The art of murder, p.26
The Art of Murder, page 26
part #2 of Jordan Jenner Mystery Series
“I don’t know,” Mark said. “Maybe she knows. Maybe he’s her confidante.”
Jordan recalled bumping into Camilla outside Cai’s shop. He remembered Cai speaking when the door had pinged, as if he had thought it was Camilla returning.
“I don’t think they’re friends anymore.”
“What?”
“I think one of them is being harassed by the other,” Jordan said. “I think one of them has done something, and the other knows about it, and they’re trying to cover their backs.”
“We need to get in to that…” But Mark’s sentence was cut short.
The castle door opened, revealing figures in the arch. The lights inside the castle had not been turned on. Instead, one of the figures was carrying a torch. Another was carrying a frame. The light was too poor to make out what that frame was.
The castle door was locked and Cai and Camilla walked away from the castle and back towards their car. Jordan thought they were going to get back in, the frame being stolen, but they walked straight to the forest.
Jordan opened his door.
“What are you doing?” Mark gasped.
“Following.”
“We’ll be seen.”
“Not if we’re careful.” Jordan got out of Mark’s car. “Come on.”
Mark reluctantly followed, not bothering to lock his car. They walked slowly, watching the retreating backs of Cai, Camilla, and the frame.
Jordan and Mark took a left, walking further away from Cai and Camilla, but keeping them in their sights. The trees only just beginning to bloom gave them enough cover but also allowed them to keep track of their prey. They walked slowly over the ground; Jordan thankful that there were no dead leaves to crunch through.
Cai was carrying the torch, illuminating the pathway in front of him and Camilla. Jordan spotted shadows moving in the trees; people quickly ceasing activity, waiting for the people to pass.
The trees whispered above them, branches watching them go, reaching down but not touching. Cai and Camilla continued to walk, further into the trees, further than Jordan and Mark had walked on their patrol earlier that day.
The ground began to slope. Cai and Camilla disappeared down, out of sight of Jordan. Jordan moved faster, Mark keeping up, and they came to the top of the bank. Looking down, Jordan saw a stone building. At first, he thought it was a shed, but there was smoke coming out of the chimney.
“What’s that?” he whispered as Cai and Camilla approached the structure.
“The caretakers place,” Mark replied. “I’ve seen it before.”
Cai and Camilla climbed the three steps to the front door, and Camilla unlocked it, using the same set of keys she had used to open the castle.
Jordan looked at Mark. “Is she the caretaker?”
Cai and Camilla disappeared inside, and a light came on a moment later.
“There’s someone else in there.”
“What makes you say that?” Jordan asked.
“The smoke from the chimney.” Mark nodded at the unfurling grey. “I don’t think it would have been left unattended.”
“Good spot.”
“If she’s not the caretaker, then she knows the person who is.”
Jordan began to realise the creeping darkness around them. The only light now came from the caretaker’s home. He descended towards the home, but Mark stopped him.
“What are you doing?”
“We have to go in.”
“We can’t just walk in,” Mark hissed. “They’ll see us.”
“Let’s go look through the window.” Jordan shook Mark’s grip and walked away from him. He heard Mark following.
They crept towards the house, staying in the shadows. Jordan peered through the first window, looking in to a dark kitchen. Mark moved to the next and beckoned Jordan closer.
Jordan joined Mark, brushing against him, and looked in on a living room. He could see someone in a hood, sat in an armchair. Cai and Camilla stood in front of the figure, holding the painting.
Jordan gasped.
They held Hooded Hoodlum.
“How did they get that?” Jordan whispered. He knew Cai and Camilla couldn’t see them, the way they were angled gave Jordan and Mark cover, but he kept his voice low.
“Was that in the gallery?”
“It was in the gallery that was in the arcade,” Jordan replied. “The one just around the corner from Cai’s.”
“Oh.”
The conversation between Cai and the hooded figure seemed heated. Cai’s expression was tense, his hands flailing as he argued his point. The figure shook their hooded head.
“Who are they talking to?” Mark whispered. But before Jordan could answer, he began to move. “I’m going to see if I can see their face.”
“Be careful.”
Jordan watched Mark go, dissolving into the darkness. Left alone, Jordan shivered. Camilla was talking now, indicating Cai and pointing towards the castle. The hooded figure simply shrugged.
Jordan heard footsteps approaching him and turned, hoping to see Mark, but seeing only darkness. He began to move away from the window, sensing he needed to flee, fearing someone else.
Mark appeared, coming into focus, and Jordan relaxed.
“I can’t see through the other windows.”
Jordan was about to answer when a door opened.
“This won’t be the last you hear of it!” Camilla’s voice carried to them. “How can you call this fair?”
“We brought it to you. Like you asked,” Cai shouted.
“Quick.” Mark indicated a set of bins, black, green, and purple. They dived behind them, hoping they wouldn’t be seen.
No voice replied, only the sound of a door thudding shut.
“Shit, Cai,” Camilla hissed. “Now what?”
Thumping on the door. Jordan pictured Cai’s expression. “Let us in!”
“Stop it! Stop it, now,” Camilla cried. “It’s no use. You said he’d take it.”
“I thought he would.”
“You said you were certain.”
“I was!” Cai almost screamed. “God, Camilla, just let me think.”
“He’s taken it and here we are. It didn’t work. We’re still faced with the same problem.”
There was a scuffling sound, feet dragging across stone. Camilla made a squeaking noise, which disappeared with a thud. Jordan made to move, but Mark gripped him.
“I know that, girl,” Cai argued. “I know.”
“Let go of me.”
“I’m sorry,” Cai panicked. “Cam, wait…”
“No.”
“Don’t be stupid!”
“Go away.”
“If you leave, it’ll be finished. It’ll all fall apart,” Cai shouted, his voice carrying through the trees.
“Cai…”
“Come on. We have to stick together.”
Jordan got up, and Mark let go. They walked together, around the side of the house, and saw Cai, his back turned, and Camilla, halfway up the bank. Her eyes widened when she saw them, her mouth dropping open.
Cai spun around as Camilla began to run.
“Stop!” Mark bellowed, shocking Jordan.
“Cai Gregory, what are you doing here?” Jordan advanced, but Cai was too far. He ran, following Camilla’s footsteps. Jordan hesitated, losing time. “The house, Mark. Who’s in the house?”
“But what about…?”
“The house!”
Mark ran to the door and opened it. He wanted to see who was inside. He needed to know. But Cai and Camilla held answers. He ran up the slope, his thighs aching, cursing his lack of gym use. At the top of the hill, he was out of breath, and Cai and Camilla were flitting through the trees like crows.
Jordan ran, ignoring his lack of breath, ignoring the pain in his side. His feet pounded the earthy floor, wind rushing past his ears. He exited the woods just as Cai’s car disappeared down the track. Camilla had already gone.
Jordan cursed. It was too late for them. They had left without their painting. It meant it had been left with the figure.
Mark.
Jordan was about to head back into the trees when he heard a scream.
Fifty-Four
He’s been stabbed, Jordan panicked, rushing through the trees. They’ve got him. They stabbed him.
There had only been one scream.
That frightened Jordan.
One scream, then silenced.
Stabbed.
Killed.
Jordan almost tumbled down the bank, his feet moving faster than his body. Mark lay on the twig-strewn floor, and he wasn’t moving.
Jordan’s heart thudded in his chest. Not Mark. Please, not Mark.
“Mark!”
The door was open to the caretaker’s building. There was no sign of the hooded man. The hooded hoodlum.
Jordan could see no blood. Mark’s clothes were not ripped. There was no wound. But his eyes were closed, and he lay still.
Jordan gripped Mark’s wrist with shaking hands, feeling a pulse.
Jordan exhaled.
He shook Mark, desperately wanting the man to open his eyes.
It was then Jordan saw the bruise on his cheek.
Mark had been hit.
Jordan got to his feet, still shaking, his heart rate slowing now that he knew Mark was alive, that he knew there had been no blade, and no bloodshed.
Not like Xander, the way it dripped down his legs, from his toes and to the floor. Not like Daniel, lying in his son’s hallway.
Jordan climbed the steps to the house in the woods and went inside. It was warm, and Jordan could smell logs burning. He walked over threadbare carpet and into the living room. The room was empty, but it had been where Cai and Camilla stood only moments before. Jordan stared at the armchair, wondering who had been there.
There was no frame. There was no art.
Jordan had no idea what was happening.
Was the hooded hoodlum the caretaker? If so, why did Camilla hold the keys?
Alice. Was it Alice?
But Camilla had referred to the hoodlum as he. It was male. The same male that had stabbed Xander. The same male that had stabbed Daniel.
“Jordan?”
“Mark!”
Jordan took one last sweep of the room, then turned back to the hallway. Mark was there, gripping to the frame of the door.
“Are you okay?”
“The bastard hit me.”
“Did you scream?”
“He screamed.”
“He?”
“It was a he.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No.” Mark shook his head. “No, it was too dark, too fast.”
Jordan wanted to curse but refrained from doing so. It wasn’t Mark’s fault. Yet he couldn’t help feeling as though they had lost their chance.
“The painting?”
“Gone,” Jordan answered.
“He took it.”
“Yes.”
“Camilla? Cai?”
“Gone.”
Mark sighed. “Well, we know they know something. We can call them in for further questioning.”
Jordan eyed the rapidly bruising blotch on Mark’s cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“It hurts a bit. But it’s fine. Let’s have a look in here.”
They headed back into the caretaker’s home. Jordan felt like a trespasser, afraid the man would return, this time with a weapon, this time with one final intention of murder.
Jordan headed back into the oak room, walking around the armchair and the matching sofa. A thin rug on the floor was upturned at one end, and Jordan moved it, vaguely hoping for something underneath, but instead being greeted by oak floorboards. The fire was burning, yet dying, the logs inside charred. Jordan went to the bookcase near a window, where the curtains were open a fraction and Mark had tried to peer through.
Underneath the books were a collection of CDs and vinyl records. Green Day, Sex Pistols, Ace of Base, Rolling Stones, the list went on. Whoever lived here enjoyed their music. Jordan spotted a vinyl player nearby, one of the modern ones, the resurgence of vinyl putting people back into business. There was nothing on the walls, no photographs to determine who might have lived here.
“Anything?” Mark called from one of the bedrooms.
“Nothing. What about you?”
“Nothing.” Mark appeared in the doorway. “We need to find out who lives here.”
“I’ll come back in the morning,” Jordan said. “I’ll find out who the caretaker is. I’ll find out how Camilla had a key.”
“Either she works here, or she has a key from the caretaker.”
“Did you hear what she said? She hoped the painting would help them with something,” Jordan said, and he thought of what Ashley said, remembering the price of the work. “Debt.”
Jordan’s eyes widened. Despite standing still, his heart began to beat heavily. He looked at Mark.
“Do you understand?”
“No.”
“Cai and Camilla,” Jordan breathed. Ashley had given him valuable information. “They’re the Dollys. They’re the Dolly members, and they’re broke, and they’re trying to pay off debts.”
“They didn’t mention money.”
“No, but it’s obvious. That has to be what it is. Magic Cardiff, A Cat in the Night, and Hooded Hoodlum. They’re booty. They’re wealth. They’re the answers to the debt. Ashley, he told me why he’s on the run. The Dollys got involved in his company. They thought he owed them money. He’s running, and they’re left with the problem of debt. They got Hoodlum, and so they brought it to whoever was here, whoever lives here, a Dolly for Christ’s sake, and they tried to sell it. They tried to get the money to get them out of debt.”
“But all the paintings in Xander’s workshop, think of those. Why destroy them when they could have been used to pay the debt? And the ones on display when he was killed. Why haven’t the stolen those to sell on?”
Jordan thought for a moment. Mark had a point. “I think the ones in his workshop were mostly unfinished. Maybe they thought selling those would be difficult. People might question their authenticity. For all we know, they may have taken one or two. We would never be able to know. As for the ones in the exhibit where Xander died, they were probably protected after his death. Or, selling those would arouse suspicion so soon after his death. Maybe that’s why.”
“And why would they sell to another Dolly?” Mark asked.
Jordan nodded. “Maybe he wasn’t a Dolly, then. But whoever he is, he could have helped them. But he took it without paying.”
“Like Xander had been experiencing.”
“Yes, but that was Dolly activity.”
“Or was it just plain old thievery?”
“Ah, I don’t know anymore.” Jordan exhaled. He felt so close, but the answer was evading him.
“And it doesn’t explain why Xander was killed.”
“Not yet,” Jordan said. “But there’s a connection. I’m sure of it.”
“He came to hire you, didn’t he? He hired you to find out who the Dollys were and to stop them.”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s your connection,” Mark said. “Xander was killed because he tried to stop them.”
“Now we just have to know who the culprit was.”
Fifty-Five
Jordan parked his car at Llandaff Cathedral. He pulled his phone from his pocket to find two missed calls from Harry. He didn’t have the time to call back. He had to find Alice. His gaze drifted to the pathway leading to Xander’s home. Only a few days previously there had been a commotion down there, waking up the sleepy Cardiff district.
Jordan climbed out of the car, locked it, and walked to Alice’s home. It was a new day, and he had things to do. His phone rang again; Harry’s name lighting the screen. Jordan wanted to answer, but he had to keep on schedule.
It could wait.
Jordan walked past the row of homes until he got to Alice’s gate. He went to the door and knocked.
After a few moments, the door opened. “Jordan.”
“Alice, I need to tell you something,” Jordan said. A light rain had started to fall, the first of the spring. Alice, wearing an oversized jumper, seemed confused. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Her mouth was pursed. “Have you found out who did it?”
“No.” Jordan watched her close the door. “I’m afraid not.”
“Let me make you a drink.”
“No, it’s fine. Here is fine. It won’t take long. Are you alone?”
Alice pulled down her sleeves. She looked like a lost child. “There’s no one here but me.”
“It’s Cai and Camilla,” Jordan said.
“What about them?”
“Alice, they’re not to be trusted.”
Alice shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You said it yourself. Xander’s work was special. It had meaning.”
“It did. It always had meaning.”
“What does Hooded Hoodlum mean to you?”
“It was something Xander painted. A figure looking at Castell Coch. He was excited about it.”
“And did he tell you the meaning?”
“No,” Alice said. “No, he didn’t tell me what was behind it. Though I knew it was something. I never asked.”
“I knew it was relevant. I think Xander was giving us answers. I think he was referencing the Dollys.”
“The hoodlum is a Dolly,” Alice gasped.
“No,” Jordan said. “At least, I don’t think so. Not at this moment. I think what was important about the hoodlum was what it was looking at.”
“The castle?”
“Castell Coch,” Jordan agreed. “So last night, I went to the castle, and I staked it out.”
“Right…”
Jordan cleared his throat. “Cai and Camilla arrived, and they went into the castle, after hours.”
“Yes, Camilla works there,” Alice said certainly.
“She works there?”
“Yes.”
“You knew this?”
“Yes.” Alice paused. “Was it important? Should I have mentioned it?”
“I…No, you shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s important, though.”
“She’s worked there ever since I met her. She’s their art director.”
