The Electrician's Code (20 page)

Chapter Forty-Seven

T
heo ran his hand over his tie as he looked in the mirror. He was getting thinner and his wide tie made him look like a toothpick. For the life of him, he didn’t know why he was attending. An auction? He didn’t know the first thing about auctions.

“Why are you so dressed up?” his wife said behind him.

“The auction, remember I told you about it?” He looked at her through the mirror. He had invited her but she turned him down. She thought it would be boring.

“Are you angry I didn’t want to go?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Are you going to be buying one of those weird . . .” she searched for the word.

“No, dear, I don’t think my mother would appreciate the gesture. She’d insist on taking it apart and re-working the bathroom sink with the tiles. ‘It’s just wasteful to see tile on the wall of the living room,’ she would say. Besides, where would she hang it? There are enough framed family portraits on the wall already.”

He pointed into the mirror. “What do you think of my tie?”

“I like your light green one,” she offered. “This one makes you look like you’re going to give a lecture at a university. Would you like me to get your tie?” She didn’t wait for his response, walking to the closet and rifling through his clothes. “Where do you keep them?”

Theo pointed to his sock drawer. “I just roll them up and put them in there.” She opened the top drawer and pulled out the green tie.

“So what are your plans for the evening?”

“Your sister is taking me shopping,” she replied. “I’m taking the card you gave me to buy things. I’ve practiced my old signature, so I’ll be able to use it.”

“I should just get you a new one and you can re-sign it.”

“Nah, that’s all right, I don’t mind.”

He walked into the auction house about four. There were many people already gathered in the small room filled with chairs and a small podium at the front. He was handed a booklet and a number He considered refusing it because he knew he wasn’t going to buy anything. He looked around the room for anyone he knew but chances were slim.

He wandered to the viewing area. The most popular pieces were surrounded by people. Apparently another dead artist that worked with bronze was the main attraction of the night. Tipring’s art sat in a corner. No one even gave them a glance.

In the very last row, he chose a seat between two empty chairs and placed his booklet on a seat beside him—few came alone so he figured it was the best way to have a spot by himself. People were relatively quiet. There were a few whispers about various paintings and other collectibles placed in lots. He smiled at the older woman that sat two seats down. Her book was open and she lightly tapped the picture of a lamp. He supposed that was what she planned to bid on. She did not smile back.

Tipring’s paintings were near the end of the auction. He was hoping some of Doc’s family or friends would come and support his work. So far, he didn’t recognize anyone. Perhaps if someone he hadn’t interviewed did take an interest in the paintings, it could shed light on his now cold case.

Theo’s watch told him there was two minutes until the auction would start. He wished he had bought a hat, so he could close his eyes until the paintings arrived. Suddenly, someone picked up his booklet on the seat beside him and sat down. He turned to say the seat was taken but then he recognized who it was.

“Ms. Evans,” he said, leaning away from her.

She wore a short velvet green dress and black pumps.

“Detective, I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“You didn’t expect me? You were the last person I expected. Are you here for the Tipring art?”

“Thought I might see what they go for. I haven’t been able to get them out of my mind, did you know that? I mean, they really are the most hideous things but they really speak to me. Sounds ridiculous, I know. Perhaps it’s the mathematician in me, but the orderliness of the tiles . . .” She laughed. “Well, that’s why I’m here. Why are you here?”

Theo was about to answer but right on time, the auction started. Lot after lot of various art and household furnishings appeared, were bid on, and then taken away. Sophia followed along carefully in her book as each item passed. On occasion she would nod and state what a good deal it was or shake her head and complained the bidder paid too much.

“You can tell who has been to auctions before and who has not,” she leaned over and whispered into his ear.

“Have you been to many?”

“My father used to drag me to them as a child but as I grew, I started bidding and the excitement of the chase got me hooked. On occasion, and don’t tell anyone, not that you would and who would care, I would bid up an item for fun.” She covered her wide-open mouth and then smiled at him. “Have you been to many?”

“I once bought a car from an auction. Art? No. Couldn’t afford that.”

The lamp came up and the lady on the other side started bidding. Sophia raised her number twice before not bidding anymore.

“You want that lamp?”

“No. It’s wouldn’t match a thing in my flat.”

“Then why did you bid on it?”

“I don’t like the look that old woman keeps giving us. Now she has to pay more.”

“That’s terribly mean.”

“Yes. I’m sorry. Perhaps she will get me back by bidding on the Tipring paintings. Though, I can’t think of anyone here wanting those. Has any of his family or friends arrived?”

Theo hadn’t searched the room since Sophia had arrived. She had the ability to mesmerize him. He went up and down the rows with his eyes.

“Yes, there’s the nurse,” he said, motioning with his eyes.

“Oh, perhaps she wants some of his work. I hope she doesn’t try to buy them all. I know I can outbid her but I wouldn’t want to take all of it away from her.”

“Let her bid on some.”

“Good idea.” She flipped a page in her booklet. “Is she upset that you didn’t solve his murder?”

“I haven’t spoken to her in a long time. I feel bad that all the leads went cold.”

“Is that why you’re here, hoping to uncover something?”

He stared at her in wonderment. “Maybe.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, not all cases get solved. You’re still the detective I like most.”

“How are things with you? Did you ever crack Tipring’s uncle’s coded shorthand?”

“I did actually, but the pages were filled with vague notes. Lots of numbers. I tried to trace them but couldn’t find anything. The word
blocks
was underlined but again it meant nothing. Some odd verses. I really couldn’t make heads or tails of it and because he’s dead I can’t ask him about it. Sorry. I hoped it could help your case. What are you working on now?”

“Nothing that would interest you. I’m currently investigating the death of a woman—stabbed in her flat. We’re hoping to find the killer among the CCTV footage.”

“Another stabbing. Just like Doc, is it? Maybe they have the same killer.”

He smiled. “Highly unlikely.”

The Tipring art came up for bid and Sophia waited until she was assured the nurse didn’t intend to bid on the first lot. She didn’t have to worry—no one bid at all. The first lot went to Sophia and so did the second, third, and fourth. She bought all of them. The nurse turned to look at her. She was beaming.

“What the hell am I going to do with all that tile?” she asked him, grabbing his arm. “I’m going to have to store it in my other flat for now.”

After two more lots, the auction was over. Sophia went over to her purchase and ran her fingers over the top of the tiles. Theo followed behind.

The nurse came over.

“I just want to thank you,” she said to Sophia. “I didn’t think anyone would buy it and yet here you went and bought it all. Thank you. It would have meant a lot to him. He cherished each one of those.” She reached out and touched one of the pieces of art. “I was never allowed to touch them. Not even to dust. He was odd that way.” She looked at Sophia. “I’m glad you recognized his talent.”

Without another word, she walked away, clutching her handbag tightly under her arm.

“Who receives the money?” Sophia asked him.

“The proceeds go to charity—animals or something like that. Perhaps cancer research.”

She laughed. “Those two things are not related at all. I won’t be able to take these home with me tonight. I suppose I best sort out the payment and transport of my precious new artwork. I am surprised none of his family came. Did they even attend the funeral?”

“They were not a close family. It’s sad really.”

Theo had asked her for coffee but she refused. He wanted to ask her for a reason but she had turned to go before he could.

Chapter Forty-Eight

T
heo sighed and pushed open the door to the autopsy room. The dead looked so foreign in the cold, sterile room.

“Tell me what you know, doc,” he asked as he entered the room.

“Cause of death was stabbing. The knife penetrated the heart. The good news is, I don’t think she suffered. The killer caught her unawares and . . .” He made a stabbing motion with his hand. “Reminds me a lot of the last stabbing case you had.”

Theo leaned forward. “You’re the second person who mentioned the connection.”

“Do you think there is a connection?”

“No, unlikely,” he said.

“I would have to check my notes, and although they appear to be similar, they are different. If you like, after the autopsy we can compare the case notes on both victims,” Dr. Waynton said.

After the autopsy was over, he led Theo into his office.

“Have a seat,” he said and motioned Theo toward a chair. He went over to a filing cabinet and quickly retrieved a file. “Here we are, Maddock Tipring.”

With both files opened side by side on his desk, he ran his fingers down each page.

“According to forensics and the knife wound measurement, the knives were different. The one that stabbed Doc was a standard flat edge kitchen knife while the other, while still a kitchen knife, had a serrated edge. Both wounds were not deep but they both hit the mark. Based on the angle of each of the wounds, one killer was taller than the other but not more than ten centimeters. No, it is my opinion that the two victims were killed by two different killers.”

“All right,” Theo replied.

“I’m sorry, detective,” he continued. “I would like to tell you that they had the same killer, then perhaps you can solve two cases but, no. I’m sorry.”

“Is there anything you can give me, anything to help me find Sharon’s killer?”

“Based on height and force behind the thrust, I would say you’re looking for a woman rather than a man. Now, that’s just a guess.”

“Really? A woman?”

“That, old chap, is only a guess. I wouldn’t want to rule out men but this is likely woman’s work.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Theo started out the door but stopped. “One more thing, doc. My prime suspect in Sharon’s murder was a woman, but she died. You’ll not believe this, but she died the day Sharon did.”

“What? That can’t be a coincidence.”

“My thoughts exactly. I requested an autopsy and when it’s completed, I’ll send you the report. I worry she was murdered as well.”

“Was she stabbed?”

“No. Apparently she died of a heart attack.”

“But you suspect something sinister like poison?”

“I would like to rule it out.”

“I will have a look.”

“Thank you.”

Theo returned to the incident room an hour later. Dorland wasn’t around.

“Has anyone seen Dorland?” Theo called out. Everyone shook their heads. When he dialed Dorland’s number, a mobile went off behind him. He turned to see Dorland take his mobile out of his pocket and fling his jacket over the back of his chair.

“Where have you been?”

“I had to take my sister to the doctor. Didn’t you receive my voicemail?”

Theo looked at his screen. There were no messages.

“Is your sister sick?”

“No.”

Theo wanted to probe further but by the time he had listened to all three messages Dorland had begun going through footage of CCTV.

“How much more do you have to go through?”

“I’ve finished going through all of it. Unfortunately, I haven’t found anyone suspicious. There were so many people coming and going from the building that day it could be anyone. It must have been the biggest birthday party on the planet with all the children and parents. In fact, around the time of the murder the doors into the building were propped open so that each parent didn’t have to buzz up to the flat. The killer would have used that opportunity to enter without having to alert anyone of their arrival. Also, the party did outdoor and indoor activities so people were constantly going in and out.”

“Yes, but we know around what time Sharon was murdered and we know the killer wasn’t going to hang round waiting for people to notice so that should narrow it down somewhat. Listen, just find the footage from the building, make me a copy, and put it on my desk. I’ll have a look over it. You’re probably looking for a woman.”

Dorland took a deep breath and blew out. Theo could see the relief on his face.

“Listen,” Theo said, “you did good.”

“Thank you, sir. What would you like me to do?”

“This will sound terrible, but capture as many frames or faces as you can and ask the host of the party to identify those who attended and those that didn’t. We can narrow it down that way. Also, arrange for an autopsy on Mrs. Peter’s body. I want to rule out poison.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

T
hat afternoon, Sophia skipped out of work early because she was expecting the artwork to arrive at her flat around three. When it did arrive, she buzzed the men into the lobby entrance and watched them cart boxes of artwork from their lorry into the service lift—five boxes worth. She laughed.

When the men disembarked, she led them down the hall and opened her father’s flat. She made a quick inspection to be sure none of her work had been left out from previous projects. None had.

She would need a hammer to enter the wooden crates and she checked under the kitchen sink. Her father loved to leave his tools under the sink to rust and, as expected, he had left her one. After some loud moaning from the nails, she managed to lift the lid off one crate. She lifted one of the heavy pieces out. How did Tipring manage to hang so many on his wall? He would have had to re-enforce the walls. She sat down on the sofa and ran her hands over the smooth tiles.

Although the tiles did not look artistic, she liked them. Each one sat in alignment, full of bright colors—purple, gray, yellow, and white. What was wrong with tiles as art? She had once gone to an art display worth thousands where the artist only used nails. Besides, they would really brighten up the walls of her father’s flat.

She remembered how Theo laughed when she had won the lot. Most of the attendees thought she was mad. And perhaps she was, but she enjoyed spending the money. She had enjoyed the company of Theo again. Hopefully he didn’t think she had attended just to see him.

Besides, he had come to her only a few weeks back with the note. A note he must have known led nowhere. He couldn’t have come to her without checking an Internet search for the meaning behind it. He knew it was a code.

Now she held the finished artwork of the bored electrician. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to design art that looked this way and stare at it for hours on end. What must he have been thinking as he lay each piece down in the mortar?

Sophia pushed the art away and stood up.

When Sophia entered her flat, she found Liam on her sofa, watching a movie. A case of beer sat on her table. He looked like hell with stubble all over his face, and he smelled of alcohol.

“I would ask you how you got in but I’m sure you can break into any flat you like. Oh, Liam, you stink and look like hell. When was the last time you showered?” she asked him.

“Why does that matter?”

She wanted to say it was because he was sitting on her sofa, but she didn’t have the heart. Instead, she went to make herself a cup of coffee.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“Redecorating my other flat. You should come see the artwork I purchased for a song.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow and followed her back down the hall, carrying a beer.

Suddenly Sophia stopped and turned around. “Wait, before I let you in. You’ve not come to inform me of some new assignment or case.”

“I have not.”

“And nothing relating to Stewart.”

“No.” He placed one hand on her shoulder. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not think about him right now. Just for an hour or two. Show me your art.”

Inside, one piece of artwork lay across the top of one of the cartons. Liam went over and lifted it.

“It’s . . . interesting,” he finally said. At least he was brutally honest. “Is this design based on a specific code you’ve been studying?” He laid the art down with a clunk. Sophia moved her hands over the edges and surface making sure he didn’t crack it.

“I know. It reminded me of a type of code but it’s actually not code; it’s art,” she said. “Be careful with it. It’s not like the two or three pound beers you choose to decorate your flat with.”

He ignored her. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, that’s not art, that’s bathroom material.”

“I’ll have you know a one-legged man created these.”

“That’s explains why he couldn’t finish his home-improvement project.”

She slapped his arm. “I happen to find them fascinating.”

“I’m sure you would in your mad mind.” He laughed and walked into her father’s old bedroom and turned on the light.

She followed him.

“It’s a lot like the layout of your other flat,” he remarked.

“Have you never been here?”

“Maybe. I can’t remember.”

Sophia placed her hands on her hips. Liam wasn’t himself and it worried her. Normally he was focused or angry. She had never seen him quiet.

“You need to go home and relax. You’ve seen a lot today and you’re not thinking properly.”

He sat down on the bed. “Did you hear that Marvin is quitting?”

She didn’t even know who Marvin was. “Oh, why?”

“Apparently the government doesn’t pay as much as the private sector.”

She laughed, but Liam didn’t.

“We don’t work for the government because of the money,” he continued. “But it sure as hell helps. Do you know how many people I’ve killed for the government? It does not pay enough—not for all I’ve been through. I used to count, you know, to say a prayer for each one but . . . I wish I could say I see the faces of all the lives I’ve taken, but I can’t. It makes life meaningless. If I stop caring, how can I expect the men who kill others to care?”

“We will catch him, Liam. We’ll catch Stewart. He won’t get away with it.”

“You get rid of one piece of shite and another pops up in his place. It’s never going to bloody end. And really, we—the government—allow it. The criminals get good solicitors and for all the months of hard work on our part, they get a slap on the wrist. They’re not afraid of us. They just laugh at us. I’m so tired of it all.”

“You’ve brought many to justice,” she said.

“Yes, and have seen many get away.” He patted her shoulder. “I’m just tired of it, that’s all. Especially when I could do something about it.”

“Then do something about it.”

He smiled, kissed her on the forehead, and made his way to the door. “I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”

She shrugged. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

He patted his right jacket pocket. “Oh, before I leave, I meant to give this to you. I even had your name engraved.” From his pocket he pulled out a long rectangular box.

Inside the box was a silver pen.

“What is it for?” she asked, but she knew what it was for.

“A thank you for all your hard work,” he replied and left.

She grinned. It was a tracking device and before he could activate it, it was going back into his possession. Cheeky bastard.