shots too close together. It doesn’t take a lot of extra insulin to have serious effects.’
‘Huh. So, how are you ruling the death? I guess it’s not natural.’
‘No, I’ll put it down as overdose. But, there’s a bit of a problem.’
‘Problem? What’s that?’
‘Well, I didn’t find any signs that he was diabetic. And he didn’t have any noticeable needle marks. Except for that mark on his thigh—that could be an injection site.’
‘But that’s not a typical place for an insulin injection, is it?’
‘Not so much. Usually it would be injected around the belly—it gets absorbed quickly there. It can be injected into the thigh, but it would absorb at a much slower rate.
If someone is injecting insulin, it’s usually because they need the effects rather quickly.’
‘So, what are your thoughts, then?’
‘Well, I would suggest you find out if his doctor prescribed insulin for some reason. Maybe he was showing signs of diabetes that I’m not seeing in my tests.’
‘And if not?’
‘Then I would say it’s kind of suspicious. He seemed healthy otherwise. He wasn’t obese, no heart disease, no signs of cancer, so I can’t see what would have caused hyperinsulinemia, or elevated levels of insulin.’
‘Alright, we’ll see what we can find out. Anything else?’
‘Yeah, I had another visit from that Inspector Wilson. Persistent little gnat.’
‘Sure seems like it.’
‘Let me know if you find out anything from the doctor. It’s possible that there could have been a reason his levels were elevated that I’m just not seeing.’
‘Will do. Thanks Faye.’
‘No problem. Hope the hangover goes away.’
‘You and me both.’ Penner hung up her phone.
‘What’d the good doctor have to say?’ Millar asked.
‘Mark died from too much insulin in his system. An overdose.’
‘My uncle almost died from that,’ Grant said. ‘His eyesight wasn’t the best and he ended up putting too much insulin in his needle. About an hour later, he started sweating, complaining of being cold. Got really confused. Only minutes later, he started shaking and said his vision was blurry, like double vision. Next thing my aunt knew, he passed out. Fell flat on his face walking to the living room. Ambulance came and he was in the hospital for a week.’
‘We should let the Captain know. I’m not sure he’s going to want us to continue working the case if it gets ruled an accidental death,’ Millar said. ‘Even if we don’t know what the fraud guy is looking into.’
‘Well, that’s the kicker,’ Penner said. ‘As far as Faye could tell, there was no reason for Mark’s insulin level to be up. She doesn’t think he was diabetic, and she couldn’t find any underlying reason why his bloodwork would show an increased insulin level.’
The Art of Murder Page 15