The next morning, Dulcie paced her office floor in front of Detective Nicholas Black. She stopped and whirled around to face him. “Now let me get this straight. You think Lawrence Bellamy is innocent. But you need proof. So you want me to smuggle you and Adam Johnson in as part of the film crew so that you can have access to the house to search Xander’s room, without a warrant, I might add, and find a sketchbook.”
“That sums it up,” Nick stated.
Dulcie leaned against her desk looking thoughtful. Her dark brown hair was pulled softly into a low chignon, and several wisps had escaped already. She reached up and attempted to slide them back in, but they simply fell forward again. Nick was glad. They made her look angelic, he thought.
“If I didn’t agree with you about Lawrence Bellamy, I’d say absolutely not. But I do agree with you. We have one problem, though,” she explained. “Raymond Armand will be there. He knows you and Adam. He’ll wonder what you’re doing. I’ll have to tell him.”
‘Damn,’ thought Nick. This Dr. Armand was turning out to be trouble in more ways than one. Then he noticed that Dulcie had not used the title ‘Doctor’ before his name. Was that on purpose? Was she remembering their previous argument? Nick decided to let it go. Least said, soonest mended was the phrase he remembered hearing as a boy.
“How do you think Armand would respond?” Nick asked. “We’ll be stealing, technically, if we take the sketchbook.”
“Who says you’re taking it? You could simply be borrowing it, and you’ll bring it back. Besides, Raymond doesn’t need to know about the sketchbook. We could say that you’re investigating someone else in the crew and needed to get the inside scoop.”
“You really should have been a detective,” Nick marveled. “You know how to lie without lying.”
“Nick! That’s terrible!” Dulcie swatted him playfully on the arm. His heart made a single, huge thump in his chest. He was sure she could have heard it. He tried to refocus. She was still speaking. “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble with him, though. He’ll be too busy trying to sound overtly intellectual. Serious ego we’re contending with there.”
Nick felt his entire body relax. So, she really didn’t like Dr. Raymond Armand. That competition was out. Good. He brought his thoughts back to the discussion. “You’ll have the most difficult job, pretending that you don’t know us.”
“Maybe, but I’ll be pretty busy, too. I won’t need to interact much with you. The question now is, do we tell the film crew, or just let them assume that you are two other ‘helpers’ that we brought in?”
“See, this is what I’m talking about. You’re really good at this!” Nick grinned.
“Fine. I now have a Plan B if this art career doesn’t work out,” she laughed. “Now be off with you! Some of us have work to do!”
“All right. See you tomorrow afternoon at Xander’s house. One o’clock,” Nick replied.
“Perfect,” Dulcie said, already typing on her laptop. “See you tomorrow.”
#
It didn’t sit well. Edith Bernstein did not like it when life was untidy. The situation with Xander’s father was definitely not tidy. She was stooped over, tying on her “walking shoes” as she called them. They were actually brown leather sneakers, “tennis shoes” according to the box, but she had always believed she would never purchase any athletic wear, so they were her walking shoes. She didn’t consider walking athletic. She considered it a necessity.
From the house, two pathways led to the beach. One was direct, but the other twisted and turned through the pine trees and underbrush. Edith preferred that one. At a steady pace, it took a good fifteen minutes to reach the water, then another fifteen back. Half an hour was a good amount of time to think something through.
She set off at a slowish pace, hands clasped behind her. It was her thinking gait.
‘So, let’s begin,’ she thought. ‘Gisa meets Lawrence Bellamy, Canadian from Quebec. They have Xander and quickly know something is wrong. Oscar takes them in. Gisa’s mother has already died. Gisa begins drinking heavily and taking sleeping pills. Giselle has been hired long before to help out.’
Dulcie stopped. When exactly had Giselle come into the picture? What did anyone know about her? It was common knowledge that she had come in to clean their house in Quebec when Lawrence and Gisa had lived there. She had been in America with them for several years now and had practically raised Xander. Edith set these thoughts aside, to be continued later. She was very good at bookmarking her thoughts and returning to them. It was methodical.
She started walking again. ‘Oscar pays for Xander’s therapy. He pays for everyone’s expenses while they live in the house. Xander’s condition improves, but his mother’s deteriorates. She dies of an overdose of sleeping pills mixed with alcohol. No one knows if it was intentional or not. Oscar becomes more intense with his mind games.’
Edith could see how Lawrence would be pushed too far. She could certainly sympathize with him. He was always a quiet, good man. He had wanted to help his wife and his child. In the end, he could only help one of them. Edith could see how anyone would be driven, under those circumstances, to push someone through a window during a heated argument. She just couldn’t see Lawrence actually doing it. He had always been aware of his size. He had always been careful with everyone around him, almost to the point of being overly polite and self-conscious. Still….
Her thoughts switched to others who had been around at that time, and rested on Raymond Armand. ‘That psychologist needs his comeuppance. He knows his stuff, but he really thinks too highly of himself.’ Edith slowed her pace. Could he have been involved? He was in the house quite often. Giselle had told her that he was angry when Oscar had discontinued his services. Evidently he wanted to make a name for himself using Xander as his research guinea pig. Everyone believed that Oscar removed Raymond Armand from the household because he didn’t want the world to know about Xander. Was that the only reason? Would that have been enough to make Raymond want to push Oscar out of a window? Was Raymond the shadow in Xander’s painting?
Edith had reached the beach. She stopped and gazed out across the ocean. She had crossed that water so many times in her travels. It looked peaceful today, barely rippling. Tomorrow it could be different. Tomorrow huge waves could roll in from some distant storm that would never even make landfall. One large event, setting off a chain reaction that would continue rolling on for hundreds of miles and perhaps several days.
One event. A chain reaction. Was that the key? Why had her mind thought of that? Edith did not believe in random thoughts, not in her own brain anyway. Everything that popped into her head was there for a reason. She stored away this particular thought, bookmarking it to return to later when it seemed more relevant. And it would be relevant, in some way. She was sure of it.
#
Giselle scurried around the house picking up various breakable items and temporarily storing them in a small back room which she intended to lock. Even though Dulcie had said that the film crew would be in Xander’s studio only, she imagined them traipsing through the entire house with big, heavy equipment, knocking over anything and everything in their path. As she made one final sweep through, she picked up a few more things that weren’t breakable, but certainly had a great deal of value: an antique wooden globe, a first edition novel…. ‘No sense in tempting fate,’ she thought.
She continued upstairs and forced herself to go in to Oscar Bernstein’s old study. She hated that room. She had always made sure that he was nowhere in the house when the room needed cleaning. Even with him gone, she still felt uneasy every time she was in the room.
Giselle remembered the last argument very well. She had witnessed all of it. Oscar had summoned her and Lawrence. He had told Lawrence that he would no longer be paying for Dr. Raymond Armand’s services, and that the man was no longer welcome in the house. Lawrence had been furious, in his own quiet way. The psychologist had done well with Xander; Xander had been using hand signals more. But Oscar had found a way to kill two birds with one stone. He had simultaneously squashed Dr. Armand’s intention to make his work with Xander public, and he had struck at where Lawrence was most vulnerable. Giselle remembered how Oscar had simply sneered at Lawrence, telling him to shut up or he and his “worthless spawn” would be living on the street. Then Oscar had laughed that disgusting, maniacal snicker. It had been horrifying.
Giselle had not known why she had been summoned also. Perhaps simply as a witness to this announcement, to add to Lawrence’s distress? No, Oscar was always one step ahead of everyone. He told Giselle to stay as Lawrence stormed out. She did so, but edged toward the door.
When Lawrence was out of earshot, Oscar had said, “My dear little Giselle. You have some secrets, don’t you.” His voice was slippery and menacing. She did have secrets. What could he know? She did not reply. “You see, I know everything. I always know everything!” He laughed again. “Let me see, one of them involves the good Dr. Armand, doesn’t it? You certainly have reason to want him to continue his work with Xander, don’t you?”
Giselle stood as firmly as she could, willing her body not to shake. She did not reply.
“You and the good doctor certainly got along well!” Oscar was now ogling her, his eyes scanning up and down her body. He rubbed his hands together. “Such a pity he won’t be around to see to your needs. You’ll have to find solace elsewhere!” He began to walk toward her. The next thing that she remembered was bolting down the stairs, nearly tripping on the carpet, then throwing herself in her room and locking the door. She could still hear his horrible laugh ringing in the hallway.
“What else could he know?” she whispered to the empty room. Everything else was so far buried in the past, she couldn’t imagine how he could manage to dig it up. After the will reading, when she had refused the money for fear of that letter being sent to Lawrence, she had asked if she could read it. The attorneys had refused stating client confidentiality. She didn’t understand how that could apply if the client was dead. They had rambled on with something about the client now being the estate, which she still did not understand. She really didn’t care about the money. She just didn’t want certain information to surface. It might not change anything, but then again, it could bring her whole world crashing down. Giselle shook her head rapidly, trying to rid herself of unwelcome thoughts. She glanced around the room, then retreated quickly.
She continued into Xander’s bedroom. She had seen him working in his studio, as always. She would have to take him for a walk later. He needed some fresh air. As she straightened things up, something dropped to the floor from the windowsill, behind the curtains. It was a sketchbook. Giselle picked it up and flipped it open.
Then she recalled the conversation she had had with Lawrence. She visited him at least once each week to give him news about Xander. She worried about him in prison, away from his son. It wasn’t right. Yesterday, he had told her that two detectives had come to see him. They asked questions about Xander and Oscar. He had told them about the sketchbook. Giselle had not known about it.
She looked at the pages filled with black and white sketches. Lawrence was right. Fear. People’s faces, even their bodies, were contorted in fear. It made her feel sick to think that Xander could have felt this fear also. To be able to capture the emotion with such raw intensity, how could he not feel it as well? Fear was one of the most basic, primal emotions, after all. Of any emotion, why wouldn’t fear be an obvious one for Xander to know?
The book had been kept hidden for a reason. She was sure of that. Xander had never painted pictures like these in his studio. He must have realized, somehow, that he could not let anyone know that he understood, that he might also feel afraid.
Giselle continued turning page after page. At last she flipped to the last one and gasped. It showed Oscar, lying on the ground by the house. Above him was a broken window. The dark pool around his head seemed to flow and increase in size as Giselle stared at the page. Yet this was not what surprised her. What had made her gasp was the image of a man, crouched on the ground beside Oscar. The man was Lawrence.
Giselle remembered. The sound of glass breaking. The horrible scream. As she stared at the drawing, a thought slowly began to form in her head. She looked up and gazed out the window, seeing nothing.
It might work. It just might work. It could be exactly what was needed to get Lawrence out of prison.
#
Dulcie had arranged to visit Xander’s home late in the afternoon on the day before the video shoot. She heard the gravel crunch in the driveway under the tires of her battered Jeep Wrangler. She’d thought of getting a new car so many times, but in the end couldn’t part with what she considered her baby. They had been through too much together.
She parked, grabbed her leather briefcase, now soft and worn after having seen nearly as many years as the vehicle, and strode to the door. Before she even rang the bell, Edith swung the door wide.
“Good. Punctual. I like that.”
Dulcie bit her lip to stop from grinning. “Yes, Mrs. Bernstein. I like that, too. I think it’s rude to keep people waiting.”
“Exactly!” said the imposing woman. She stepped back to let Dulcie through.
“I just wanted to review everything with you and Giselle for tomorrow.
“Good. Come in here,” Edith said and headed for the same room that Dulcie had been in before with Edith for tea.
Dulcie hesitated. “Would Xander join us in here?”
Edith stopped short, swiveled around and shot a piercing look at Dulcie. “Why?” she barked.
Dulcie took a large gulp of air and said calmly, “Because all of this pertains to him. It disrupts his work and is intrusive. He should at least be present when we go through what will happen tomorrow.”
The piercing look continued, then Edith shrugged her shoulders. “Fine. Doubt he’ll get a thing out of it, but that’s fine. He’s in the kitchen with Giselle. We can talk there.” She led the way.
Dulcie was relieved to be in the far less formal setting of the kitchen. Giselle and Xander sat at the table, each with a cup of tea. Giselle stood immediately and said warmly, “Ah, Dul-cee. So good to see you! I will get you tea. And you as well,” she nodded in Edith’s direction.
“Thank you, Giselle. That would be lovely,” Dulcie replied. She and Edith sat at the table with Xander. He had not acknowledged them in any way. He simply continued to drink his tea and occasionally take a bite of what appeared to be a blueberry scone.
“Don’t wait for me, Dulcie. You begin. I can hear you from here,” Giselle said over her shoulder.
Dulcie pulled a notebook from her bag. “All right. I’ve tried to design the schedule so that we intrude as little as possible. I’ve instructed everyone to arrive at nine o’clock exactly and not a moment later. I’ve also told them that they cannot enter the house until then either. I know that Xander typically begins shortly after nine. The crew will come in quickly and quietly, set up in his studio, and begin filming.”
“What will you film first?” asked Giselle, now joining them at the table with a tray. She passed a steaming cup to Dulcie while Edith helped herself.
“First we’ll just get various details of the room to piece in as background. The easel, Xander’s paints, the view from his window… then we’ll bring in the model.”
“Who’s that?” Edith queried. “Hope it’s not some out-of-work actor.”
Dulcie laughed. “No, far from it. We have someone that I know well, but who isn’t a model or an actor. We wanted to make sure that it was someone Xander had never seen before.”
Edith snorted. “Sounds like an out-of-work actor to me.”
“You might say he’s between gigs,” Dulcie quipped. “But he certainly isn’t an actor. He runs a touring company and takes people on excursions in the bay on his yacht. However, this is the time of year when business really begins to slow down, as you can imagine. He’s happy to have some extra work.” Dulcie did not mention that he also happened to be her brother.
Edith harrumphed an incomprehensible response.
Dulcie turned to Xander. “You do not need to participate at all if you don’t like this,” she said directly to him. “Just stay in your room, or leave at any time. I want you to be comfortable with what we’re doing.”
“Boy doesn’t know what you’re saying,” Edith blurted mid-sip. “Only understands direct actions. Walk. Eat. Paint.”
Dulcie ignored Edith’s comment and sat very still as she looked at Xander. She felt as though she was watching a wild bird, hoping that it would slowly hop toward her.
Xander put down his cup but continued to stare into it. His hand moved to the table. Then he flipped the hand over so that it rested palm up. Dulcie looked up at Giselle. Her eyes were wide. She glanced back at Dulcie and nodded. Yes, Dulcie could hear her thinking, he has just spoken to you.
“Thank you,” Dulcie said quietly to Xander. He continued to stare into his teacup.
She continued to relate more details of the next day to them, but half of her thoughts were still on Xander. He had communicated. Again. What else could be happening in his mind?
Dulcie finished discussing the details. Xander had already left the room.
“So you’ll be done by three o’clock at the latest?” declared Edith.
“Yes, and if all goes well, sooner,” Dulcie said.
“Good. That’s it then. Thank you for coming by,” Edith stood and marched out.
Giselle and Dulcie looked at each other. Both spontaneously giggled.
“She is always like that. You must excuse her,” Giselle said. “She has a good heart, though.”
“I can see that,” Dulcie agreed. “And she obviously cares a great deal about Xander. In her way.”
“Yes, in her way. That is a kind way to say it,” Giselle offered thoughtfully. “But Dul-cee, I must show you something. It is very odd. Can you wait here a moment?”
“Of course,” Dulcie said.
Giselle left, and Dulcie heard her running quickly upstairs. After several moments, she returned to the kitchen with a wire-bound book in her hand. She gave it to Dulcie.
“What are your thoughts of this, as one who looks at art a great deal?”
Dulcie began looking through the drawings and immediately realized what it must be. This was the sketchbook that Nick had told her about. She considered each sketch more carefully now, hesitating over some. “These are Xander’s, I assume,” she said without looking up. “It’s obvious from his style. What I find so difficult to understand about him is that he can capture the emotions of others so well, but he has none of his own.” She was still turning the pages.
“Does he have none of his own?” Giselle asked, “Or does he simply show none of his own?”
“That’s a good point,” Dulcie acknowledged. She reached the last drawing and involuntarily sat back quickly in her chair. She forced herself to lean forward again. “Giselle, is this what I think it is?”
“Yes,” Giselle breathed.
She could barely hear the other woman’s voice. “Who is the man kneeling over him?” Dulcie asked.
“That is Lawrence, his father,” Giselle whispered.
Dulcie continued to stare at the two men. Slowly, she began to realize the implication of the drawing. She looked up at Giselle. “Xander only draws what he sees,” she said.
“Yes,” Giselle repeated.
Dulcie looked up at the open, partially broken window on the second floor, the one that Oscar Bernstein had obviously just come hurtling through. In the background, there was a shadow. An unmistakable shadow.
“But Giselle, look,” she pointed at it.
“Yes, I know. It is someone in the room,” she said.
Dulcie sat back again. “What are you going to do with this?” she asked.
“I thought I would take it to the police? I know that Lawrence confessed, but this could prove it false, perhaps? I told the police that I was outside, walking with Xander. This proves that to be true. He could not have drawn this if he had not seen it.”
“And that in turn proves that Xander could not have pushed his grandfather out the window. But I don’t see how it helps Lawrence. Yes, there’s a shadow of a person in Oscar’s study. But Lawrence could have pushed Oscar, then run downstairs and outside to his body.”
Giselle shook her head. “Non, jamais!” Her French edged its way in as she became agitated. “I followed Xander on the trail. We both heard glass breaking and a scream. We did not see him fall but we emerged from the trees immediately after. Lawrence would not have had enough time to leave Oscar’s study, come down the stairs, proceed down the hall, and come out this door,” she pointed to the picture, “in that amount of time. Impossible!” Her accent was pronounced again on the final word.
“So someone was up there,” Dulcie said.
Giselle did not reply.
“Giselle, I know who should see this. I mean, I know who on the police force should see this. Could I keep it? Could I bring it to him?”
“By all means. If this helps Lawrence to come home to his son, then… by all means! We all know that he could not have done it!”
Dulcie carefully closed the sketchbook and put it in her briefcase. She thanked Giselle who now walked her to the door.
“Non, I must thank you,” Giselle said. “Since you have come into our lives, I have sensed something different in this house.”
“Me?” Dulcie proclaimed. “Something from me?”
“It is difficult to explain,” Giselle replied. “But the only word I can think of is espérance. Hope.” She smiled at Dulcie. “We shall see you tomorrow. Thank you, again,” she added and gently closed the door.
Dulcie stood for several moments on the steps, looking bewildered.
“You’ll never guess what I have!” As a rule, Dulcie did not talk on the phone while driving. She had just pulled into the museum parking lot. The car was still running. She tried to turn off the car with her left hand and nearly dropped the phone in the process.
Quickly switching hands with the phone she heard Nick say, “Want me to try, or would you rather just…”
She cut him off. “I have the sketchbook! And wait till you see it! It’s a doozy!”
“A good doozy, or a bad doozy?” he asked.
“Shut up and get over here!” Dulcie exclaimed.
“Fine, but where is here?” Nick laughed.
“Oh, sorry. At my office. The museum. Oh, wait. If we’re closed by the time you get here, just rap on the door. I’ll tell the guard to let you in.”
“Great. See you in ten minutes!” Nick turned to Johnson who was walking laps around the desks again.
“Looks like more walking for you! How many paces to the museum?”
“A lot!” Johnson said happily. “What’s up?” he added, pausing briefly.
“Tell you on the way,” Nick said throwing on his jacket.
“Okay, but slow down a little! I don’t want this dammed thing to screw up the count and miss any!”
Nick just shook his head. By the time they reached the museum, Johnson knew what they were about to see. He had voluntarily increased his pace while Nick talked. “This could be good!” he said.
Nick tapped on the door and the guard opened it. They hurried to Dulcie’s office.
“Come over here and sit,” she said, pointing to a table. She sat between them and opened the sketchbook. “It’s decidedly Xander’s, of course, and all of the drawings show the people around him with various expressions of fear. And then we come to this,” she turned to the last page.
Nick and Johnson both leaned forward in front of Dulcie. She pushed her chair back, stood, then circled to the other side of the table. The two men leaned in even closer, their heads nearly touching.
“Okay, that’s Lawrence,” muttered Johnson. “And that’s gotta be Oscar,” said Nick. “Looks like the pictures of the crime scene.”
“There’s another detail you haven’t caught yet,” Dulcie interrupted. They both looked up simultaneously, then down again like two puppies. Dulcie pointed.
“What is that? Looks like…”
“A shadow. Of somebody. In Oscar’s study. Huh!” Johnson was the first to sit back. He rubbed his eyes, then stood and started pacing the room.
Dulcie gave Nick a quizzical look. “He’s wearing a pedometer. It’s a bet with his wife. Don’t ask,” he said under his breath.
Dulcie hid her smile but was quickly serious again. “There’s more to the story. As you know, because you’ve heard it over and over, Xander only paints, or draws, what he sees. So he obviously saw this scene,” she gestured toward the sketchbook. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. However, Xander was out walking with the housekeeper, Giselle. She said that they were returning to the house when they heard glass breaking, a scream, then within only a few seconds emerged from the woods to see this.”
The two men stared at her blankly.
“Giselle also said that in the amount of time it took her to hear the glass break and the scream, then to come out of the trees and witness this,” she pointed to the sketch, “Lawrence would never have been able to push Oscar out of the window, then run all the way down the stairs and through the house to get outside and reach the body. It isn’t possible.”
Nick nodded. “So, he must have been either outside or at least downstairs, near the door,” he concluded.
“Right,” said Dulcie. “And, this shadow in the window shows that there was someone else in that room!”
“Yeah, but here we go again,” Johnson chided. “Xander gives us another shadow.”
“True,” Nick said. “But the fact that it’s there. It’s there in the painting and it’s there in the sketch. We can’t discount it.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Besides, we don’t have to necessarily prove who killed Oscar Bernstein. The first step could be to prove that Lawrence made a false confession, and that he didn’t do it”
Johnson stopped. “Right. So, Mr. Law-degree, what’s it take to do that?”
Nick thought for a moment. “I’d say, convincing evidence to the contrary, and a compelling reason to make the false confession in the first place.”
“This looks pretty convincing to me. Xander’s work is pretty much like taking a photograph. He doesn’t exactly embellish,” Dulcie informed them.
“True, and with Giselle’s claim that he couldn’t have made it down there in the amount of time given,” added Nick, “along with the compelling reason of protecting his son from being locked up in an institution…”
“Yeah, plus, it was Butt-head Butler who ran the initial investigation,” Johnson chimed in from across the room. He had begun walking again.
Nick smirked and glanced at Dulcie. “Excuse him, but that’s the nickname around the station. Butler is known for making enemies and sticking with his initial conclusion, right or wrong. He’s pretty close to retirement. I think the chief is just waiting him out.”
“Why would they put him on an important case like this?” Dulcie asked.
“There was no one else, probably,” Nick answered.
“You know, Nick,” Johnson mused, “Come to think of it, Chief’s gotta know we’re looking into this by now. I’ve thought it was funny that he hasn’t come down on us yet. Maybe there’s a reason? Maybe he knows Butler botched it, and he wants us to open it up again?”
Nick swiveled around in his chair to look at his partner. “OK, you gotta stop pacing. You’re driving me nuts! I do agree, though. We’ve been allowed to quietly stay on this case for a reason.” He turned back to the table and closed the sketchbook. “Could I take this?” he asked Dulcie. “We might have to use it as evidence.”
“Yes, although I don’t know if Xander realizes that it’s missing,” Dulcie said.
“Does that matter?” Nick said. “Would he even notice?”
“Yes, I think he would. You saw those drawings. He notices far more than we realize.” She thought for a moment. “What if you bring the book with you tomorrow, and I’ll talk to Xander about it. I’ll know if it’s okay with him.”
Nick wasn’t exactly sure how she could know, but he didn’t question her. She’d brought the book to them in the first place, and technically the case was still closed so they couldn’t confiscate if for evidence. “All right. But you keep it for now. I’ll get it tomorrow,” he said. “If I can,” he added.
“Fine,” Dulcie answered. “But now gentlemen, I need to get home. Tomorrow will be a busy day,” she said.
“Would you like an escort home?” Nick asked quietly.
Johnson heard him. Without thinking he said, “Yeah, we can walk you home! That’ll give me a thousand or so more steps, at least!”
Nick glared at his partner pointedly, but Johnson missed it. He was heading for the door. “C’mon kids! Let’s get rolling!” he said, plowing across the museum’s marble floor.
Nick mouthed “Sorry!” to Dulcie.
She giggled and whispered, “Let’s go or we’ll never catch him!”