Blood Will Tell, Part Four

Detective Metzger folded his arms on the desk between us. A mirror to my left was dark and murky, and I knew other cops were watching us. I sipped from the coffee Metzger had brought me. It tasted like three-day-old mud.

            “Two murders in two days, both in art galleries, both stabbings, and both with you right there.” He zeroed in on my face. “Help me understand that.”

            “You know I didn’t kill either one of them.” I glanced at the mirrored window. “I wasn’t anywhere near them, either time. You’ve got witnesses. There’s no reason for me to be here. Can I go now?”

            He ignored the question. “So what’s going on? What’s the connection? Ghosts again?”

            I sighed. “The connection is an artist named Axel Parris. Both victims were looking at his paintings when they died.”

            “So he killed them? How?”

            I shrugged. “Magic?”

            Metzger snorted. “I thought you’d say that.”

            “Then why are we here? I’m not under arrest, am I? I’m cooperating. I can leave any time, right?”

            “Where is this Axel Parris?”

            I shook my head. “Nobody knows. I’m trying to find out. I can’t do it here.” I glanced at the mirror again. “Not with an audience watching me. I’m shy.”

            He snorted again. “Get out of here.”

            I stood up and waved at the mirror. “Thanks for the coffee.” I tossed it in a garbage can on the way out. 

            Getting questioned by cops is nerve-wracking, even when you know you’re innocent. Maybe especially when you know you’re innocent. I’d tried to stay cool and cocky, living up to the stereotype of the hard-nosed private eye, but my stomach was a quivering mass of pudding until I left the building and hailed a cab.

Rachel swung around in her chair when I walked into the office. “There you are. Looks like they didn’t pistol whip you.

“Just bad coffee.” I sat down at my computer. 

“You okay?”

I sighed. “Yeah. Gaby Keyes isn’t okay.”

            She was silent for a moment. Then: “So it’s Axel?” 

            “Somehow.” I had no evidence, no idea how he’d done it, but it had to be him. “Hammond was standing in front of his painting, a painting of anger, and Axel was mad at him for his review. Gaby broke up with him, and she was showing me a painting that was mostly green, called Friends, when she got killed. With her current boyfriend on her phone at the time”

            “The green-eyed monster, huh?” She cocked her head, thinking. “How did he do it?”

“Gaby Keyes said something about him putting his blood into his paintings. Maybe he meant it literally.”

            “So what do we do now?” Rachel walked back to her desk.

            I shook my head. “I’ve got to find him. Somehow.” I turned to the computer. 

Dan Vining had emailed a photo of Axel. I sent him a thank you, and then called Marian Krantz.

            “Can you send Axel a text or email asking to meet?” I asked, looking at his face. Several years old, the picture looked basically like a high school yearbook photo. Axel had short, thin hair, a sharp nose, and a scowl on his face.

            “He’s never agreed to meet in person before.” She sounded nervous. “What’s going on? The police were here. Is it true about Gaby?”

            “Uh, yes. I was there. It was just like what happened to Archie Hammond.”

            “Oh, god. Should I close the gallery? Should we—” She paused. “I’m getting out of here.”

            “Probably a good idea. When you’re safe, send Axel a message. Maybe tell him you’ve got a check for him.”

            “I’ll try that. As soon as I’m—I’ll call you later.” She hung up.

            I sat back and crossed my arms to think. Sipped some lukewarm coffee left over from the morning. Still better than the mud Metzger had given me. I swiveled to gaze at Rachel for a while, until she started glaring at me. I checked my email again. Then I had an idea.

            I called Marian Krantz again. “You have a shipping address for Axel, right?”

            “Yeah.” She was in her car. She pulled over to look up the address, and I scribbled it down.

            “What’s up?” Rachel asked as I stood up.

            “I just thought I’d check the place he gets stuff sent to. I’ve got a picture I can show them now.”

            “Hang on.” She saved her work and stood up. “I could stand to get out of here for a while. And if you get a hot lead, I’m not waiting around while you go do something stupid.”

            “Who, me?” But I’d learned not to argue with Rachel about stuff like this. We got our jackets and headed out