37

Aligned Design

Ch 5.

"Jenese, I need to see you. Right now! . . . That woman detective was here, asking really hard questions. . . . I didn't tell her anything. I didn't know what to say. You didn't tell me anything. How could I tell her anything? . . . No, Jenese, I did not say anything. . . . When are you coming home? . . . Well, I want to see you. . . . I need you. Just come home." Canvettelli was nearly hysterical. He'd called Jenese right after Eames left.

Jenese hung up and twisted his neck to the right. It clicked and he exhaled into a hiss. That son-of-a-bitch gay boy. I swear to God, I'm gonna kill him.

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"Yes, this is Dr. George Huang, with Special Victims Unit, NYPD. I'd like to speak with Dr. Stephens regarding a recent client of hers. Yes, thank you."

Huang called Dr. Alice Stephens, the counselor Goren had seen for his mandated post trauma counseling. He wanted to get her take on how Goren had been throughout the sessions and what she thought his prognosis was.

"Dr. Shepherd, hello, it's George Huang. Thanks for taking my call. I won't keep you, but I wanted to talk with you about Detective Robert Goren of Major Case. You saw him recently following his attack."

"Yes, Dr. Huang. Is he all right? Has he done something?"

"Well, the fact that you ask that tells me that you have concerns."

"Actually, I do. Listen, can we meet to discuss his case? I fear it's something I'd rather not do over the phone."

"Certainly, when is good for you?"

Huang and Stephens arranged to meet the next morning at his office. This has an ominous ring to it, he said to himself, hanging up the phone. His next call was to the leader of the anger management classes.

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Gleason washed her face, brushed her teeth and twisted her hair in a knot. She still felt queasy, but better than she had. She was just so tired! I need to get up and do something, she told herself. She removed the computer's memory stick from her purse, put the card key in her pocket and went to the lobby.

She smiled to the desk clerk manning the registration desk, then used the room key and entered the tiny business office between the front desk and the lifts. She inserted the stick into the USB port on the side of the desktop and opened her resume. Need to dust off this thing, she thought.

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"Well, Detective, it's good to see you. Where's your other half?" Bobby looked at the medical examiner for a full minute and then shuffled a box step, and said with a look of relief, left hand gesticulating like crazy. "Oh, Eames, you mean Eames. I don't know. I don't know where she is. I thought you meant. . ." He cut himself off and then continued, "I read your report on the painter that was found Friday night." He set down his portfolio and pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

"He's right here. What can I tell you?" Rodgers led Bobby to the wall of stainless steel, three-foot square doors. She pulled one open and hauled out a steel table holding the nearly frozen body of a slightly built, dark haired man with a goatee.

Bobby picked up the man's hands and peered closely at the fingers of each hand. "COD was strangulation with a wide, flexible object. But not a belt, your report said." He moved from the man's hands to his neck.

"Yes, I'm thinking some kind of flexible pipe. Like a hose of some sort, only more flexible. Maybe like a vinyl tube with wire bracing around it. If you look closely, you can see evidence of a narrow abrasion within the wider marking. He was attacked from behind. It took awhile for him to asphyxiate. The tube, or whatever it was, was not an ideal instrument. Whoever did this really had to hang on." Rogers watched the detective examine the artist's neck. She watched him pull up the eyelids, saw him turn the corpse's head left and right.

"His tox screen was clean?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, just a little alcohol, a merlot, in fact. He wasn't a healthy fellow, though. He was at the front edge of full-blown AIDS. He had had recent, unprotected sex with a male partner."

Bobby looked at the ME, "Can you put a time between the sex and his death?"

"I'd say fairly soon after, probably within minutes. I'm thinking his sex partner strangled him."

Bobby nodded. "Then the question is did his lover kill him because he just learned this guy had AIDS; or, did he kill him to inflate the value of the paintings." Goren swept his eyes up and down the body. Rodgers saw him thinking. He is one fascinating guy to watch, she thought to herself.

"Huh, we may not have a crime here if this was a lover's spat gone really wrong." Bobby looked at the ME. "Thanks for letting me look at him. I have to get back. See ya."

Bobby turned and walked away. Medical Examiner Elizabeth Rodgers watched him leave. He's one odd bird, she thought.

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Eames pulled into the shipping service's visitor lot and entered the front office. She stood in front of the high counter and waited for the attendant to finish on the phone.

"Hi, I'm Detective Eames," she showed her badge, "I'd like to speak to the manager or supervisor."

"Sure, just a minute," the attendant said. She turned back to her desk, picked up the phone, pushed a few buttons and said into the receiver, "Bill to the front office, please. Bill." Eames heard the message blare outside, all over the shipping lot. The attendant replaced the receiver and smiled at Eames. "He should just be a minute."

"Thanks," Eames replied.

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"I'm back," Bobby said, poking his head into Deakins' office. His boss looked up at Bobby and nodded.

Goren returned to his desk and opened his portfolio. He turned to a fresh page and began to write.

1. how did gallery owner know the painter?

2. how did gallery owner know the broker?

3. why were paintings purchased?

4. who were they to go to?

5. already sold?

6. who was painter's lover? – killer?

7. why/how were the paintings diverted?

8. where are the paintings?

9. check out delivery service

10. check out driver of that shipment

11.check out other gallery workers

12. search for other lost art shipments

13. research painter

There, he thought, that's a good start. I wonder where Eames is. Bobby felt calm, steady. His head had stopped hurting.

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