Paint by Numbers - Part Three
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Gil and Catherine sat down opposite Bill Harrison. "You have a right to council, Mr. Harrison." Gil offered politely.
Bill shook his head. "I don't need one."
"So, you saw Cassidy Jung two days ago, at the opening of her show." Jim asked.
Bill nodded. "I thought we went through this. I hadn't seen her since. She has the key to the gallery since she painted at all hours of the night."
Gil's lower lip inched into a pout. He tossed the photocopy of the newspaper in Bill's direction. "So, can you explain to me how it's possible to converse with a body that would have been dead for two days prior to your supposed meeting?" He asked innocently.
"Or did you have a side job as a necromancer?" Catherine added, sarcastically.
Bill brushed a hand through his long hair. "Oh God." He looked up. "See, it was her first show and we made this plan. . ." He paused, looking around nervously. "We would write a fake obituary and state that she is a budding artist." He looked down at the paper. "You don't understand how this would sky-rocket sales. You saw it - every single on of her paintings sold!"
"So what would happen after the show?" Jim asked.
"Once in awhile, you claim that you found an unreleased painting." Gil filled in, eyes never breaking from Bill's direction.
"Which goes for even more." Bill shrugged. "You'd be surprised how many artists are running the same scheme."
"It's a form of fraud." Catherine added.
"It payed the bills." Bill retorted. "Look, can I go? I have some paintings to deliver."
Catherine and Gil looked at Jim, who gave them a half-nod. "Thank you for your time." Gil said as Bill left the vicinity. He turned towards Catherine. "What do you think?"
"It fits too conveniently, it's almost sickening." She stated dryly.
He pursed his lips, deep in concentration. "I think the painting is telling us more than we understand."
"But the owner explained the meaning behind Cassidy's painting."
"A painting may be worth a thousand words, Catherine, but they may not be the right thousand words." Gil threw her a smug smile.
Catherine rolled her eyes. "Alright, let's go check out the canvas." As they were leaving, Catherine turned to Gil, "hey did you ever get the results from the three hair strands you found?"
"Yeah," he held the door open for her, "the two blond ones were Cassidy's and the black strand was Harrison's."
"So he lied." Catherine shook her head, anger creeping up.
"Yeah, and Cassidy's still had the follicle attached."
"They were ripped out? What about Harrison's?" She noted Gil shaking his head. "That son of a -" She interrupted herself. "What game is he playing?"
"Well, I had Brass check out where the money from her art collection is going to and take a wild guess as to where." They walked into an empty room, the canvas placed against the wall at the other end.
"The Bill Harrison Foundation?" She offered sarcastically.
"The very same." They both stood in front of the canvas. Gil took a step closer and took out a mini- magnifying glass from his breast pocket. "Look at this."
Catherine leaned in, intrigue helping her temporarily ignore their close proximity. "That looks like a material imprint." She turned her head at the same time Gil did, and both investigators stood still, feeling their breath travel to the other. Their mouths were inches apart, and she dropped her eyes to his lower lip, wanting to feel it bruise between her teeth.
"Hey." They both stepped apart, Catherine turning around to greet the Texan accent that had disturbed them while Gil turned back to the canvas and pretended to analyse it.
"Nicky, how's it going?" Catherine smiled at him, successfully covering up the heat that now nested in her core.
"I just met Doc Robbins on my way, and he wanted me to give this to you guys." Nick Stokes handed Catherine a folder. "Hey Grissom." He tried to get the supervisor's attention.
"Nick." Gil acknowledged him without turning around.
Nick's brow furrowed, seemingly accepting another of his supervisor's odd moods. "Anyway, I have to head to trace for the DB I'm working on." He waved 'bye' to Catherine and waited for Gil to show a reaction as well. Silence hung in the air.
Gil rolled his eyes, a hint of a grin playing across his features. "Bye Nick."
Catherine laughed as Nick left. "They look up to you and you ignore them." She playfully slapped him on the shoulder.
"Tough love." He dead panned.
"So, what did you find?" She asked, taking a closer look at the material-based imprints.
"Look at the back of the canvas, it has extra wooden panels."
"Reinforced?" Catherine asked quizzically.
Gil nodded. "The ones more in the middle are slightly cracked, suggesting that quite a lot of pressure was administered."
Catherine pondered his statement and finally met his expecting eyes. "Could she have been thrown?"
"The suspect loses his temper, hurls her towards the canvas."
"She falls, cracks her spine." Catherine let her hand glide through her hair. "But why fill her body with paint?"
Gil put his index finger up, correcting her. "Correction, why come *back* and fill her body with paint."
"Right, the paint is fresh." They both sighed in unison.
Gil walked up to the canvas and stretched to observe the higher portions of the painting. "It's odd, I see the same imprints up here."
"So the attacker threw her multiple times." Catherine shook her head.
"But there are no signs of struggle." Gil stood back, perplexed. "Was she a willing candidate? Was this a new medium she was exploring? Who was helping her?" He asked, questions flooding his mind.
"Beats the hell out of me." Catherine exhaled. "But it would explain all the bruises."
"Go for it." Gil provoked her theory.
"Cassidy and Bill conspire to fake her death, thus aiding in helping her sales." Catherine paced around the room.
"And?"
"Body painting?" Catherine raised both her eyebrows. "It was for the art, so she throws herself against the canvas, and then works with the imprints that are there."
Gil nodded. "Bill comes in, isn't happy with her turning her back on Van Gogh."
"She says she needs something fresh, he says not to betray the masters."
"She tries to explain her new method, saying that she will still keep the Van Gogh technique but throw in a little modern style to it." Gil nodded.
"He freaks out, throws her against the canvas, a little too hard." Catherine stopped in front of Gil. "Neck snaps." She snapped her fingers. "He freaks out and leaves."
"He comes back sometime later, and try to make it look like a suicide maybe?"
"Right, she couldn't take the pressure, so she drinks the paint." Catherine paused. "Idiot, he didn't even leave the paint can close by."
Gil sighed. "The difference between intelligence and stupidity is that intelligence has a limit."
"Let's get some tarp and some paint." Catherine suggested, off Gil's quizzical look. "Working our theory. . ." she said slowly, as if trying to explain the science to a five year old.
Gil gave her a half-smile, the corner of his eye crinkling ever-so slightly. "Only if I get the honours of throwing you against the canvas." Mischief crossed his boyish good-looks causing Catherine to beam at him.
She wagged her finger at him. "Don't forget, I still get to punish you later." They both headed separate ways, getting ready for their little experiment.
—TBC—
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Gil and Catherine sat down opposite Bill Harrison. "You have a right to council, Mr. Harrison." Gil offered politely.
Bill shook his head. "I don't need one."
"So, you saw Cassidy Jung two days ago, at the opening of her show." Jim asked.
Bill nodded. "I thought we went through this. I hadn't seen her since. She has the key to the gallery since she painted at all hours of the night."
Gil's lower lip inched into a pout. He tossed the photocopy of the newspaper in Bill's direction. "So, can you explain to me how it's possible to converse with a body that would have been dead for two days prior to your supposed meeting?" He asked innocently.
"Or did you have a side job as a necromancer?" Catherine added, sarcastically.
Bill brushed a hand through his long hair. "Oh God." He looked up. "See, it was her first show and we made this plan. . ." He paused, looking around nervously. "We would write a fake obituary and state that she is a budding artist." He looked down at the paper. "You don't understand how this would sky-rocket sales. You saw it - every single on of her paintings sold!"
"So what would happen after the show?" Jim asked.
"Once in awhile, you claim that you found an unreleased painting." Gil filled in, eyes never breaking from Bill's direction.
"Which goes for even more." Bill shrugged. "You'd be surprised how many artists are running the same scheme."
"It's a form of fraud." Catherine added.
"It payed the bills." Bill retorted. "Look, can I go? I have some paintings to deliver."
Catherine and Gil looked at Jim, who gave them a half-nod. "Thank you for your time." Gil said as Bill left the vicinity. He turned towards Catherine. "What do you think?"
"It fits too conveniently, it's almost sickening." She stated dryly.
He pursed his lips, deep in concentration. "I think the painting is telling us more than we understand."
"But the owner explained the meaning behind Cassidy's painting."
"A painting may be worth a thousand words, Catherine, but they may not be the right thousand words." Gil threw her a smug smile.
Catherine rolled her eyes. "Alright, let's go check out the canvas." As they were leaving, Catherine turned to Gil, "hey did you ever get the results from the three hair strands you found?"
"Yeah," he held the door open for her, "the two blond ones were Cassidy's and the black strand was Harrison's."
"So he lied." Catherine shook her head, anger creeping up.
"Yeah, and Cassidy's still had the follicle attached."
"They were ripped out? What about Harrison's?" She noted Gil shaking his head. "That son of a -" She interrupted herself. "What game is he playing?"
"Well, I had Brass check out where the money from her art collection is going to and take a wild guess as to where." They walked into an empty room, the canvas placed against the wall at the other end.
"The Bill Harrison Foundation?" She offered sarcastically.
"The very same." They both stood in front of the canvas. Gil took a step closer and took out a mini- magnifying glass from his breast pocket. "Look at this."
Catherine leaned in, intrigue helping her temporarily ignore their close proximity. "That looks like a material imprint." She turned her head at the same time Gil did, and both investigators stood still, feeling their breath travel to the other. Their mouths were inches apart, and she dropped her eyes to his lower lip, wanting to feel it bruise between her teeth.
"Hey." They both stepped apart, Catherine turning around to greet the Texan accent that had disturbed them while Gil turned back to the canvas and pretended to analyse it.
"Nicky, how's it going?" Catherine smiled at him, successfully covering up the heat that now nested in her core.
"I just met Doc Robbins on my way, and he wanted me to give this to you guys." Nick Stokes handed Catherine a folder. "Hey Grissom." He tried to get the supervisor's attention.
"Nick." Gil acknowledged him without turning around.
Nick's brow furrowed, seemingly accepting another of his supervisor's odd moods. "Anyway, I have to head to trace for the DB I'm working on." He waved 'bye' to Catherine and waited for Gil to show a reaction as well. Silence hung in the air.
Gil rolled his eyes, a hint of a grin playing across his features. "Bye Nick."
Catherine laughed as Nick left. "They look up to you and you ignore them." She playfully slapped him on the shoulder.
"Tough love." He dead panned.
"So, what did you find?" She asked, taking a closer look at the material-based imprints.
"Look at the back of the canvas, it has extra wooden panels."
"Reinforced?" Catherine asked quizzically.
Gil nodded. "The ones more in the middle are slightly cracked, suggesting that quite a lot of pressure was administered."
Catherine pondered his statement and finally met his expecting eyes. "Could she have been thrown?"
"The suspect loses his temper, hurls her towards the canvas."
"She falls, cracks her spine." Catherine let her hand glide through her hair. "But why fill her body with paint?"
Gil put his index finger up, correcting her. "Correction, why come *back* and fill her body with paint."
"Right, the paint is fresh." They both sighed in unison.
Gil walked up to the canvas and stretched to observe the higher portions of the painting. "It's odd, I see the same imprints up here."
"So the attacker threw her multiple times." Catherine shook her head.
"But there are no signs of struggle." Gil stood back, perplexed. "Was she a willing candidate? Was this a new medium she was exploring? Who was helping her?" He asked, questions flooding his mind.
"Beats the hell out of me." Catherine exhaled. "But it would explain all the bruises."
"Go for it." Gil provoked her theory.
"Cassidy and Bill conspire to fake her death, thus aiding in helping her sales." Catherine paced around the room.
"And?"
"Body painting?" Catherine raised both her eyebrows. "It was for the art, so she throws herself against the canvas, and then works with the imprints that are there."
Gil nodded. "Bill comes in, isn't happy with her turning her back on Van Gogh."
"She says she needs something fresh, he says not to betray the masters."
"She tries to explain her new method, saying that she will still keep the Van Gogh technique but throw in a little modern style to it." Gil nodded.
"He freaks out, throws her against the canvas, a little too hard." Catherine stopped in front of Gil. "Neck snaps." She snapped her fingers. "He freaks out and leaves."
"He comes back sometime later, and try to make it look like a suicide maybe?"
"Right, she couldn't take the pressure, so she drinks the paint." Catherine paused. "Idiot, he didn't even leave the paint can close by."
Gil sighed. "The difference between intelligence and stupidity is that intelligence has a limit."
"Let's get some tarp and some paint." Catherine suggested, off Gil's quizzical look. "Working our theory. . ." she said slowly, as if trying to explain the science to a five year old.
Gil gave her a half-smile, the corner of his eye crinkling ever-so slightly. "Only if I get the honours of throwing you against the canvas." Mischief crossed his boyish good-looks causing Catherine to beam at him.
She wagged her finger at him. "Don't forget, I still get to punish you later." They both headed separate ways, getting ready for their little experiment.
—TBC—