27.
The ringing of the bells hanging from the front door of the gallery caused Constance Lange to jerk to attention in her office. Her hand darted to the mouse on her computer and began closing files. She also pulled open her desk drawer and hastily swept a few notes inside. Scowling, she glanced at the clock; it was well past their opening time and Francine, her gallery attendant, must have recently unlocked the doors.
Pursing her lips in disapproval, Connie rose and glanced at a nearby mirror, smoothing down her business suit blouse before twitching the skirt into place and heading for the door. Most galleries were sectioned off to be able to set up one exhibit and keep one or two others going. She could hear voices out on the entrance floor; that of Francine, and the low voice of a man.
Francine suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking flustered and holding something in her hands.
"Mrs. Lange? There's a policeman here, a detective of some sort..."
"A policeman?" Connie asked, looking at Francine closely. "Whatever for?"
"He said he wanted to talk to you..." Francine held out an identification card to her boss.
Her eyes narrowing suspiciously, Connie took the card. "Lieutenant Horatio Caine?" she murmured. "Well that's certainly original for a first name, if I do say..." she drawled with a hint of sarcasm. It was utterly lost on her employee. Connie sighed, then waved Francine away and walked down the hall towards the gallery's main entrance.
Standing just inside the door, staring up at a piece of modern sculpture suspended from the ceiling, and holding a pair of sunglasses in his hands, was a tall red head. Connie's eyes dropped a moment, studying his immaculate black suit. She pondered on whether or not the dark blue and white pinstripe shirt was suitable, but otherwise she liked what she saw and his taste in clothes. Until he turned in her direction and she saw the badge and gun on his belt...
"Lieutenant?" She asked, walking into the room and handing his ID back to him. "I'm Constance Lange, I own the gallery. What can I do for you?"
Horatio glanced over at her. Connie Lange was tall, blonde, and at first glance looked to be in her thirties. She was impeccably dressed, and presented herself with an air of strength and confidence. Further study though revealed that she was older, and that there was a hint of something darker about her. It was in her eyes, which were staring back at him then abruptly looked away, under his scrutiny.
"I am here to ask a few questions that came up regarding a fatal accident yesterday out on Ocean Beach Drive," he said neutrally.
"A fatal accident?" Connie asked, looking at him in surprise. "What would I have to do with a fatal accident?"
Horatio's brows rose as he glanced down at his sunglasses. "Possibly nothing," he said. "But as a matter of investigation, I am compelled to follow leads as they come up."
"Well, of course you should..." Connie drawled, "That stands to reason. I am just confused as to why you would be here asking me questions about it."
"It's our understanding that the people in the car stopped here before continuing on their way..." Horatio murmured; his head had tilted sideways and he was looking at Connie carefully, his own eyes dark and inscrutible.
"We're closed on Mondays, Lieutenant..." Connie pointed out, "The only people here yesterday were myself, my attendant Francine and two young men I employ to help set up new exhibits." She nodded towards a darkened room. The doorway was chained off to prevent anyone entering and hanging from the chain was a sign announcing the future exhibit of marine art by Schell Demereau. "I still don't understand what this has to do with a car accident?"
"Sometimes it helps us to work from the accident and go backwards in time to see what could have been happening in the minds of the people involved..." Horatio hedged, "the victim who survived the wreck said they had been here earlier."
"Well I don't see how," Connie started then looked at Horatio in dread. "Oh no...!" she whispered in horror, her hand rising to her mouth. "Schell and Lionel were here yesterday..."
"I take it that is the same Schell being featured in the new exhibit?" Horatio asked, nodding at the sign.
"Of course," Connie said, looking towards the darkened room, "Oh, Lieutenant Caine!" she said looking at him in horror, "Don't tell me, please, that my artist is dead! We're opening up her exhibit this week! It's her first one on the East coast. We're having a private, formal party for the opening tomorrow night, everyone is gonna be there! She and her Trust representative were here yesterday to see the final layout before going north..."
"Your artist..." Horatio mused softly, his eyes narrowing as he fingered the eyepiece on his sunglasses. "Your artist," he said slowly. "Do you recall suggesting Ocean Beach Drive to them?" Horatio asked and looked at her.
Connie blinked, looking at him appalled for a moment. "Well, I... Is that some sort of crime?" She asked, her eyes flashing."What would my suggesting a beautiful drive north have to do with a car accident? Or are you deliberately trying to be insulting, suh?"
"It's my job, Mrs. Lange, to investigate clues in a crime." Horatio responded with a subtle hint of sarcasm.
"And when did a car accident become a crime?" Connie shot back, looking at him challengingly.
"When evidence of murder is found at the crash scene. That's when my job starts. Which is why I am here to ask you questions. Our victim states they stopped here on their way to the Oleta River Archeological Archives and somehow, someone knew they were driving that way," Horatio replied, looking steadily at Connie.
"Murder?" Connie exclaimed, 'This is absurd!"
"I assure you, it's not," Horatio replied. "Who was with you here when Miss Demereau and Lionel Harrison stopped by?"
"I believe I just told you..." Connie fired back.
"I need their names," Horatio said calmly, reaching into his inside jacket pocket for his notebook.
"Francine Mitchell, Bobby Doyle and Levon Tuttle. Are you quite through with this yet?" Connie asked.
As he wrote in his notebook, he glanced up at her. "Did you suggest that they take Ocean Beach Drive?"
"What if I did?" Connie snapped. "That isn't against the law."
"No, it isn't. So did you?"
Connie stared at him in disgust. "As a matter of fact, Lieutenant, I did. Miss Demereau isn't from around here, if you know what I mean. She's a yankee... I thought the beach drive would be nice for her to see, a touch of the real South."
"Were the other three people able to hear you suggest that to them?" Horatio asked.
Connie sighed, putting her fists on her hips and glaring at Horatio.
"Of course not! Francine was in the back doing her office work and the boys were on their lunch break! Are you quite through with this? You're becoming insulting."
"I've only just begun, Mrs. Lange," Horatio replied in a low murmur and with a slight smile that could have frozen ice. He flipped his notebook closed and slipped it away. "I'm on a murder investigation and I'll keep asking questions until I get to the truth, no matter how insulting it gets."
"You aren't from around here are you, Lieutenant?" Connie suddenly asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Horatio smiled even more, with still less warmth, and slipped his sunglasses on. Looking directly at her he said, "I'm worse than what you think. I'm one of those damn yankees from New York..."
He turned and walked out, not seeing the appalled and disgusted look on her face, but feeling it nonetheless. As soon as the front door banged closed with a loud clanging of the bells, his cell phone was in his hands.
"Eric..." he said, walking rapidly towards the parked Hummer. "What have you gotten from that search of CCL Management holdings?" He paused as he approached the vehicle, listening to Eric's response. "I need a list of the businesses owned by them," he said, then climbed into the Hummer. There was an even longer pause as the lengthy list was read off to him, until Eric hit one in particular.
"Read that last one to me again..." he said, looking out the windshield at the front door of the gallery. A slow, predatory smile appeared on his lips. "Lange Galleries..." he murmured in soft triumph. "Eric, find a judge, I want the financial records seized for that company, Owen Parnell, CCL Management and search warrants for the gallery and residence of Connie Lange. I also want Tyler getting phone records for all of them, move fast! And Eric? Start cross linking those businesses to ones in Seattle."
He abruptly cut the connection and hit a speed dial, "Frank..." he said into the phone as he started the Hummer and looked over his shoulder for a break in traffic. "I've got something I need you to do. Meet me at Mt. Sinai..."