‘And that’s when you decided to start forging paintings?’ the Captain asked.
‘No, not yet. At first, I just wanted to help him with his career. I saw promise in him, but I knew how hard it was to get your foot in the door. There are thousands, tens of thousands of amazing artists that will never be seen. They’ll be lost to history. I didn’t want that to happen to Jeremy. So, we talked about his options. I knew I could get him a show or two, but I didn’t know if I could get anyone to care. But, if he was related to a famous artist—a famous artist that my father helped discover—well, then the sky was the limit.’
‘But, Beverly, how was that going to help him?’ the Captain asked pointedly. ‘Sure, he might make some money, but Jeremy Slice the artist would still be lost to history.’
‘For the short term, yes, that’s true. But, as Gabe Tootsie, he could make enough money to be able to paint full time. Then, after some time, Gabe could disappear, and Jeremy could come onto the market. It wouldn’t matter if it took him two, three years to get noticed. He would have enough money to support himself.’
‘So, you set him up in Labrador?’
‘That’s right. I rented him a studio and a small apartment so he could paint full time and take on the persona of Gabe Tootsie. I wanted him to live in the community so he could hopefully pick up some of the dialect and seem like he was actually from Labrador. It took a while, but he picked it up.’
‘Okay. So, how did you decide to start doing the forgeries?’
‘We needed the money,’ Beverly said flatly. ‘Do you know how expensive it is for a politician to run in an election? Let me tell you—it’s not cheap. When Mark ran the last time, I had to sell several of my father’s paintings just so we could afford it and keep eating. I was crushed. I loved those paintings. I wanted to keep them forever, hanging on my walls so I could look at them and remember the times I had with him. But I couldn’t. I had to help fund Mark’s career.’ Bitterness crept into Beverly’s voice. She stopped and drank some more coffee. ‘I knew that if he was going to run again this year, I was going to have to sell more art. I just couldn’t do it again. So, I talked to Jeremy about doing up some new Dante Tootsie paintings. He did, and they were beautiful. I think I liked them as much, if not more, than Dante’s own works.’
‘And you sold these?’ the Captain asked.
‘I sold one. Made an easy fifty thousand dollars. I couldn’t believe it. There was a lot of buzz for a never-before-seen Dante Tootsie. I could have gotten even more if I’d sent it to auction instead of selling it privately, but I wanted to test the waters.’
‘There was no inkling that the painting was a fake?’ the Captain asked.
‘Not at all. Like I said, his work is really good. Plus, I’m well-known in the art community and amongst art collectors. Beverly Williams would never sell a bad painting.’
‘So, how many of the paintings that you donated to the Williams exhibit are real and how many are fake?’
‘About half are real,’ Beverly admitted. ‘Over the years, we had to sell more of my father’s paintings than I want to admit, so I had to replenish some of the pieces. But the exhibit was important to me. It was a way to memorialize my father. Plus, the donation was a tax write-off. Another way to free up some cash for Mark.’
‘And Mark had no idea?’
‘He didn’t have a clue—at first. He was always so involved with his work that he didn’t really know what was going on at home. I took care of the finances, so he didn’t know if we were doing well or not. If he needed money, I gave him money. He had no need to ask questions. But, then it all changed.’
‘What happened?’ the Captain asked.
Beverly sat with both hands wrapped around her coffee mug, staring straight ahead. She sighed deeply again. ‘I thought it was time to introduce Gabe Tootsie to the world. He was ready. I was ready. It was time for him to sell a couple of paintings to help with his rent and food. Bills were adding up. So, I set up the gala and the show at the Spider Loft, and I flew Jeremy in from Labrador. I picked him up from the airport and brought him back to our place to stay before the event. That night, Mark came home and the three of us had dinner. Afterward, while Mark and I were cleaning up, he told me he recognized Gabe and that he was a fake.’
‘How did he know who he was?’
‘One of those stupid presentations he did each semester at the high school. Apparently, Jeremy had been in one of the classes and asked some questions about foreign policies that really impressed Mark. They had actually met after the class at Mark’s office to continue talking. Can you believe it? What were the chances of him remembering this kid from half a decade ago? He couldn’t even remember where he left his keys half the time. And we had changed Jeremy’s appearance—he’d grown out his hair, he dressed differently, he’d lost some weight.’
‘So, did Mark confront Jeremy?’
‘No. But he told me he was going to get in touch with the RCMP and report him as an imposter. Idiot! The reason we were doing it was to help his career. His career over the years had cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars. And he was going to ruin everything. Ruin me. Ruin my father’s legacy.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I told him he must have been mistaken. I tried to convince him that Jeremy really was Gabe Tootsie, but he wasn’t having it. He went to his study and started researching. I knew that if he found out that the real Gabe Tootsie had died, it would be all over. On the day of the gala, after he left for work, I went through his study to see if I could find any notes that he had left, but he must have taken them with him and left them in his office.’
‘So, that’s why it looked like your place was broken into?’
‘Yeah. I thought it might throw you off my trail.’
‘Did you ever find what you were looking for?’
‘No. The day after the gala I got in touch with Chris, his assistant, and told him to pack up the office so I could take the boxes home. It would have given me the chance to destroy anything I needed to.’
The Captain had arrived at the point in the interview he’d been dreading. ‘Beverly,’ he began, ‘you must know what’s coming next. What happened to Mark?’
Beverly took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She met the Captain’s gaze evenly. ‘Mark told me that he was going to meet with the RCMP after his presentation at the school. He was going to out Gabe, and then tell the museum that some of the paintings were fake. After everything I had done for him and his career. He was going to ruin me. I tried talking to him, to reason with him, but his mind was made up. He said if he didn’t expose what was going on and it came out later somehow, it would ruin his career. His career. He didn’t care what happened to mine. No. It was all how he looked to the public.’
‘So, you killed him.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Jeremy? With his insulin?’
‘It was his insulin, but it wasn’t Jeremy. I tried to get him to do it. I told him that if Mark went to the cops he’d end up in jail for fraud, but he wouldn’t. A criminal with morals,’ Beverly said bitterly. She had another sip of coffee.
‘So, who?’
‘I saw Jeremy had left his bag with the insulin and needles in the bathroom on the main floor at home and I took it. I knew people could overdose on it, and it wouldn’t be caught in a standard autopsy. Who knew the local coroner was a keener. I couldn’t do it myself—I had to be at the museum to help set up. So, I got Chris to do it for me.’
‘Chris? Mark’s assistant? How did you convince him to do it?’
‘Chris and I have been friends for a while—we both know what it’s like to feel used by Mark. When I explained to him that if Mark went to the police it would mean he couldn’t run in the upcoming election, Chris realized he would be unemployed. Well, that and the promise of seventy-five thousand dollars and a Brendan Cleeves original. At that point, he seemed rather eager to help. It was a perfect plan. Except for that stupid autopsy.’
&nb
sp; ‘How did Chris inject him?’
‘He followed Mark out of the office when he was heading to the school. He knew Mark’s routine, and he was pretty sure that he would take the canal partway, so he brought his skates with him. Sure enough, Mark decided to take the shortcut on the ice. It was easy enough for Chris to skate up from behind and collide with him. With all the people in town for Winterlude, the canal was crowded and there were a lot of tourists who couldn’t skate—it wouldn’t seem too suspicious or attract too much attention. When they fell to the ground, he injected him. I think he said it went into his leg, but he wasn’t really sure. As an added bonus, Mark’s phone fell out onto the ice and Chris managed to grab it, unnoticed. That’s when I knew for sure that he had gotten in touch with the RCMP. Such an ungrateful jackass.’
‘What did you do with his phone?’
‘Took a hammer to it and threw the pieces into a garbage can at the museum.’
‘Anything else?’ the Captain asked. He was having a hard time believing what he was hearing. Mark and Beverly always seemed so happy. The perfect team.
‘I only did what I needed to do,’ Beverly said. She finished her coffee. ‘Now what?’
‘Well, I’m going to have to charge you with conspiracy to commit murder for one. When we finish our complete investigation, you can be sure there will be other charges. You’re looking at a long sentence. At your age, probably a life sentence.’
‘All because of that stupid husband.’
‘Mark was a good, decent human being.’ The Captain removed his glasses and spoke coldly. ‘Which is more than I can say for you. Stand up,’ he ordered. He motioned for Grant to enter. ‘Place her under arrest and bring her to booking. I need another coffee.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Grant said. ‘Turn around. Place your hands behind your back.’ He handcuffed Beverly and led her away.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The Captain went to the kitchen where Millar, Penner and Kulcheski were sitting at one of the tables.
‘So, how’d it go, sir?’ Penner asked.
‘Well, she confessed to setting Jeremy up with the studio, to the art fraud and to planning Mark’s murder. She said that Mark’s assistant was the one who actually injected him with the insulin…allegedly. I’ll send a patrol to find him and bring him in for questioning.’
‘Sorry, sir. I know you were close with her and Mark,’ Millar said.
‘Thanks, Terry,’ the Captain said. ‘Good job to you three. I’m sorry it turned out like it did, but at least we found out the truth. Now, I need to grab a coffee and call my wife. Gail’s going to be pretty upset with all this.’
‘Have a good night, sir,’ Penner said as the Captain left the kitchen. ‘You guys want to grab a drink?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Kulcheski said. ‘Think Grant will want to come?’
‘Probably,’ Penner said. ‘What about you, Millar?’
‘Yeah, I could go for a quick beer. I’ll send Grant a text and let him know. Want to just go to O’Malley’s?’
‘Sure, we haven’t gone there in a while,’ Penner said. ‘You mind driving us home after?’
‘No problem,’ Millar said. He took out his phone and sent a message to Grant. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
***
‘Well, cheers, guys. It was a tough week, but we got it done,’ Millar said.
‘Glad we got to work together,’ Kulcheski said. ‘It made for a nice change.’
‘Yeah, it was nice,’ said Grant. ‘Cheers.’ He lifted his bottle of cider and clinked her wine glass. ‘So, when I saw you in the kitchen, you said your supervisor wanted to talk to you. Everything alright?’
‘Oh, right. Yeah, really good, actually. Well, good for me, anyway.’
‘I don’t follow,’ Grant said.
‘Well, he called to say that one of the new members of the Musical Ride got into a car accident. I guess he hit a patch of black ice and slid right off the road down an embankment. He was stuck in his car for six hours before someone happened to see his headlights. Pretty lucky, really.’
‘Is he okay?’ Penner asked.
‘He will be. Broke his femur and shattered both ankles. So, not great, but he’s alive.’
‘I can’t imagine breaking your femur. That would suck hard,’ Grant said.
‘No kidding.’
‘So, did you know him? Is that why your boss was calling?’ asked Grant.
‘No, I’ve never met him. But since he’s going to be out of commission for, what, probably a year or more, he can’t be part of the Ride anymore,’ Kulcheski explained. ‘So, as the first runner-up of candidates this year, they asked my boss if he was willing to let me join.’
‘That’s awesome! What did Monk say?’ Penner asked.
‘He doesn’t want to let me go, but he knew how much I wanted it, so he agreed. I report to them in three days.’
‘Congratulations,’ Millar said, clinking her glass. ‘Have you ridden a horse before?’
‘I have, but it’s been a long time. I was probably thirteen the last time I was on one. Hopefully, it all comes back to me pretty quick,’ Kulcheski said. ‘The good thing with the ride is all the horses have been a part of it for years, so they know what to do better than the riders. Plus, they get new riders every year, so they’re used to newbies.’
‘Well, that’s really cool news,’ Grant said. ‘Hey, and now I really can call you a jockey.’
‘If you ever want to see me again, you probably shouldn’t,’ Kulcheski said.
‘Duly noted.’
About the Author
Kevin Hopkins grew up in the suburbs of Ottawa after his family moved to Canada from England. The middle child of three boys, he has always enjoyed the creative side of life, from playing music, painting and sculpting to writing.
Kevin now lives in an old farmhouse East of Ottawa with his wife Juanita and their two cats, Lenny and Carl.
‘The Art Of Murder’ is Kevin’s third novel.
You can connect with me on:
http://www.kevinhopkinsauthor.com
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Also by Kevin Hopkins
The Ottawa Detective Series is the first series of novels by Kevin Hopkins
A Striking Similarity
The first murder was a tragedy.
The second was a mystery.
The third was an epiphany.
Detective Terry Millar doesn’t believe in coincidences. As a criminal profiler, he’s built his reputation on identifying patterns and perpetrators.
But he’s never encountered a killer like this.
Millar and his team are being led on a macabre treasure hunt around the city of Ottawa, and they’re desperate to find a connection between the crimes before the killer strikes again.
The murders bear a striking similarity to one another, which should make it easier for the renowned profiler, but the evidence seems to point in an impossible direction.
With every secret that’s revealed, Millar is a step closer to realizing that nothing will ever be the same again.
Reserved For Murder
Everyone has a secret.
And some people will go to any length to keep theirs.
When the body of a teenage boy is found hanging from a homemade noose, deep in the woods outside of a First Nations reserve, it casts a dark shadow over the community during their annual harvest powwow. For the Ottawa Detectives, the evidence doesn’t add up. The deeper they delve into their investigation, the more questions they uncover.
Was Jonny Two Bears’ death merely another tragedy in a string of teen suicides? And why does the reserve’s Chief seem more interested in meeting with the media than mourning with the community?
The detectives are determined to find the answers before another child dies, and they’re willing to use every resource they h
ave available. Unfortunately, the mastermind always seems to be one step ahead, and all they can do is try to follow the tracks.
There’s something evil in the woods.
The Art of Murder Page 23