Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set (71 page)

“
I spoke with Gillian Caswell. She was kind enough to attend Glenn's funeral. But I haven't spoken with Jason Trask.”

“
Were paintings taken from their galleries as well?”

Elizabeth nodded. “That's my understanding.”

“
Any idea why the thief may have chosen these three specific galleries?”

Elizabeth shrugged.

Carter looked around the gallery. “Your husband didn't have a surveillance system in place?”

She sighed. “Glenn had talked about it, but I guess he never … he never thought something like this would happen. This is not a high crime area. We've never been robbed before.”

Carter tapped his foot on the tile floor, still focused on the police report. “Does it surprise you that Glenn tangled with the burglar?”

Fresh tears fell and she wiped them away. “I
was
surprised. Glenn was not a confrontational sort. I'll never understand why he risked his life over a bunch of paintings. The paintings were insured.”

“
Have you already filed a claim?”

“
Not yet. It took me a while to actually figure out which paintings were stolen. Glenn didn't keep the best records and I haven't been able to get into his computer to access the information he had on it. ”

Carter coughed nervously. “Sorry to ask, but what about life insurance?”

“
Yes. We got a policy after I retired last year. Truth is I didn't want to retire, but my company was laying people off anyway. But Glenn felt positive that his business would pick up. He had just taken on a few new artists and seemed very encouraged about the future.”

“
Did Glenn seem nervous or distracted in the days prior to the burglary?”

“
Maybe a little,” she said. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“
So he was ordinarily a nervous, distracted kind of guy?”

“
Glenn was hard to read. Even after thirteen years of being married to the man, I often wondered what went on inside his head.”

“
Was anything else going on in Glenn's life that might have caused him stress?” Carter asked. “Health problems, for instance?”

“
I don't think so. He was as healthy as a horse, especially for fifty-five. He'd suffered from depression in the past, but seemed to have it under control.”

Carter paused. “Depression? Caused by what?”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly while staring at her hands. “He had a rough upbringing, didn’t get along with his parents. He also had a drinking problem when he was younger.”

“
Are his parents alive?” Carter asked.

“
Apparently not. Glenn said they died many years ago. In any case, I don't think he ever had a good relationship with them.”

“
Any siblings?”

“
He had a sister, but I guess she died when they were young. Again, not something he liked to talk about.”

“
You mentioned Glenn was an alcoholic. Did he also have drug problems?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I don't think so. Since we've been married, he hasn't had a drop to drink. I never smelled pot. Unless he was very good at hiding it.”

“
Has Glenn ever been in trouble? Arrested?”

“
No. I suspect you can't take my word for it so I assume you'll do a background check on him. And on me, for that matter, so I might as well be honest. I was arrested back in my twenties for shoplifting. I was young and stupid, and so were the friends I was with. I had to pay a fine and do some community work. Other than a few speeding tickets, that's all you're going to find.”

“
We all make mistakes,” Carter said. “But I'd still like to know more about Glenn. Did he have any enemies?”

She jerked her head back in surprise. “Not possible. Like I said, everyone who knew Glenn loved him. Just ask his friends. I made a list of those who live locally for you to contact.”

“
I appreciate the fact that Glenn was well liked, but that doesn't mean ...” Carter gave her an apologetic smile. “Everyone has secrets. We need to know Glenn's secrets.”

Elizabeth rubbed her hands together nervously and took a deep breath. “Okay, fine. I suppose you'll find out eventually. Glenn had a problem with gambling about a year ago. He lost a small fortune and we had to take out a second mortgage on our house. He was ashamed, but he got help. I took control of our finances, including the checking accounts. If he was taking money out, I'd know.”

“
Glenn could have borrowed money from a friend to continue his habit.”

She shook her head vehemently. “I don't think so. He promised me he'd never do it again.”

Carter leaned toward her slightly and tilted his head. “Maybe you're right, but if you want me to help you, be prepared for the fact that your husband may have been at it again.”

“
What does his gambling have to do with the robbery and his death?”

“
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.”

She raised her eyebrows, encouraged. “So does this mean you’ll take the case?”

Carter took a moment, apparently going over the details in his mind. “I’ll need all the information you have about the robberies, contact information for the other gallery owners, a list of clients, and names and addresses of personal friends and associates of your husband. I'd also like to take his laptop.”

“
Like I said. I didn't know his passwords, so I couldn't get in.”

“
The police never asked for his laptop?”

“
No.”

“
Have you tried using nicknames, wedding date, birthdate, maybe names of pets, or his favorite artists?”

“
I've tried everything I could think of,” she said. “Nothing worked.”

Carter nodded. “I have a guy who's good with computers, though his services aren't exactly legal.”

“
I don't care. Whatever you have to do.”

“
It's possible that Glenn actually knew the person who shot him. Someone in the art community, or possibly a client, so naturally I'd like to talk to everyone Glenn had recent contact with.”

“
Of course.”

“
One more thing,” Carter said. “Have you gone through all of Glenn's belongings? His car, his clothing, all of his pockets?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Not yet. I haven't even gotten around to selling his car.”

“
I know it's hard, but you need to look through all of his things. If something appears out of the ordinary, please let me know.”

“
I understand,” she said, getting to her feet. “Just give me a few minutes to get everything together for you. I'll look through his personal things tonight and tomorrow.”

While we waited, Carter and I walked around the gallery to observe the artwork. The only thing I knew about art was that I couldn’t afford it. In my forty-four years, the only artwork I ever owned came from my son’s art class in grade school. Now that Brian was away at college, I cherished those finger paintings like they were priceless Picassos.

“
Hey, Sarah. As far as I can tell, this is the most expensive piece in the gallery.” Carter pointed to a framed painting of a sailboat.

$16,500. I gasped. “Who can afford to spend
that
much on something you hang on your wall? My Toyota cost less than that,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I appreciate the talent, but seriously. What makes this painting worth over sixteen grand?”

Carter shrugged. “Probably the signature.”

Elizabeth returned and handed Carter a computer bag. “Here’s everything.”

Carter accepted it. “I'll need a retainer of four thousand dollars and you'll need to sign a contract. Once that's out of the way, I'll start making calls and conduct interviews. I'll send you updates every day via e-mail or in person.”

Elizabeth nodded and returned to the desk where she promptly wrote out a check. “Again, thank you for taking this on.”

Carter took one last look around and headed toward the door. “We'll be in touch.”

* * *

We made our first stop at one Chip Brenner's apartment, AKA
The Hacker.
For a price, Brenner could perform miracles when it came to computers. Carter had used his services on many occasions.

A kid in his early twenties – arms covered in tattoos – Brenner ushered us inside a dorm-sized room of a rundown apartment building. “Dude, what's up?”

Carter handed him the laptop. “The guy who owned this laptop is dead. We have his wife's permission to access the information.”

The kid shrugged as if it didn't matter. “What do you need? A password?”

“
Yep. Once I get in, I'm good.”

Brenner quickly assessed the device. “2005 Mac. Should be a piece of cake.” He went to work while Carter hovered over him. There was nowhere for me to sit so I leaned against the far wall and watched the kid click away on the keyboard. I glanced around the room. Posters of rock bands adorned the walls and pot paraphernalia was strewn about the unmade bed. It was beyond my comprehension how youngsters – especially those who were perpetually high – had so much knowledge with gadgets when I could barely understand any of the functions of my smartphone.

Within six or seven minutes, the kid pumped his fist in the air. “Got it.”

Carter regarded him with awe. “You got the password already?”

“
Mockingbird
.”

Carter pulled out his wallet and extracted a fifty-dollar bill for Brenner. “Thanks, buddy. You never fail to impress.”

* * *

Back in the Buick, Carter massaged his temples. “Okay, so maybe Glenn had a thing for birds. Do you think
Mockingbird
has any significance?”

“
Does it have to mean anything?” I said. “I've used
bastard
as a password.”

Carter laughed. “I'll go through Glenn's computer files later. Since we're out, we should go talk to the other gallery owners.”

Chapter 2

Carter and I strode past the cafes in the town square and continued three blocks north toward the river. The Caswell Gallery was located within a cluster of buildings that looked like a reproduction of an English village. We made our way through a path lined with blooming pots of daffodils and tulips. The other establishments within the micro village included a hair salon, a pottery shop, and a bakery.

A woman in her sixties was sitting behind a desk with a laptop in front of her. There was no one else in the shop.

“
Good morning and welcome,” she said, looking up, “Please let me know if I can answer any questions.”

“
Good morning,” Carter said. “Are you Gillian Caswell?”

She fondled the long braid that cascaded down her shoulder, the silver in her hair sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the window. “Yes I am.”

“
I'm Carter. This is Sarah. We'd like to ask you a few questions regarding the robbery that occurred here last month.”

Gillian rose to her feet. “Who are you? Reporters? I really prefer not to speak to reporters.”

Carter jabbed a thumb in my direction. “Sarah, please show Ms. Caswell your credentials.”

I fished my wallet out of my purse and begrudgingly held out my new Private Investigator's license. When she leaned forward to inspect it, her eyes grew wide and she looked up. “Private detectives? Who hired you?”

“
Elizabeth Fleming asked us to look into the robberies,” Carter replied.

At the mention of her name, Gillian put a hand over her mouth. “Elizabeth hired you?”

“
Correct.”

“
I attended her husband's funeral about three weeks ago. It was a lovely ceremony. I feel so bad for them.”

Carter nodded. “The police are scarce on leads, so we've agreed to dig a little deeper.”

Gillian invited us to a sitting area with a coffee table. Once we got settled, she fondled her braid again as if the simple act comforted her in some way. “Of course I want to help you, but I've already given my statement to the police. Several times, in fact. I don't expect I'll ever retrieve the stolen paintings. Besides, I've already filed the insurance claim.” Gillian paused for a moment. “I can certainly understand why Elizabeth needs closure with all this. I wouldn't be able to rest until that burglar was behind bars.”

“
Mind if I record our conversation?” Carter showed her his cell phone.

She hesitated. “I guess.”

He pressed a button and placed it in his lap. “Thank you. What were you doing just before the robbery on Friday evening, March 29th?”

“
It was around four-thirty. I hadn't had a customer in the shop for several hours so I decided to close early. I remember it was raining like crazy that afternoon. Most of the other shops closed early, too. I called my husband and told him I was on my way home, and I went out back and shut off the lights. As I gathered my things to go, someone walked in. It was rather dark so I didn't get a good look at him. He locked the door behind him and I got a bad feeling. His face was covered with something. He pointed a gun at me. Said he wouldn't hurt me as long as I did exactly what he told me.” Gillian closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He told me to lie down on my stomach and put my hands behind my back, which I did. He taped my hands together then put a piece of tape over my mouth.”

“
I'm sorry you had to go through that,” Carter said. “Please continue.”

Gillian nodded. “When he was done tying me up, he grabbed my purse that I keep under my desk. I could hear him dumping the contents out onto the desk. I figured he was looking for my wallet.”

Carter nodded. “Did he say anything else to you?”

“
No. He was as silent as a mouse. Mind you, I was lying on my stomach and couldn't really see what he was up to, but I assumed he would take off with a few paintings since I didn't have much cash in my wallet. I don't keep cash in the store because most customers pay with credit cards. The thief didn't dilly-dally. He was gone in a flash. He probably wasn't in the shop for more than a minute or two. The guy was a pro.”

“
Did anything about the burglar seem familiar to you? His voice? His demeanor? His build?”

“
Not really.”

“
What was he wearing?”

She shut her eyes again as if that would help her remember. When she opened them, her gaze was confident. “A black trench coat and black gloves.”

“
If you were lying on the floor, did you see his shoes,” Carter asked.

Gillian tapped a finger to her chin. “Actually, yes. He was wearing black boots with pointy toes and silver studs.”

“
Like cowboy boots?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“
How would you describe his voice?”

“
Lower pitched and sort of gravelly. It almost sounded like he was trying to disguise it. Or maybe he was a smoker.”

“
Age?”

Gillian shrugged. “It was hard to tell because his face was covered.”

“
What about his build? Tall, short, fat, thin?”

“
Just … average. I mean, it all happened so fast. It's not like I could get a good sense of him.”

“
Can you tell me about the paintings he took?”

“
Two local artists, each worth about eight thousand dollars. A Carlton and a Zaviroff.”

“
Any idea why he might have chosen those two in particular?”

“
Not really,” she said. “They were relatively small in size. Maybe he was running out of time and just grabbed the closest ones. There were certainly more expensive pieces he could have taken.”

Finally, Carter turned to look at me. “Do you have any questions, Sarah?”

Surprised that he actually remembered I was there, I turned to face Gillian and nodded. “I'm curious about one thing. Are you usually here at the gallery by yourself?”

“
Yes,” she said. “I can't really afford to have any employees right now. Once in a while, friends will fill in for me if I need to run errands, but usually I'm here between ten and five. Why do you ask?”

“
Is it possible the thief knew you'd be here alone that night?”

“
I don't know,” she said. “Maybe.”

“
How long have you owned the gallery?”

She smiled. “Almost ten years.”

“
Have you ever had a burglary before?”

She paused. “No. Never. Which is why I never bothered having surveillance cameras installed. This is a good neighborhood. I've always felt safe being here by myself. Now my husband insists on coming here to help me close up every night.”

“
And there were no eyewitnesses who saw the thief leave?”

“
The police already questioned everyone around here. Most of the local shops closed early that night, so I assume everyone had already left.”

“
Do you happen to know the owner of the Trask Gallery, the other place robbed that night?”

“
Jason Trask? Yes, we've met before. He owns the fancy shmancy place on the other side of town.”

“
Have you spoken to him about the robberies?” I asked.

She shook her head. “If I may be honest, I'm not a big fan of Jason's. I don't like to speak ill of people, but Jason has a reputation of being a
duplicitous dealer.”

“
What does that mean?”

“
These are just rumors, mind you, but I've heard he cheats artists out of commissions. I also know from personal experience, Jason will do anything to win customers. He's even stolen a few away from me.”

“
He's stolen customers from you?” I asked. “How does he do that?”

“
He spends a lot of money on advertising, and often hosts extravagant openings. I guess some people are impressed by that.”

“
Sounds like a highly competitive business,” I said.

She nodded.

“
Had you ever met Glenn Fleming?” I asked.

“
Only once. He came over a few weeks before he died. He wanted to talk about getting all the galleries together to host an art walk. You know, drum up business for the upcoming tourist season. He even offered to do all the promotion stuff himself. I agreed to take part and offered to help out with whatever he needed. We were planning to do it the first week in June. Now that he's gone, I don't know if I have the heart to proceed. It takes a lot of planning, and honestly, going door to door to each of the galleries in town would be too much.”

I glanced around the gallery but couldn't think of anything else, so I gave Carter the nod.

He stopped recording, reached into his back pocket, and handed Gillian his business card. “Thank you, Mrs. Caswell. We'd appreciate a call if you think of anything else.”

“
Sure,” she said. “Happy to help. And feel free to browse the shop. We're having a sale – twenty percent off everything until this weekend.”

Carter offered a smile and a friendly wave good-bye. “Would love to, but we're on a tight schedule. Maybe another time.”

* * *

“
What do you think of Gillian Caswell?” Carter asked as we made our way across town on foot to Jason Trask's gallery.

“
All I know is that she must be a patient person to run an art gallery. Not one single customer walked in while we were there. How boring would it be to sit all day, with only a few looky-loos coming and going?”

“
She could catch up on reading. And there's always Solitaire.”

“
She doesn't seem like a typical gallery owner,” I said. “She reminds me of an aging hippie. If she's trying to cater to people with money, wouldn't you think she'd try to spruce herself up a bit?”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to go back and give her some beauty tips? I can wait.”

I glanced down at my worn jeans, sneakers, and my favorite suede jacket with a missing button. “I guess I'm hardly qualified to give fashion advice.”

* * *

Ten minutes later we arrived at Trask Gallery, a brick building on a quiet street in downtown Bridgeport. Manicured Azalea bushes with fresh buds lined the entryway. The front door was open wide, welcoming all passersby to come inside and enjoy the offerings.

A small-statured man of about forty, -wearing a classic tweed jacket, khaki pants, and leather loafers, stood by the entrance. His hair was on the longer side, but trimmed to a fashionable style. He spoke with a pronounced Boston accent. “Mornin, folks,” he said cheerily. “Have you visited before?”

Carter smiled at him. “First-timers. Are you Jason Trask?”

“
At your service. Is there a particular artist you're interested in?”

Carter scanned the room. “Actually, if you don't have any customers at the moment, we'd appreciate a few minutes of your time.”

“
Certainly. What can I do for you?”

“
It's about the robbery last month.”

Jason tilted his head, confused. “Are you from the police department? Did you recover my paintings?”

“
We're private detectives. I'm Carter, this is Sarah. We've been hired by Elizabeth Fleming.”

He paused. “Glenn Fleming's wife?”

Carter nodded.

He bowed his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It's a shame what happened to him. I wanted to attend his funeral, but I was out of town that weekend.” He looked up. “Why did his wife hire you?”

“
To look into her husband's death.”

Jason hesitated then smiled. “How can I help?”

“
Could you tell us your version of what happened the night of the robberies? If you don't mind, I'd like to record our conversation.”

“
My version?” Jason said. “It's quite straightforward. A guy walked into my gallery and pointed a gun at my face.”

Carter said, “Please, Mr. Trask, I know it must be painful for you to talk about, but any details you can give us would be extremely helpful. Just start at the beginning and take your time.”

Jason let out a breath. “Okay, fine. I guess it was around five o'clock. I really didn't expect to get any more business that day because of the crappy weather, so I shut down my computer at my desk when someone walked into the shop. When I looked up, I saw someone shutting the blinds on the front window over there. I found it quite curious at first, but when I saw he was wearing some kind of ski mask … well, it was shocking. He pointed the gun at me, told me to lie face down on the floor. I was so stunned by what was happening that I simply froze. He came closer and repeated himself. I finally got my legs to work. I told him I didn't want any trouble, and I got down on the floor.”