The Art of Murder Read online

  ‘I don’t think they were killed by someone,’ Millar hinted.

  Grant’s head tilted to one side as he thought about Millar’s words. ‘Oh, of course,’ he exclaimed, embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of it first. He looked at the side of the house. Poking out of the snow he could just see the top of a white pipe. ‘Carbon monoxide.’

  ‘That’d be my guess.’ Millar nodded. ‘We’ll need to get forensics to take some photos first, but I’d bet that’s the exhaust vent for their gas furnace. Too much snow—it got covered and couldn’t vent. House filled up with gas. The Harrisons went to sleep, and they never woke up.’

  ‘Simple as that,’ Grant said. ‘What a shame. If they had just checked that the vent was clear, they would have been fine.’

  ‘Unfortunately. But if you’re going to go, it’s not a bad way to do it. It’s painless and you really don’t know what’s happening. You get a bit confused, dizzy and you just slip away. Still a shame though. Live into your eighties and die because of a blocked vent.’

  They walked back into the house, knocking the snow off the bottom of their shoes. ‘Don’t think we’re needed here on this one,’ Millar said to Penner, who was still standing over the bodies in the living room. ‘Faye, I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be a short joke?’ Faye Pelow, the city coroner, shot back. She was a short, stocky, no-nonsense kind of woman, who definitely wasn’t a member of the Terry Millar fan club. She looked up from the bodies. ‘Ah, Sergeant Grant. Don’t think I’ve seen you since your promotion. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks, Doc,’ said Grant.

  ‘I must say, I was really surprised when I heard that you chose to work with him,’ Faye said, rolling her eyes in Millar’s direction. ‘I can see wanting to work with Sue, but him? Good way to ruin your career.’

  ‘You know you love me,’ Millar teased.

  ‘Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that,’ said Faye, turning back to the bodies. ‘So, carbon monoxide?’

  ‘That’s my guess,’ Millar said. ‘You can tell just by looking at them?’

  ‘Well, they’ve been here a while, so it’s not as obvious as sometimes,’ Faye explained. ‘But if you look at his cheeks and the back of his hands, see the slight pink hue?’

  Millar leaned over. ‘Kinda looks grey to me.’

  ‘Well, yeah, more or less, but there is definitely the tell-tale pink,’ Faye said. ‘When someone has carbon monoxide poisoning, the gas gets stuck in the blood cells and it shows in the exposed skin. Fades with light, so it’s not as easy to see after time. I’ll draw some blood when we’re back at the office to be sure.’

  ‘Let us know what you find,’ Penner said, putting on her hat and zipping up her jacket. ‘Always good to see you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ said Faye. ‘You, not so much,’ she added, looking at Millar.

  ‘Nice. I feel for you,’ he said to Faye’s assistant, Andrew, as he walked out of the house and back into the freezing air.

  ‘She really doesn’t like you, eh?’ commented Grant, pulling on his wool tuque.

  ‘Don’t know why. I’m always nice to her.’ Millar took a tissue out of his pocket and used it to clean the petroleum jelly from his nose. ‘She’s just not much of a people person, I guess. Spends too much time with dead people—she doesn’t appreciate the living.’

  ‘I don’t know. She’s always been nice to me,’ Penner said smugly. She pulled her phone out of her jacket. ‘Got a text from the Captain. He wants to see me back at the precinct.’

  ‘In trouble again?’ asked Millar, getting into his car.

  ‘Maybe he’s assigning me a better partner,’ Penner called back, walking to where her car was parked further down the street.

  ‘Fat chance of that happening,’ Millar said as he closed his door.

  ‘A girl can dream.’

  ***

  Back at the precinct, Penner dropped off her winter gear in her office and then made a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a coffee before meeting up with the Captain. Just the little time she had been outside had chilled her right through, and she needed something to warm herself up. She walked down the hall to the Captain’s office, sipping her coffee as she went.

  The door to the Captain’s office was open, as usual. The Captain sat in his leather chair, glasses on, pen in hand, looking down at some paperwork. His usual pose during the day. Penner knocked on the door frame.

  ‘Yup,’ the Captain said, not looking up.

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ said Penner, walking into the room.

  ‘Ah, Sue, thanks for coming in.’ The Captain put down his pen and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘Have a seat.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Penner pulled out one of the chairs opposite the Captain’s desk and sat down.

  ‘So, I have a bit of a, well, a strange question.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What are you doing tonight?’ the Captain asked.

  ‘Uh, I’m not really sure,’ said Penner. ‘Probably the usual. Stop at the gym, have a quiet dinner, then spend the rest of the night with a book in front of the fireplace. Why?’

  ‘Well,’ the Captain hesitated before continuing, ‘I need a date for tonight.’

  ‘A date?’ Penner asked, taken aback. ‘I must say, I don’t really feel comfortable with this, sir. You’re my supervisor. And you’re married!’

  ‘No, no, no, it’s nothing like that,’ the Captain assured her. ‘I have to go to this event tonight at the Museum of History. The head of the Police Foundation, Mark Williams, and his wife are opening a new exhibit hall. They donated a bunch of money from the sale of some of their art collection. Anyways, my wife can’t go—she has a trial to prepare for, and she suggested that I ask you if you wanted to go.’

  ‘Oh,’ Penner said with obvious relief. ‘I thought….’

  ‘I know what you thought. Don’t feel obligated to accept, but it could be fun. There will be wine, some finger food, some nice art to look at and lots of people who think they’re more important than they really are.’

  ‘Well, with a sales pitch like that, how could I say no,’ Penner said. ‘It’ll give me a chance to put on something other than these grey suits.’ She gestured at her standard work attire. ‘Yeah, alright. What time should I get there?’

  ‘I’ll get my driver to swing by your place on my way,’ the Captain said, slipping his glasses back on. ‘Six o’clock work for you?’

  ‘Sounds good, sir.’ Penner understood the Captain’s signal that the meeting was done and stood up. ‘See you tonight.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Museum of History was a stunningly beautiful building in Gatineau, Quebec, just across the Ottawa River from the Parliament Buildings. The Captain’s black sedan pulled up to the main door of the museum and stopped, idling in the cold. The driver got out of the car, walked around to the back-passenger door and opened it for Penner. She attempted a graceful exit, trying not to flinch as the frigid air stung her bare legs.

  ‘Shall we?’ asked the Captain, walking around from the other side of the car, holding out his arm for Penner.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Penner, linking her arm through the Captain’s. They walked through the main doors and were immediately hit by the warm air in the packed main hall. Penner looked around the room. There had to be a couple of hundred guests mingling in their finest evening wear.

  ‘I’ll check our coats and come and find you,’ the Captain said, helping Penner out of her long, red, wool coat, revealing her navy blue, strapless dress. ‘You clean up nice, Sue.’

  ‘Thanks, sir,’ Penner said. ‘You did alright, yourself,’ she added, straightening his bow tie. ‘I’ll go find us a drink. Wine?’

  ‘Scotch, if they have it. Neat.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Scanning the room, she spotted the bar in a corner across from the coat check and made her way over. While she stood in line, she let her eyes wander around the main hall, which
was filled with West Coast totem poles of varying sizes, shapes and designs. This had always been her favourite room in the museum. As a child, she used to spend her summer holidays in British Columbia with her parents and younger brother. Her great-aunt had worked as a teacher on Haida Gwaii, an island off the coast. Every time they’d visited, she’d spent hours wandering around the villages, looking at all the different artwork, including the totem poles.

  As the line moved slightly in front of her, she suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. ‘Detective Penner?’

  Penner turned around to her left. ‘Arden Wall. What a surprise,’ she said to the local reporter. Arden was wearing an ill-fitting, purple suit with a bolo tie around his neck. ‘Wasn’t expecting to see you here.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ Arden countered, his cameraman at his side. ‘Are you friends with the Williamses?’

  ‘I’ve met Mark once or twice down at the precinct,’ Penner said, arriving at the front of the line. ‘Glass of white wine and a scotch, neat, please.’ She turned back to Arden. ‘I was invited by the Captain.’

  ‘The Captain? Really?’ Arden’s eyes widened and he looked at his cameraman. ‘You’re on a date, then?’

  ‘Not a date,’ the Captain interjected, coming up behind them. ‘Thanks for the drink,’ he said, picking up the glass of scotch from the bar. ‘My wife couldn’t make it, and she thought I should have a chaperone.’

  ‘And you couldn’t have chosen a better one,’ Penner said, dropping a toonie in the tip glass on the bar. She closed her purse and tucked it under her arm. ‘Shall we mingle? Nice seeing you, Arden,’ she said, almost convincingly.

  ‘Yeah. You, too. Have a good night,’ Arden replied, before turning to his cameraman. ‘Let’s keep an eye on them—could make for a juicy story. Hey, wanna beer?’

  ‘You know, I really don’t know why they keep that guy around. He is one of the worst interviewers on television,’ Penner said to the Captain as they walked away. ‘Did you see him interviewing the British Ambassador the other night? The questions he was asking about the Royal Family were terrible! He just asks questions to try and get a rise out of whomever he’s talking to. And the faces he makes. Ugh, makes me just want to smack him.’

  The Captain chuckled. ‘Well, probably a good thing you’re not part of our Public Relations team then. We kind of discourage smacking reporters—doesn’t look very good for the department.’

  ‘Guess I’ll rip up my application, then,’ Penner said with a smile. ‘Cheers,’ she added, clinking glasses with the Captain. ‘Thanks for bringing me along. It’s been a while since I had a chance to dress up and go out somewhere.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ The Captain took a sip of his scotch. ‘Oh, there’s Beverly. Come on, I’ll introduce you.’

  ‘Beverly?’ Penner asked, following the Captain over to a small group of people standing near one of the largest totem poles in the museum.

  ‘Captain, I’m so glad you were able to make it,’ a tall, slender woman with long, blonde hair said. She embraced the Captain and gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘How’ve you been?’

  ‘Doing well. You’re looking lovely, as always.’

  ‘I try. Got to put on my Sunday best for these things, you know. Where’s Gail?’

  ‘She’s working on a case, like usual,’ the Captain said, taking a sip of his scotch. ‘So, I brought a date instead.’

  ‘A date? Really?’

  ‘With Gail’s permission, of course. Bev, I’d like you to meet Sue Penner—she’s one of our detectives,’ said the Captain, motioning towards Penner. ‘Sue, this is Beverly Williams.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Penner said, shaking the woman’s hand. ‘You’re Mark’s wife?’

  ‘I am. Sometimes it seems like I’m more of a mistress, he’s so busy with his job, but what’s a lady to do?’ Beverly said with a smile. ‘So, you know Mark?’

  ‘I know him to see him. I’ve met him a couple of times, but it was more just in passing than anything,’ Penner said. ‘So, you’re art collectors?’

  ‘We are. I was bitten by the art bug when I was young,’ Beverly told her. ‘My father was a big collector. He travelled all over North America and bought art directly from the artists. He had a really keen eye for what would be collectible. In fact, he bought pieces from many artists who are well-known now when they were just starting out. He liked supporting emerging artists and really getting to know them, helping them out with their careers. Some of his favourite artists were from Labrador from the Inuit and Métis communities.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ve seen much Inuit art,’ Penner said, finishing her wine. ‘I’m familiar with West Coast Indigenous art. Is Inuit art very different?’

  ‘It is,’ Beverly said. She glanced down at the slim gold watch on her wrist. ‘If you want, I’ll give you a sneak peak of the pieces we’re donating to the museum. We can’t start the ceremony until Mark gets here anyway.’

  ‘That would be great.’

  ‘Perfect. Let’s get another couple of drinks and I’ll give you the tour.’

  ‘If you want, you guys go ahead. I’ll grab the drinks and meet you in there,’ the Captain said, taking their empty glasses.

  ‘Thanks, sir,’ said Penner.

  ‘It’s just in the room right there,’ Beverly said, pointing to a door over to their right. ‘Shall we?’ she said to Penner.

  Beverly opened the door and held it so Penner could walk into the brightly lit room.

  ‘Thanks,’ Penner said, stepping past her. ‘This is all yours?’ she asked, looking around the room at the vast array of paintings, drawings and carvings. ‘There has to be, what, four or five dozen pieces in here?’ She turned in a circle. Each well-lit wall held seven or eight paintings and there were pedestals throughout the room supporting the larger stone carvings. Glass cabinets displayed the smaller pieces.

  ‘I think there are sixty-two separate works of art in total,’ Beverly said. ‘My father left us a lot of pieces. This is really only a fraction of what we have. Our house doesn’t have an empty wall anywhere, not even the bathrooms,’ she said with a chuckle, shaking her head. ‘Once Mark and I started buying our own art, we had to move a lot of Dad’s stuff into storage. We figured it wasn’t doing anyone any good there, so that’s why we started donating it to the museum. Art needs to be seen and enjoyed, not locked up in some dark storage container.’

  Penner walked around the room. ‘These are beautiful. Such an interesting style,’ she said, stopping in front of a pair of paintings of seals. ‘There’s almost a childish feel to these. You can tell that they’re seals, but the colours and details are all wrong.’ She leaned in closer to get a better look. ‘Who’s the artist?’

  ‘Those two were done by Dante Tootsie, a rather well-known Métis artist from Labrador. I think my father was one of the first people to introduce his work outside of the local community, probably in nineteen fifty-six or fifty-seven,’ Beverly said, moving beside Penner. ‘They became really good friends over the years. With Dad’s help and experience, Dante ended up showing his work all over North America, and he even had two shows in Germany in the early sixties. Unfortunately, he passed away shortly after returning to Canada from one of those shows.’

  ‘Really. Was he very old?’ Penner asked, moving along the wall of art. ‘You have several of his pieces here.’

  ‘We do,’ Beverly said, walking along beside Penner. ‘He was very young when he died, only thirty-four. After he passed, Dad bought up as many of his pieces as he could find. He knew it would be a good investment, but he also loved his style. After my father died, I continued buying pieces when I could find them, but they became harder and harder to track down. His career was cut short because he died so young. I recently acquired three pieces that had never been on the market before, which was amazing.’

  ‘Are they part of this collection?’ Penner asked as the door opened. The Captain entered, hands full of glassware, and closed the door behind him with
his elbow. ‘Thanks, sir,’ Penner said, relieving him of a glass of wine.

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Captain,’ Beverly echoed, taking her glass. ‘No, I decided not to include those three. I sold one of them recently to another collector. Ended up making a very nice profit, which covered the cost of purchasing all three and then some. I’ll keep the other two for a while, at least until Mark’s upcoming campaign run this year. Those things get very expensive.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Speaking of Mark, you didn’t happen to see him out there, did you?’ she asked the Captain.

  ‘I didn’t notice, but then I wasn’t looking either,’ the Captain said, peering closely at a miniature dog sled team carved out of a walrus tusk.

  ‘He should have been here forty-five minutes ago,’ Beverly said. ‘Really not like him to be late, especially to a public affair.’

  ‘If you want, I can go have a look. I’ll ask around if anyone has seen him,’ the Captain said. ‘This is really well done.’ He pointed at the carving. ‘They actually carved the fur on each of the dogs.’

  ‘That’s one of my favourite carvings my father ever collected. That was a hard one to donate,’ Beverly said, running her hand across the nine tiny dogs. ‘Would you mind having a look for Mark? I’ll try giving him a call—see where he is.’

  ‘Not a problem.’ The Captain put his glass down on a pedestal beside the dogsled carving. ‘Be back in a couple of minutes.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Penner said, putting her glass down as well. ‘I have to run to the washroom, anyway.’

  Beverly had already taken her phone out of her purse. ‘Thank you, both. I’ll wait here. If I can’t get a hold of him, I’ll try his assistant. Maybe he knows where he is.’

  Penner and the Captain walked back into the main hall, which seemed to have filled up with even more people since they’d been inside the exhibition room. ‘I’ll just run to the washroom, and then I’ll go ask the person at the coat check if they’ve seen Mark come in. There’s a chance they might recognize him,’ Penner said. ‘He’s been on the news often enough with his community work.’