A Novel Murder - Episode 8

The art dealer

Roger L. agreed to meet with me at his art gallery, which was located in an upscale area of the city. Roger appeared calm. He said he’d heard about Stephen’s death from his assistant - apparently it’d made the news. Beneath Roger’s well-groomed exterior, I sensed a darkness. Maybe it was the coldness in his gaze, or his clipped, almost disengaged manner. He gave me a short tour of his gallery. He was quite proud of it. I told him I didn’t know a damn thing about art and was here to ask him about Stephen. This didn’t seem to bother Roger at all.

“I met Stephen when he walked into my gallery with a few small paintings and objets d’art. He was interested in selling them to me. Most of what he had was worthless, but a few pieces were unique, and quite valuable.”

“Did he say where he got them?”

“He told me he had inherited them from an uncle who had travelled throughout Asia while in the military. He was knowledgable about their provenance. I took his word for it. Most people with old art don’t have their original reciepts.”

“When was the last time you saw Stephen?”

“The day he was killed, apparently. I met him at a bar near his home. He wanted cash for a jade statuette I was keen on having.”

I nodded. “It was in Stephen’s apartment.” I didn’t mention that it had been used to bash in Stephen’s skull. “Why didn’t you buy it?”

“He was insisting that I buy other pieces from him, along with the jade statuette. I refused.”

“Why? Were the other pieces worthless?”

Roger smiled, but it was without warmth. “Not quite. He gave me a laquer jewelbox to appraise. I found something in it that was… disheartening.”

“And what was that?”

“Drugs. The telltale residue of white powder. And what looked to be a ‘fix kit’ - a syringe, a pack of needles, and a small burnt spoon.”

“Have you seen a lot of fix kits?”

“I actually grew up around such things. I’m sure you’ll be looking into my background. You’ll find a criminal record - burglaries, vandalism, assault, juvenile detention. Nothing recent, of course. My youthful temper and impetuousness led to a stint in prison. I read art books to kill the time. After I was paroled, I got a job sweeping the floors of an antique store. I developed an eye for quality, and learned the tactics of acquisition and sales. Everything I own was earned, piece by piece, purchase by purchase. Nothing in my life was given to me. But I haven’t forgotten my past. That’s why I befriended Stephen. I saw a bit of myself in him. I know his type - his weakesses, how to handle them. Did you know he was a gifted writer?”

“I read some stuff on his desk. It wasn’t bad. Sounds like you were Stephen’s guardian angel.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I still made a profit off him.”

“What did you do with the box?”

“I gave it back to Stephen. At the bar.”

“Were you still hoping to buy the jade statue?”

“It wasn’t that important to me. At that point I wanted nothing to do with Stephen. He was an extremely gifted person, but he also was very troubled. He simply wasn’t worth the risk.”

I left Roger my card. As I was driving to pick up Bob, something that Roger said didn’t seem right. Then it hit me. I pulled out my cell phone. Bob answered on the first ring. “You on your way?”

“I’ll be there soon. But do you mind if we head back to the victim’s apartment?”

“You got something?”

“Maybe. I’ll tell you about it when I pick you up.”