A Novel Murder - Episode 5

The patron

I held the phone to the dead man’s face. The facial recognition software recognized him despite his unseeing eyes, and the phone unlocked. Bob grunted with approval. “Macabre but effective.”

I looked at Bob. “Macabre? What are you - Vincent Price?” I scrolled the the missed calls. Several were from Malcolm.

“Shall I?”

Bob nodded.

I tapped on Malcolm’s name and heard the phone ring tone. A man’s voice answered. Instead of hello, he led with, “Where the hell have you been?”

I introduced myself and explained the circumstance of my calling on Stephen’s phone, and that we were at his apartment. Malcolm asked, “Is Steve ok?” I suggested that we visit him. “I can come to you,” Malcolm replied. “It’s my apartment - I’m renting it to Steve.”

Bob and I met Malcolm outside. We broke the news to him about Stephen’s death, but didn’t provide any detail. He seemed deeply saddened but also did not appear surprised. He looked at the door of the apartment.

“Can I go in? I’d like to retrieve some things.”

“I’m afraid you can’t. It’s an active crime scene.

He stood in the morning sun staring at the doorway, his expression blank. Then, without prompting, he spoke.

“Steve’s my college friend’s son. When Steve moved to the city she asked me to look after him, so I let him use this place. I normally rent it out - Steve was supposed to pay rent when he got a job, but that never happened. It was okay with me, because the boy has talent. He’s a great writer. I told him to never mind about getting a job but to keep writing.”

“He was doing great at first - sometimes he’d let me read a few pages. I told him it was terrific stuff - funny, beautiful, and wise beyond his years. He seemed happy - he met a young woman who lives nearby and they started dating. I was happy for him - when we first met, I sensed a darkness within his soul, but all seemed well, and I kept encouraging him to finish his novel. Then he started looking stressed out - wasted, distracted. I thought maybe it was because he and the young woman broke up, or maybe it was writer’ s block. He wouldn’t leave the apartment for days at a time. I told him he had to take better care of the place. Then I noticed that some of the art I’d collected during my travels were missing. I asked Steve what had happened but he claimed not to know. I think he was stealing the art from me and selling it. Vases, sculptures, small paintings, things like that. My most valued piece was a jade figurine...

“I don’t know who would have done this to Steve. But I can tell you that he did seem to change after he got involved with the girl.”