FIC: These Little Earthquakes 5/5
sno...@my-deja.com
breath before getting out of the car and let it out slowly as they
started inside.
The door to the suite opened as they neared it. Fraser hurried ahead
and held the door open for the woman carrying a mailbag. He stayed and
held the door for Ray, then followed. Ray flashed his badge at the
woman behind the desk. "Alexandra Pross?"
The woman raised an eyebrow. "That would be handled by Mr. Simon
Mortalis. He's down the hall, last door to the left."
"Handled by? What does that mean? He like an agent?" Ray queried.
She shook her head. "Not really," the phone rang and she put her hand
on it. "He can explain it better." She turned away from them and
picked up. "Artist Investments. How may I direct your call?"
Ray and Fraser walked down the hall and found the last door on the left
was wide open. The gentleman at the desk wore an expensive suit. His
smile disappeared when he took a good look at the two men before
him. "Yes?" he said coldly.
Ray showed his badge again. "Detective Vecchio. This is Constable
Fraser. We'd like to ask you a few questions."
"In regards to…?"
"Alexandra Pross," Ray replied. "Her checks are being sent here for
her paintings. It's listed as her studio. Why's that?"
The man walked to the door, closed it, and offered them seats across
from his desk. He then sat back behind the desk and folded his
hands. "We offer a certain," he paused to choose his words. "A
specific service to our clients. Many of these artists stay in
abandoned lofts, sometimes condemned properties; which is, of course,
illegal. We find buyers for their works and one of the things they get
in exchange is that they get to have their mail sent to a reputable
place."
"Hm," Ray began. "And how do you make money?"
"A percentage of their sales, of course."
"So you're an agent? Like for actors and writers?"
"Essentially," he replied. "The difference is that artists are a
newer, untapped market. Very lucrative. Of course the company deals
in other investments, but we cater to a very particular type of
customer."
"You mean rich," Ray filled in.
The man simply nodded. "Will that be all?"
Fraser and Ray stood. "I guess," Ray said and opened the door.
Fraser noticed a pile of artists canvases somewhat hidden behind a
filing cabinet. He tried to determine the reason behind having them
there, but couldn't.
"Before we go, I'd like to know where I can find Ms. Pross."
The man shook his head. "I don't think I can tell you."
Ray shifted. "Why not? I just need to speak with her. I don't care
if she's on some abandoned property or anything."
"Don't you?" Mr. Mortalis. "I find that hard to believe."
"I just need to talk to her, ok?"
Simon looked at them for several seconds, then scribbled on a piece of
paper and handed it to Ray. "You have to go up to the third floor."
--------
When they stepped onto the landing of the third floor they could smell
paint. It was obvious the place hadn't been painted in many years so
Fraser and Ray walked toward the smell. As they walked along the
hallway, they came to an opening which took a huge amount of floor
space. Looking around they were met by canvasses, paintings, a ruffled
bed. And a humble easel. The easel was angled so that the canvas on
it got direct sunlight. Fraser walked around and looked at the front
of the painting. It was a half finished abstract work. Just as he
leaned in he heard a voice behind him and spun.
"Can I help you?"
Ray turned also to face the voice. A woman in her mid thirties stood
before them in a severely dirty smock.
Ray smiled a little. "Mr. Mortalis sent us. I have a few questions
about your art."
She smiled in return. "Would you like to buy something?"
"No, nothing like that. You are Alexandra Pross?"
She nodded.
"We saw one of your paintings and had some questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"Uh, we noticed that one in particular is the exact size of a painting
by John Waterhouse that was recently stolen."
She furrowed her brow. "A lot of paintings are the same size."
Fraser interrupted. "This one was 27 and a half by 18 and a quarter
inches. It is a very odd size."
She shrugged. "My canvases are blank when I paint on them. None of
that painting over master pieces stuff," she replied.
Fraser nodded and began thumbing through her canvases.
"Can I help you find something?" she asked almost defensively.
Fraser shook his head and Ray continued. "Why do you paint those still
life paintings. The gallery owner says she can't get as much for them."
She shrugged again. "I don't know. I just like to paint them. Mr.
Mortalis told me I should paint them if that's what I like. He says it
is ok that they don't sell for as much."
"And why do you live here if the other paintings are selling?" he
inquired.
"I haven't sold very many, really. I just paint and give them to the
galleries…Mr. Mortalis is handling the money. He sold one recently
that will give me enough money to get an apartment. Up until recently,
it's only been the still life's that sell -- just enough for me to eat
for a month."
Ray nodded. There were some inconsistencies, but he thought little of
them.
Fraser pulled out a blank canvas and examined it. "Do you make your
own canvases?"
"I used to, but Mr. Mortalis provides them now. He buys my paint too.
It came out of the first paintings I sold."
"Hm," Fraser said. "We can go."
Ray shrugged. "Huh? Why can we go?"
"It is Mr. Mortalis we need to speak with," Fraser replied simply.
"Again?"
Fraser nodded. "Thank you, kindly, ma'am. May I take this canvas with
me?"
She folded her arms. "You want one of my canvases? No painting?"
"No paint is necessary."
"Hundred bucks," she replied.
"Ray," Fraser nudged.
Ray began to open his wallet. "$100? Why am I giving her that much
for that? she should paint something on it first." He handed over the
money.
As they walked out of the building and too the car, Fraser leaned the
picture against it. Ray watched as Fraser pulled up a corner of the
fabric covering the frame. He pulled it away, revealing another layer
of canvas -- with a painting on it.
Ray's eye's opened wide. "The paintings are underneath?"
Fraser nodded. "He's carefully recovering them and giving them to her."
"Amazing," Ray replied. "Pretty tricky. Why would he do that? Parade
them in public that way?"
"Well, they are well hidden," Fraser said in thought. "I believe the
question is not about parading them in public. He specifically intends
to have them not sell easily by having her less desired still life
paintings on them."
"I'm confused, Fraze. What does that accomplish?"
"They always end up sold, correct? It seems most likely that he
controls the selling price, then he sends a buyer to buy them at that
price."
"So it's a set up?"
Fraser nodded. "Once the buyer picks it up for a small fee, a
legitimate fee, he is free to take it home and own an original painting
by a famous artist."
Ray shifted on his feet. "Ok, so he has the painting, he covers it,
has her paint on it, then sells it? That's dumb. Why doesn't he just
do a trade in his office or something."
Fraser paused a moment. "Only one thing makes sense to me. Customs."
"Huh?"
"In order for a painting to go through customs, the buyer needs a
reputable receipt. This way a buyer from another country can take the
piece home."
"So it's not just Mortalis, it's the buyer too?"
Fraser nodded. "I expect a foreign buyer willing to bankroll the theft
is willing to make the small purchase at the gallery in order to have
the painting in their hands."
It all came together for Ray. It made perfect sense. The checks for
large amounts came to Mortalis who only cut in Pross for a small
amount. Another small amount went to the person who was willing to
steal the painting, but how did Mr. Caldwell fit in? His wife had made
it clear that he had been very insistent on the purchase of that
painting.
He turned the car around and headed to the Caldwell mansion.
----------
Ray and Fraser stood in the entryway waiting to see either Mr. or Mrs.
Caldwell. Ray began to twist his hands when Mr. Caldwell approached.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah," Ray replied. "I'm Detective Vecchio. This is Constable
Fraser. We spoke with your wife, but we'd like to ask you a few
questions."
Mr. Caldwell led them to the room where they had been before. The
three sat on the oversized seats.
"Mr. Caldwell," Ray began. "I don't want to waste your time, so I'll
get right to the point. Why were you so insistent on the purchase of
the Waterhouse?"
Mr. Caldwell stared blankly for a moment. "Waterhouse is a favourite
artist of mine."
Ray tipped his head. "From what I've seen, he painted feminine stuff.
Flowing dresses and that kind of thing."
"True I suppose. I felt it suited the décor."
Ray shook his head. "Your wife pointed out to us that it was different
to everything else."
The man straightened and cleared his throat. "I felt it was a good
investment."
"Why?" Ray jumped in.
Mr. Caldwell waited a moment before answering. "Because I had heard
about the other robberies. I heard that there is this surge of
interest in Waterhouse and that is why the paintings were being
stolen. I thought I could get in on it. We got it at an auction and
the price was good. I thought I could sell it soon to one of these
European yuppies and make back twice the money."
"You knew about the robberies and you didn't put it someplace more
safe?"
"I have an excellent security system. I was certain no one could get
past it," he replied. "I see I was wrong. Look, Detective, it may
have been a strange move, but I have a very. set way of life here. I
didn't get here by avoiding chances and investing in one certain thing."
Ray nodded. "All right. One more question. Most of the people who
had paintings stolen hired PI's. Why didn't you?"
"Because the people who hired Private Investigators don't have their
paintings back. I felt I should try something else. Especially since
I have friends in the department who have promised that I will be
satisfied with the results. They better be right."
Ray stared at him. "I do my job, Mr. Caldwell. Don't worry. You'll
have your precious painting."
Mr. Caldwell stood. "I'm not sure I appreciate."
Ray stood and challenged him. "I don't appreciate you. You sit up
here in your little house all high and mighty, calling in favours. I
don't like it when people call in favours, ok? I don't like it when I
get pulled off MURDER investigations so I can find a measly painting."
"Get out." Mr. Caldwell demanded. "Get out right now."'
"My pleasure," Ray replied with a growl.
Fraser followed him out. "Ray," he began as they got into his
car. "I'm not sure that was productive."
Ray scowled. "I'm so tired of this, Fraser. I'm tired of people
treating me like.like." he let the sentence trail as he sped away.
A few moments later his phone rang. He reached in his pocket and
handed it to Fraser. "Detective Vecchio's cellular telephone. This is
Constable."
The voice was loud enough Ray could hear that it was Welsh. "You and
the Detective better be in my office in TEN MINUTES!" Then there was a
click. Fraser returned the phone to Ray.
As the two stepped into the squad room, Ray went straight to
Francesca. "Hey Frannie."
"What do you want," she said without looking up from the computer.
"I need you to pull up some records," he replied. "Simon Mortalis and
Alexandra Pross. Also I need you to see if any of those paintings have
shown up in Europe."
"Now how on earth am I supposed to do that?" she asked as she sat back
in her chair.
"Vecchio!" Welsh hollered from the doorway to his office.
"Uh, gotta go," he said with a smile. "Be creative."
Welsh's face was red. "I got a call from Mr. Caldwell." He paused to
take a breath. "Would you like to explain just what you were thinking?"
Ray cleared his throat. "Uh," he paused and watched Welsh's face get
redder. "You know, I'm just thinking about all the unsolved murders
and."
"Look, Detective. I know this is beneath you, but I have my orders and
my job is to make sure you carry them out."
"I know, sir. I'm sorry. We've got it under control. I think we've
about got it all figured out." He looked out the window and saw
Frannie turn to him with a thumbs up.
"Oh? Care to enlighten me?"
Ray made his way to the door. "Can't right now, Lieutenant. Gotta go
solve this case." He left before Welsh could stop him.
He took the paper Frannie held out to him and read as she
spoke. "Simon has been arrested several times for dealing in stolen
sculptures. Never been convicted, though. Pross has nothing. I even
found a painting." She handed him another page. "One painting was
spotted in London."
Ray had all he needed. The case now involved international affairs.
He made his report and took it to Welsh.
------------
Tori sat quietly in her apartment staring out the window. She held
her lease in her hand and let out a long breath. The message on her
machine was supposed to be good news. Her landlord informed her that
they had found a new tenant, therefore she was willing to end the lease
with no repercussions. Tori already had a new apartment and the boxes
lined the walls. She set the stapled pages on the floor and put her
feet up on the couch.
She had seen Ray several times when she was at the gym practicing her
moves. He always hid around corners or down the street. Many times he
casually walked past the building and looked in the windows and once
he'd come inside. She'd pretended not to notice. She was too hurt to
deal with him. 'If only he had called me back, just once. If only.'
It did her no good. She buried herself in her work and tried to make
sure he could get hold of her, but she was finally ready to say
goodbye. Now she didn't even want him to get hold of her.
---------
It had been six weeks since the last time Ray had spoken with Tori.
Images of her filled his mind as he sat behind his desk and stared at
the phone. He held a card in his hand with her phone number on it,
but he couldn’t bring himself to dial.
That first week, she’d left three messages at his house for him. He
didn’t even listen to them, he just erased them. She didn’t call again
for two weeks and when she did, she’d called and left the message with
Frannie.
Fraser stepped up to Ray's desk and sat on a chair across from him. He
saw that Ray was preoccupied so he simply waited until he was finally
noticed.
“Hi, Fraze. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing.” Fraser watched him for a moment. “I see you are still
avoiding the boxing ring?”
Ray sighed and dropped the card. “Actually, I was there this
morning.” Fraser raised his eyebrows and Ray continued. “We didn’t
box.” Francesca joined them. Ray glanced, but made no
acknowledgment. “She still goes there on Monday’s and Friday’s for
practice. I watched her today.”
“Isn’t that a little creepy?” Fran jumped in.
“Shut up!” Ray said defensively.
“Ray,” Fraser cut in. “Why haven’t you called her?”
Ray turned away, ashamed. “Isn’t there a case I should be working on?”
“Probably,” Frannie said. “Personally, I think you should spill the
dust.”
Ray looked disgusted and quietly said “Dirt, Frannie. It’s dirt.”
“Whatever it is, Ray, I want to know what happened.”
Ray looked around and Frannie sat on the edge of his desk. “It’s none
of your business.”
"You have to tell me," she insisted.
"No, I don't," he replied and pushed her off the desk.
"Fine," she snapped. "But don't you come crawling to me when you have
a question about woman stuff."
Ray sniggered. "Don't worry. I won't." He sighed and turned to
Fraser who simply stared back. Ray leaned back. “I’m going to call
her, really I am. I just want to think of what I want to say first.”
He remembered back to what he had said. He didn't think he'd said
anything wrong, really, but she'd made it clear it had something to do
with the way he was dwelling on her and Fraser. “Why do I always ruin
everything?”
Fraser shifted. “Well, Ray, the only way you can make this situation
better is to speak with Detective Brooks.”
Ray sighed. “Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?”
Fraser shook his head. After several moment, Ray picked up the phone
and dialed the number on the card.
"Detective Brooks," came the voice through the phone.
He waited, unable to speak.
"This is Detective Brooks," she paused. "Speak."
"Uh, hi," Ray replied softly and cleared his throat.
There was a brief pause. "Oh, Ray. I'm glad you called. I was afraid
I'd miss you."
"Miss me?"
"Well, I'm sorry to dump this on you, but I'm moving. Being
transferred."
"Huh?"
"I'm leaving Chicago. I'm leaving Illinois. I'm going through some
training so I can be a detective in New York."
"What?"
"You heard me, Ray. Look. I'm sorry. I have to go. My partner and I
are on our way back to the station and I have a lot of paperwork to do
before I leave. I'll see you." Click.
Ray sat there for a minute and listened to the dead air before hanging
up. As he stood and headed for his car, he rubbed his temple.
“Where are we going?” Fraser asked as he climbed in with Ray.
“Dunno, for sure.”
“Hmm.”
“I don’t want to hear your ‘hmm’ Fraser. Keep it to yourself.”
“You know, Ray, you really only have two options. You either call
Detective Brooks again and apologize…”
“I’m not going to call her back.”
“…or you learn to live with yourself.”
“That's not the problem, Fraser. She's leaving.”
Fraser looked inquisitive.
Ray noticed. "She's moving to New York. She's as good as gone." He
smacked his car. "She's leaving me for good. I really messed it up."
The next few weeks he spent trying his hardest to be something he
wasn’t; happy. He had made the mistake of waiting until the next day
to call her back. He'd come up with an idea, a farewell dinner, but
her numbers had been disconnected. He tried calling several friends,
co-workers, but no one knew where to find her.
-------
Yellow bird flying gets shot in the wing.
Good year for hunters and Christmas parties.
The way we fight.
The way I'm left here silent.
Oh these little earthquakes
Here we go again
Oh these little earthquakes
Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces.
We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn
We laughed in the faces of kings never afraid to burn
Watching us wither
Black winged roses that safely changed their color
I can't reach you
I can't reach you
Oh these little earthquakes
Here we go again
Oh these little earthquakes
Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces.
------
THE END
Watch for Part 3 ‘Fragile’
Song credits: A tape of the songs used in this story is available upon
request. You may also request a list of which albums carry these songs.
'Little Earthquakes' by Tori Amos
'Full of Grace' by Sarah McLachlan
'I Love You' by Sarah McLachlan
'Case of You' by Joni Mitchell
'Ghost' by Emily Sailers
'Shock to my System' by Rick Springfield
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
SptmbrWind
>me?"
>
>She folded her arms. "You want one of my canvases? No painting?"
>
>"No paint is necessary."
>
>"Hundred bucks," she replied.
>
>"Ray," Fraser nudged.
>
>Ray began to open his wallet. "$100? Why am I giving her that much
>for that? she should paint something on it first." He handed over the
>money.
*giggle* It's a wonder that Ray's not in debt, already...
>As they walked out of the building and too the car, Fraser leaned the
>picture against it. Ray watched as Fraser pulled up a corner of the
>fabric covering the frame. He pulled it away, revealing another layer
>of canvas -- with a painting on it.
>
>Ray's eye's opened wide. "The paintings are underneath?"
>
>Fraser nodded. "He's carefully recovering them and giving them to her."
Ooo... Neato!
>Fraser nodded. "Once the buyer picks it up for a small fee, a
>legitimate fee, he is free to take it home and own an original painting
>by a famous artist."
Clever...
>"Mr. Caldwell," Ray began. "I don't want to waste your time, so I'll
>get right to the point. Why were you so insistent on the purchase of
>the Waterhouse?"
That IS to the point...
>Mr. Caldwell stood. "I'm not sure I appreciate."
>
>Ray stood and challenged him. "I don't appreciate you. You sit up
>here in your little house all high and mighty, calling in favours. I
>don't like it when people call in favours, ok? I don't like it when I
>get pulled off MURDER investigations so I can find a measly painting."
Ooo... Temper...
>He took the paper Frannie held out to him and read as she
>spoke. "Simon has been arrested several times for dealing in stolen
>sculptures. Never been convicted, though. Pross has nothing. I even
>found a painting." She handed him another page. "One painting was
>spotted in London."
Hmm... Interesting...
>"I'm leaving Chicago. I'm leaving Illinois. I'm going through some
>training so I can be a detective in New York."
Gak! Arg! Geez... You should have warned me! I just sprayed water all over my
keyboard!
>THE END
The end? The end? No, it's not! I want to see more! You and Saff both are gonna
be in trouble, soon!
____
Anything
sno...@my-deja.com
>
> The end? The end? No, it's not! I want to see more! You and Saff both
are gonna
> be in trouble, soon!
>
> ____
> Anything
Ok, I finally got Fragile (part 3 of 3 of this series) back and
beta'd. The question here is do I wait a day and not post to keep you
in suspense or shall I post part one of Fragile tomorrow. Hmmmm... I
guess we'll see what I feel like doing tomorrow morning. < nefarious
grin>
Snowee
Cracker Jacks (c) now featuring three new toys! Handsome Mountie,
Italian Detective, and spikey-haired Detective. Collect all three!
SptmbrWind
>beta'd. The question here is do I wait a day and not post to keep you
>in suspense or shall I post part one of Fragile tomorrow. Hmmmm... I
>guess we'll see what I feel like doing tomorrow morning. < nefarious
>grin>
<Anything lets out a wailing shriek> No! That does it! You post that, on time,
or else I'm stopping all of my stories!
____
Anything