Final Verdict Page 8

  “I’ll go out there this afternoon,” Sergeant Pemberton added. “See what I can find.”

  “Take the dusters. Above all else, we need prints.”

  “Right.”

  Jake sat beside the slender forensic scientist. “Can you copy me on what the FBI sent you about Andrus?”

  “Sure. Apparently he’s been an art dealer for decades. He’s developed quite a reputation.”

  “As a...reliable professional?”

  “As a sleazeball who sells stolen art. Stuff too hot for Christie’s and Sotheby’s. Paintings most museums wouldn’t touch.”

  “But Sweeney did.”

  “Repeatedly.”

  Jake nodded. “I believe it. Near as I could tell, the whole point of that hidden room was so he could sit around alone and pleasure himself with his secret art stash.”

  “Eew.” Crosswaite pursed her lips. “That’s an image I won’t be able to get out of my head. Thanks.”

  “But we still don’t have a motive.”

  “Perhaps they had a falling out. Perhaps Sweeney couldn’t pay his bill. The papers say he’s in serious financial trouble. And I doubt being in jail is helping his portfolio.”

  “True. But I’d like something more concrete. Even if a deal went bad—why murder Andrus? And for that matter, why do it in such a grisly way?”

  “Maybe Sweeney gets off on violence.” Her face contorted. “There’s another nasty mental image. Do you really think Sweeney could do something like that?”

  “Could? Yes. Would? I don’t know. His MO has always been to act through hunchmen.”

  “Might be harder if he’s got money problems.”

  “He’d find a way. But we’re still dodging the big question. One we’ll have to answer during the trial.”

  “And that is?”

  “Why would he stuff the body into that freezer?”

  “Maybe it was a way of...admiring his handiwork. Like the paintings.”

  “Hard to imagine.”

  “Maybe he thought it would be easier to transport once it was frozen.”

  “Then where’s the rest of the body?”

  “Maybe he’s a cannibal and—”

  “Okay, stop.” Jake thrust his hands into his pockets. “Let’s hope the apartment search produces some answers. In the meantime—good work. If I can thank you in some way—”

  “Surf and turf at Chez Guitano.”

  Today was just filled with surprises. “Probably not a good idea...”

  “C’mon, Kakazu. Go big or go home.”

  He took a moment and peered into her lovely blue eyes.

  “Well, copper? Waiting for an answer here.”

  Jake drew in his breath. “Do you think they have those battered hush puppies? I love those.”

  Chapter 14

  Dan wandered around the cemetery for more than ten minutes before he finally spotted the funeral. The day was overcast, which explained why a tent had been erected over the gravesite. A group of maybe twenty people sat in folding chairs.

  He heard noises, shouting. Angry shouting. Several people rose from their chairs, pointing, yelling. What in the world?

  He quickened his pace. Apparently this was not your run-of-the-mill funeral.

  The ceremony was for a man named Christopher Andrus, the art dealer Phil Coleman said was Sweeney’s partner who had been identified as the victim found in Sweeney’s freezer. Sweeney acknowledged that he had done business with the man on numerous occasions, though he adamantly maintained that he had not killed him.

  Dan assumed this was not an open-casket funeral, since most of the body parts had not been located and the parts in the freezer were in hideous shape.

  Some sort of scuffle was taking place at the front of the tent just behind the coffin resting on a raised mechanical platform that would later lower it into a grave. One of the people struggling up front was the man he came to meet.

  The other appeared to be a preacher.

  “You are desecrating a holy ceremony,” the preacher said

  “You mean I’m making it honest.” The other man, who Dan recognized as Bernard Jamison, held his ground. Goatee. Oxford button-down shirt but no tie. Blue stud earring on the left. “Kit never wanted a religious service.”

  “His widow does,” the preacher muttered.

  “Is this her funeral? No. It’s Kit’s, and he gave me specific instructions on how he wanted it to go down. None of this religious huggermugger. No more lies. No more deception.”

  Dan assumed the woman in black sobbing on the front row was Andrus’ widow. The crowd reactions ranged from perplexed to disturbed. “Please leave,” the widow cried. “I want Kit’s soul to go to heaven.”

  “He didn’t believe in heaven,” Jamison said. “And from what he told me, neither do you.”

  “It isn’t true. Please. You’re turning this into a...a farce.”

  “The farce was your marriage.”

  Audible gasps emerged from the crowd. Two people rose and walked away in disgust, muttering as they went.

  The preacher tried unsuccessfully to dislodge Jamison. “You have no authority here.”

  “No, that’s you. I have written instructions from Kit and the right to take the corpse out of here right now if you don’t let me speak. I showed you the disclosure documents. Now stand down.”

  The preacher grudgingly retreated, though he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

  “As for Kit’s marriage,” Jamison continued, “let’s take a moment to acknowledge what I think most of you already know. Kit was gay. Mary here is bi and theirs was a marriage of convenience necessitated by the outmoded mores of an earlier era. Two beards living a lie to appease the majority.”

  The widow’s cries heightened. She folded forward, hands covering her face. A woman sitting beside her reached an arm across to comfort her.

  “And while we’re at it, Mary, why don’t we be honest about the woman you brought to this event? Willa isn’t your cousin. She’s your lover. Your true spouse. And she has been for more than two decades.”

  The announcement that Kit was gay had barely raised an eyebrow, but this revelation popped eyes all across the tent.

  “Don’t bother protesting, Willa. I won’t try to throw you out. Kit didn’t mind the fact that you were sleeping with his wife. But he did mind you sneaking around his office photocopying his financial documents. Did you really think he couldn’t tell? He wasn’t an imbecile.”

  “He was an imbecile,” the woman apparently named Willa said. “He had the best woman in the world. And he didn’t appreciate her.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. He wasn’t sexually attracted to Mary, but he held her in high esteem. What he didn’t appreciate was you two putting tenterhooks into his estate while he was still alive. Were you planning a divorce? Building your stash of evidence so you could rob him? I suppose it doesn’t matter. He’s gone now.”

  Dan stared at the audience, which seemed simultaneously appalled and mesmerized. This was certainly not the funeral they expected. But it was weirdly spellbinding. As if Andrus were telling tales and spreading gossip from the other side of the grave.

  “It’s not like being gay is unusual in the art world,” Jamison continued. “Maybe if we all started being more honest, the need for this kind of deception would disappear.”

  Dan noticed that some of the tumult quieted.

  “Kit was taken from us much too soon. We still don’t know what happened. But we know this. He was a bright spot, a flash of color in a world that too often seems gray and colorless. He lived in the world of art, but the truth is, Kit was a work of art himself. He found joy in his work and he spread that joy everywhere he went.”

  Dan wasn’t sure this qualified as a eulogy, but if so, it was one of the most interesting he’d ever heard. Though the remaining crowd seemed to have settled in for the ride, the preacher stomped off in a huff.

  “Kit Andrus was a great human being,” Jamison continued. “A jubi
lant, gay, atheist soul who loved art and knew how lucky he was to find a way to live in the world he loved so well. He told me he wanted to be an artist himself, but found he lacked some of the essential ingredients. Like talent.” Jamison laughed. “So he became a dealer and surrounded himself with the finest work in private hands. His life was a triumph over adversity and discrimination. Don’t be sad, my friends. Celebrate. That’s what Kit wanted, not all this morose handwringing and blathering about a non-existent afterlife. Take the love Kit held in his heart and spread it throughout the world. That’s how you honor him best.”

  * * *

  After the funeral ended and the other attendees left, Dan introduced himself. They strolled through the spacious cemetery, past rolling hills and well-kept gardens. Dan suspected a corpse needed some serious wherewithal to get into this cemetery. Before he left the office, Garrett told him the place was so popular “people were dying to get in.”

  Dan stared at the business card in his hand. “You’re a coffin confessor?”

  “That’s what I call it,” Jamison replied. “You got a better name? I’m open to suggestions.”

  “You mean you’ve done this before?”

  “I do it several times a year. Kit knew that.”

  “Kit” was apparently what friends called Christopher Andrus. “And he...asked you to create a scene at his funeral?”

  “He didn’t specify ‘a scene.’ But he knew what he wanted and authorized me to make it happen.”

  “His widow seemed pretty upset.”

  “And that’s a shame. But it was inevitable. I warned both her and the preacher that I was coming. Showed them the authorization documents Kit signed empowering me. Maybe they didn’t think I was serious.”

  “But you were.”

  “Are you kidding? I gave Kit my solemn promise. Plus, he paid me 10K.”

  “You got ten thousand bucks to disrupt a funeral?”

  “To make it honest. We need more honesty in the world, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “We live in a world of fake social media posts and troll-farm dark-web conspiracy theories. Some people can’t separate truth from fiction anymore. They want to believe what pleases them, even if there is no evidence whatsoever in support. A person’s legacy, an entire life, can be rewritten by a few fake tweets. It was worth it to Kit to see that people told the truth about him after he was dead.”

  “Did Andrus suspect his end was approaching? Is that why he made plans for the funeral?”

  “I got no hint of that. He was an advance planner, maybe even a little OCD. I do several of these a year which he knew, since we were friends. I was instructed to blend in, sit with the family and friends quietly. But if anyone started any religious nonsense, I was authorized to stand up and speak out.”

  “I think that’s the part where I came in.”

  “It got dodgy for a while. But Reverend Wolverton backed off pretty quickly. He’d seen the documents. He knew I wasn’t talking through my hat.”

  “Still didn’t seem to like it much.”

  “I’m sure it’s hard for an old school guy like him. He’s used to being the big deal at the party. A funeral is supposed to be a somber bon voyage.”

  “That scene with the widow and her partner was ugly. More like an assassination than a bon voyage.”

  “They deceived Kit while living off his support. Hard to be more backstabbing than that. Kit wanted them called out at the funeral. It’s going to get worse for them later. Kit only left his wife a tiny support package. Just enough to make sure she had nothing to complain about in court. The vast majority of the estate is going to a nonprofit organization.”

  Dan followed the path around a hill and found a large pond with a fountain. Geese floated on the edge. “Were you really prepared to take the casket?”

  “Absolutely. I had written authorization from the deceased himself. It’s an insurance policy. A way to make sure no officious so-and-so tries to prevent me from completing my appointed task.”

  This whole coffin-confessor business was too bizarre. Grief was hard enough for most people. A funeral was meant to provide solace and a sense of resolution. A tumultuous ceremony like this one was more likely to have the opposite effect.

  But he hadn’t come here to judge the funeral or its participants. “Can we talk about Andrus? Did you know much about his business?”

  “Just enough to be envious. He was an art dealer.”

  “Like Al Capone was a used furniture dealer?”

  The man laughed. “In a way. He might’ve been covering other activities. He usually had several irons in the fire. But he also trafficked a lot of art. I’ve dabbled a bit in art myself, but not on his level. He always seemed to have a line on the most valuable pieces. Today, fine art is so expensive it’s almost impossible to sell without a middleman. Maybe several middlemen. But galleries and auction houses take a steep percentage. Kit managed to avoid those by finding people with the cash to shell out major bucks.”

  “Like Conrad Sweeney?”

  “Kit knew what Sweeney liked and usually managed to find it. Sweeney had always dreamed of owning a Vermeer. Today, that would seem virtually impossible. All known Vermeers are believed to be in museums. And yet, Kit managed to sell one to Sweeney not long ago.”

  “Where did he find it?”

  Jamison smiled. “If I knew that, I’d pick one up myself.”

  “When did you first meet Andrus?”

  “While I was still in the Army. I was a medic, believe it or not. Saw some action in Iraq. Was stationed in Paris for a while and started going to museums to pass the time. That’s when I fell in love with fine art. Kit was at the Musée d’Orsay one day and we bumped heads. Been friends ever since.”

  “You must’ve been aware that...some of his deals with Sweeney, and perhaps others, were thought to be...on the criminal side. Stolen work. Paintings with dubious provenance.”

  “I’ve heard those rumors, sure. But I don’t know that they’re true. Here’s the reality. Anytime someone is as successful as Kit, there’s going to be some trash-talking. People get jealous. Insecure. It’s hard to admit someone else is better at the job than you are. Easier to call them crooked.”

  “Do you know whether Andrus sold stolen paintings?”

  “I have no information about that whatsoever.”

  “Did Sweeney have any reason to kill Andrus?”

  “Far as I could tell, Kit was doing exactly what Sweeney wanted him to do. And doing it well.”

  “When was the last time you saw Andrus?”

  “Two days before his body—or part of it—was found in that freezer. I bumped into him down at the Crislip Arcade. I was doing a little shopping for my mother and I ran into Kit...and a woman he called his intern.”

  “What was her name?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

  “Did you believe the intern story?”

  “Sure. Why not? Kit was gay, and even if they were having a fling, he had no reason to hide it. His wife had been in a relationship with someone else for years.”

  “Did he tell you anything?”

  Jamison thought for a moment. “He said he was meeting someone for dinner. A guy named Ray Carvel.”

  “Another art dealer?”

  “Far from it. Architect. Reasonably successful once, but I hear he’s fallen on hard times.”

  “I need to talk to him. Can you give me his contact info?”

  “Carvel is currently...unavailable.”

  “A recluse architect?”

  “An on-the-lam architect. I don’t know all the details, but he’s been involved in some dubious ventures.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Something bad enough to have the feds after him. And maybe the cartel as well. Look, I’ve told you everything I know. But consider the facts. Carvel met with Kit. And forty-eight hours later, Kit was dead.”

  Chapter 15

  Garrett
had been staring at his computer screen so long his eyes started to water. Which was usually the sign that it was time to take a break.

  He looked away from the monitor, rubbing his eyes. He was glad he invested in this high-tech high-resolution curved screen. Letting the images wrap around him created an immersive environment that helped him get his work done. At the moment he was watching grainy footage from a security surveillance camera, but his computer and software’s enhancement capabilities elevated it significantly. Which was useful when searching for minute details, minor incongruities the police might have missed.

  He’d been holed up in his office since the team took this case. He’d been reviewing footage from the SweeTech security cameras since five in the morning. And he had about reached his limit.

  What had he learned? Bottom line: nothing useful.

  He’d scoured every online source he knew, trying to find something to help Dan win this case. Before that, he explored Sweeney’s financial situation, which proved to be truly horrific, worse than anyone imagined. Sweeney owed creditors more than four-hundred-million bucks. Given the kind of people he’d been doing business with, they were unlikely to consider filing bankruptcy a suitable excuse for not paying his debts.

  Garrett had also investigated the cartel that had been using St. Petersburg as a crime nexus and debarkation point. In no small part due to the efforts of Dan and Jake Kakazu, the human trafficking ring it ran for more than two decades was in tatters. Organ smuggling was similarly disrupted because they couldn’t get the goods into the states and sadly, because they were getting so much competition from dark web sellers. The cartel was no longer cutting edge. They were Sears in an Amazon world.

  But today he concentrated on the hundreds of hours of surveillance camera footage from SweeTech, which only reinforced the case against Sweeney. Footage showed Christopher Andrus entering the building on the day in question and riding the elevator to the penthouse floor—with Sweeney.

  And never leaving.

  He detected no signs of tampering. The camera angles and shadows were correct. This footage definitely came from those security cameras. Besides, the only person in a position to tamper with anything was Sweeney, and he wouldn’t fake footage certain to lead to his arrest.