Murder as a Fine Art (10 page)

As it turned out, there was no need to wait for his telephone call. Within minutes, the reception desk called through to say, in a hushed, conspiratorial voice, that there was a gentleman asking for Erika Dekter.

“What's his name?”

“Geoffrey Hamilton. He says he's a friend of Ms. Dekter.”

Karen put her hand over the mouthpiece and looked up at Laura. “You won't believe this, but Geoffrey Hamilton is downstairs asking for Erika.” Removing her hand, she told the receptionist to bring Hamilton directly to her office.

Geoffrey Hamilton was visibly shaken when he saw the uniformed policewoman behind the desk. Karen shook hands gravely and introduced herself and Laura. Laura could see why Erika had fallen for him. He was good looking, not exactly handsome but all the more attractive for that, and somewhere in his
early forties. The most striking thing about him was the unmistakable air of intelligence that emanated from his keen, hazel eyes. In a way, he was not unlike Richard. Those hazel eyes were wary as he slowly lowered himself into a chair. “Is something wrong, Corporal?” The chevrons on her sleeve were not inverted as they would be in the States, but the rank was the same.

“Ms. Dekter's studio burned down last night.”

“Dear God. She'll be dev—” He stopped and stared at the Mountie. “For God's sake, she wasn't in it, was she?”

“We're not sure yet. But you'll have to be prepared for that possibility. There were human remains and Ms. Dekter has disappeared, so there
is
cause for concern. We're checking the dental records and should have the answer shortly. We were able to get the name of her New York dentist from her mother, and he will fax her records to us.” She paused, and then said, “I'm sorry to have to tell you all this, Mr. Hamilton.”

He didn't seem to hear her. He slumped back in his chair and stared blankly at the wall behind her. Finally, Laura said softly, “Erika and I were good friends, Geoff. She told me about you.”

“I came here to persuade her to marry me,” he whispered.

The corporal cleared her throat and turned to a fresh page in her notebook. “Perhaps while you are here, I might have your statement. When did you arrive in Banff?”

“Just a few minutes ago. Wait a minute. Are you saying the fire wasn't an accident?”

“We have reason to believe arson was involved. If so, that makes it a homicide.”

“You mean murder?” Hamilton was incredulous.

“It's murder in the first degree if the arsonist intended to kill someone. Otherwise it's murder in the second degree.”

“Nobody had any reason to kill Erika.” Geoff looked at Laura as if seeking her support. “Erika was an academic. She did some teaching at a small junior college in New York. She also freelanced as a book reviewer and that part of her career was really beginning to take off.”

“Maybe someone whose book she savaged held a grudge,” said Laura, dismissing the idea as soon as she said it.

“People don't commit murder over book reviews,” Hamilton said, waving the suggestion aside. “Besides Erika ...,” he hesitated over the tense, “... is basically a kind person. Her reviews are perceptive and quite often humorous, but she was never deliberately cruel or condescending. She had a reputation for being honest and fair.”

“So you can't think of any motive?” asked Karen writing in her notebook.

“None whatsoever. The whole thing is crazy!”

“We're looking into it,” the Mountie said. “Meanwhile, could I have a brief statement of your movements for the record?”

Geoff had flown to Calgary via Toronto, arriving at five o'clock yesterday afternoon. He had picked up a rental car at the airport and checked into the Westin Hotel where he stayed overnight. He had driven up to Banff that morning, leaving Calgary at nine and arriving at the Centre around ten-thirty. “When did the fire start?” he asked as he finished his recital.

“Around two o'clock this morning.”

When his expression didn't change, Corporal Lindstrom said, “It doesn't seem to surprise you that she was in the studio at that hour.”

“She often pulls ‘all-nighters'. It's a hangover from her college days.” He turned to Laura. “I'd like to talk to you when you have a moment. About Erika.”

“Of course. Why don't you wait downstairs in the reception area, and I'll see you in a few minutes or so.”

“He has no alibi,” remarked Karen when she and Laura were alone.

“Technically, no. But there's no way he could have arranged that fire after arriving in Calgary at five yesterday afternoon. For one thing, he'd have no idea of the layout of the colony.”

“That's true, but it's not impossible. He could have made an earlier trip up here and made all the necessary arrangements.” Frowning, the Mountie leaned back in her chair, and said, “I'm not saying he did it, Laura. I'm just saying he could have.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Laura peered dubiously into Geoff's drawn face.

“I'm sure,” he muttered, and they continued along the path toward the colony. Overhead a helicopter dragon-flied in low sweeping circles over the burnt-out area. “That's the police,” Laura told him. “Corporal Lindstrom said they had hired a helicopter to take aerial photos of the fire.”

“I just can't get my mind around the fact that it was arson. There's absolutely no reason why anyone would want to kill Erika.”

Privately Laura thought how presumptuous and foolish it was for someone to think they knew all there was to know about another person. But all she said was, “There seems to be no doubt that the fire was deliberately set, but whoever did it may not have known someone was inside.”

Geoff's only comment was a skeptically raised eyebrow.

As they went past the large music hut, Laura glanced in through the open window. Isabelle was seated at the concert grand playing what sounded like a requiem. Her back was to them but the long dark hair cascading down her back was unmistakable. The image was so striking that Laura knew some day she would try to capture it on canvas.

The scene of the fire was still sealed off, but the Mountie on duty, after a quick, verifying glance at a photo the Centre had provided the police with, told Laura she and her guest could proceed to her studio. However, they would have to take the long way round by the road. This suited Laura perfectly because it would keep Geoff from getting too close a look at the place where Erika had died. As it was, all they could see were skeletal black tree trunks. The acrid smell of smoke and wet ash still hung heavily in the air. She let herself and Geoff in through the side door of her studio, the door that had been made extra high to allow large canvases to be moved in and out.

Geoff stood and stared in silence at the paintings, lingering longest on the large still life. “You are very, very good,” he said finally with the air of one who knows. “Just as some musicians have perfect pitch, you have a perfect eye for colour.”

Laura was impressed. Ever since her earliest days at art school she had been recognized as a superb colourist.

Still gazing at the paintings, Geoff murmured, “Thank you for letting me see that there may still be some worthwhile things in life.”

“Erika meant a great deal to you.” Without ever saying so, they had abandoned all pretense that Erika might still be alive.

“It took a separation to do it, but I came to realize that I couldn't live without her.” He paused, then said, “But that's what I will have to learn how to do now, isn't it?”

“I take it Erika didn't know you were coming?”

“No. I wanted to surprise her. God help me.”

You were taking a chance there, my friend, thought Laura. You could easily have found her involved in a new affair. Sometimes the mountains did that to people, especially those on the rebound.

“I really do want to see her studio,” persisted Geoff.

“There's not much to see. Let me check it out with Corporal Lindstrom.” Laura picked up the emergency phone. Today everything was an emergency. “Geoff Hamilton is here with me in my studio. He wants to have a look at Erika's studio and I thought I would ask if that would be all right with you,” said Laura, emphasizing the “all right.”

“The body's been removed, if that's what you mean. The dental records have arrived from New York and they're checking them now.”

“That's fine then.” Laura replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief. “We'll walk as far as we can down the path,” she told Geoff. “We should be able to see it from there.”

A huge black bird, at least three times the size of the average crow, plopped heavily down from a tree and swaggered along the trail in front of them, its tail insolently swinging from side to side. Geoff looked at it with something close to dread, as though it were an omen.

“Erika said you were quite a bird watcher,” Laura found herself saying.

“I am. And that's the first northern raven I've seen. I hope to God I never see another one. I'll always associate it with what happened here.”

“You're out of luck there, I'm afraid,” said Laura matter-of-factly. “Banff is overrun with them.”

Geoff took one appalled look at the site of the fire and quickly turned away. “Let's get out of here!” he said in a strangled voice.

Back inside Laura's studio, he took several deep breaths as he fought to regain his composure. “I wasn't ready for that.” Moving agitatedly around the studio, he said, “I can't believe that I've lost her. Not now. Not when the way was finally clear for us to spend our lives together.” He stopped his restless pacing to look at Laura. “I've asked my wife for a divorce.”

“Are you going back to her?”

“No. That part of my life is over. It's been over for a long while. I just didn't face up to it in time.”

Corporal Lindstrom was standing beside a cruiser in the parking lot, talking to the uniformed driver. She waved Laura and Geoff over as they rounded the music hut.

“The medical examiner has confirmed that the body is Erika's . I'm very sorry, Mr. Hamilton.”

Laura heard Geoff's sharp intake of breath, then he said, “I guess we all knew that's how it would turn out. Still ...” Blinking rapidly, he fished in his pocket for a Kleenex and blew his nose.

The Mountie said, “May I ask what your plans are, Mr. Hamilton?”

Geoff looked a little taken aback by the question, but answered civilly enough. “I really haven't given it any thought. Maybe I'll stay around here for a few days and take Erika's body back to New York with me.”

“I'm afraid it may be several weeks before her body is released. The medical examiner will want to have a number of tests done and ...” She let her voice
trail off, but both her listeners silently finished the thought for her. There wasn't much left for the medical experts to work with. “It would be very helpful if you would remain in the area for a day or so. To give us some background on the victim,” she added smoothly when the Wall Street lawyer shot her a sharp look.

“I'll be happy to help your investigation in any way I can,” he said formally. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “I'm still having a hard time accepting that this might be a deliberate murder. As Laura says, whoever torched the place may not have known she was inside.”

“I guess I was just trying to make myself feel better,” Laura said and shook her head. “But I don't really believe it. If that had been the case, Erika would have been able to escape through one of the port holes.”

“Are you suggesting she was tied up?” asked Geoff in a shocked whisper.

“Possibly. But it's more likely she was drugged. We'll know for sure when the tests are finished,” the corporal said.

“That way she wouldn't know what was happening,” Laura said in what she hoped was a comforting tone.

“I guess so.” He didn't look very comforted. “I was thinking I might check out of the Westin and get a hotel room here in Banff.”

“That makes sense,” approved the corporal as Geoff unlocked his rental car, a black Chevrolet Caprice. “Let me know where you'll be staying.”

“I talked with the Westin,” she continued as she and Laura watched Geoff drive off. “He charged the parking fee to his room—which means he got a pass that allows him to drive in and out as he pleases.”

“Oh? Did you check with the parking attendants to see if they saw him leave?”

“Apparently there was a big do at the hotel last night — the premier's dinner with more than 800 guests. You can imagine the parade of cars streaming in and out of the parkade. Nobody remembers seeing Geoff leave, but that doesn't mean a thing.”

“But what about coming back? There can't have been many cars driving into the parkade at four o'clock in the morning.”

“I thought of that. And he wouldn't have to, if he's the murderer. At that hour he could have left the car parked on one of the streets near the hotel.”

“You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?” The policewoman shrugged. “I'm not saying he did it. It's just that I haven't been able to eliminate him.” She made a few notes in her notebook, then said, “Speaking of possible suspects, have you come across that performance artist in your travels?”

“John Smith? No. Has he gone missing?”

“I wouldn't say that. It's just that I haven't been able to locate him. I'm sure he'll turn up in his own good time. But if you do see him, let me know right away.”

R
ichard Madrin had returned from his TV stint in Edmonton in time for lunch, joining some of the colonists at their table in the dining room. He had heard about the fire on a couple of newscasts. Coupled with Montrose's death, which seemed less of an accident now, the fatal fire and the presence of the arson squad had ignited the interest of the press. So far, the identity of the victim had not been made public, but he knew it was the boat studio that had burned and he nodded quiet acceptance when Laura told him the dental records confirmed that it was Erika.