A Mind Within Read online

  The book had been kept hidden for a reason. She was sure of that. Xander had never painted pictures like these in his studio. He must have realized, somehow, that he could not let anyone know that he understood, that he might also feel afraid.

  Giselle continued turning page after page. At last she flipped to the last one and gasped. It showed Oscar, lying on the ground by the house. Above him was a broken window. The dark pool around his head seemed to flow and increase in size as Giselle stared at the page. Yet this was not what surprised her. What had made her gasp was the image of a man, crouched on the ground beside Oscar. The man was Lawrence.

  Giselle remembered. The sound of glass breaking. The horrible scream. As she stared at the drawing, a thought slowly began to form in her head. She looked up and gazed out the window, seeing nothing.

  It might work. It just might work. It could be exactly what was needed to get Lawrence out of prison.

  #

  Dulcie had arranged to visit Xander’s home late in the afternoon on the day before the video shoot. She heard the gravel crunch in the driveway under the tires of her battered Jeep Wrangler. She’d thought of getting a new car so many times, but in the end couldn’t part with what she considered her baby. They had been through too much together.

  She parked, grabbed her leather briefcase, now soft and worn after having seen nearly as many years as the vehicle, and strode to the door. Before she even rang the bell, Edith swung the door wide.

  “Good. Punctual. I like that.”

  Dulcie bit her lip to stop from grinning. “Yes, Mrs. Bernstein. I like that, too. I think it’s rude to keep people waiting.”

  “Exactly!” said the imposing woman. She stepped back to let Dulcie through.

  “I just wanted to review everything with you and Giselle for tomorrow.

  “Good. Come in here,” Edith said and headed for the same room that Dulcie had been in before with Edith for tea.

  Dulcie hesitated. “Would Xander join us in here?”

  Edith stopped short, swiveled around and shot a piercing look at Dulcie. “Why?” she barked.

  Dulcie took a large gulp of air and said calmly, “Because all of this pertains to him. It disrupts his work and is intrusive. He should at least be present when we go through what will happen tomorrow.”

  The piercing look continued, then Edith shrugged her shoulders. “Fine. Doubt he’ll get a thing out of it, but that’s fine. He’s in the kitchen with Giselle. We can talk there.” She led the way.

  Dulcie was relieved to be in the far less formal setting of the kitchen. Giselle and Xander sat at the table, each with a cup of tea. Giselle stood immediately and said warmly, “Ah, Dul-cee. So good to see you! I will get you tea. And you as well,” she nodded in Edith’s direction.

  “Thank you, Giselle. That would be lovely,” Dulcie replied. She and Edith sat at the table with Xander. He had not acknowledged them in any way. He simply continued to drink his tea and occasionally take a bite of what appeared to be a blueberry scone.

  “Don’t wait for me, Dulcie. You begin. I can hear you from here,” Giselle said over her shoulder.

  Dulcie pulled a notebook from her bag. “All right. I’ve tried to design the schedule so that we intrude as little as possible. I’ve instructed everyone to arrive at nine o’clock exactly and not a moment later. I’ve also told them that they cannot enter the house until then either. I know that Xander typically begins shortly after nine. The crew will come in quickly and quietly, set up in his studio, and begin filming.”

  “What will you film first?” asked Giselle, now joining them at the table with a tray. She passed a steaming cup to Dulcie while Edith helped herself.

  “First we’ll just get various details of the room to piece in as background. The easel, Xander’s paints, the view from his window… then we’ll bring in the model.”

  “Who’s that?” Edith queried. “Hope it’s not some out-of-work actor.”

  Dulcie laughed. “No, far from it. We have someone that I know well, but who isn’t a model or an actor. We wanted to make sure that it was someone Xander had never seen before.”

  Edith snorted. “Sounds like an out-of-work actor to me.”

  “You might say he’s between gigs,” Dulcie quipped. “But he certainly isn’t an actor. He runs a touring company and takes people on excursions in the bay on his yacht. However, this is the time of year when business really begins to slow down, as you can imagine. He’s happy to have some extra work.” Dulcie did not mention that he also happened to be her brother.

  Edith harrumphed an incomprehensible response.

  Dulcie turned to Xander. “You do not need to participate at all if you don’t like this,” she said directly to him. “Just stay in your room, or leave at any time. I want you to be comfortable with what we’re doing.”

  “Boy doesn’t know what you’re saying,” Edith blurted mid-sip. “Only understands direct actions. Walk. Eat. Paint.”

  Dulcie ignored Edith’s comment and sat very still as she looked at Xander. She felt as though she was watching a wild bird, hoping that it would slowly hop toward her.

  Xander put down his cup but continued to stare into it. His hand moved to the table. Then he flipped the hand over so that it rested palm up. Dulcie looked up at Giselle. Her eyes were wide. She glanced back at Dulcie and nodded. Yes, Dulcie could hear her thinking, he has just spoken to you.

  “Thank you,” Dulcie said quietly to Xander. He continued to stare into his teacup.

  She continued to relate more details of the next day to them, but half of her thoughts were still on Xander. He had communicated. Again. What else could be happening in his mind?

  Dulcie finished discussing the details. Xander had already left the room.

  “So you’ll be done by three o’clock at the latest?” declared Edith.

  “Yes, and if all goes well, sooner,” Dulcie said.

  “Good. That’s it then. Thank you for coming by,” Edith stood and marched out.

  Giselle and Dulcie looked at each other. Both spontaneously giggled.

  “She is always like that. You must excuse her,” Giselle said. “She has a good heart, though.”

  “I can see that,” Dulcie agreed. “And she obviously cares a great deal about Xander. In her way.”

  “Yes, in her way. That is a kind way to say it,” Giselle offered thoughtfully. “But Dul-cee, I must show you something. It is very odd. Can you wait here a moment?”

  “Of course,” Dulcie said.

  Giselle left, and Dulcie heard her running quickly upstairs. After several moments, she returned to the kitchen with a wire-bound book in her hand. She gave it to Dulcie.

  “What are your thoughts of this, as one who looks at art a great deal?”

  Dulcie began looking through the drawings and immediately realized what it must be. This was the sketchbook that Nick had told her about. She considered each sketch more carefully now, hesitating over some. “These are Xander’s, I assume,” she said without looking up. “It’s obvious from his style. What I find so difficult to understand about him is that he can capture the emotions of others so well, but he has none of his own.” She was still turning the pages.

  “Does he have none of his own?” Giselle asked, “Or does he simply show none of his own?”

  “That’s a good point,” Dulcie acknowledged. She reached the last drawing and involuntarily sat back quickly in her chair. She forced herself to lean forward again. “Giselle, is this what I think it is?”

  “Yes,” Giselle breathed.

  She could barely hear the other woman’s voice. “Who is the man kneeling over him?” Dulcie asked.

  “That is Lawrence, his father,” Giselle whispered.

  Dulcie continued to stare at the two men. Slowly, she began to realize the implication of the drawing. She looked up at Giselle. “Xander only draws what he sees,” she said.

  “Yes,” Giselle repeated.

  Dulcie looked up at the open, partially bro
ken window on the second floor, the one that Oscar Bernstein had obviously just come hurtling through. In the background, there was a shadow. An unmistakable shadow.

  “But Giselle, look,” she pointed at it.

  “Yes, I know. It is someone in the room,” she said.

  Dulcie sat back again. “What are you going to do with this?” she asked.

  “I thought I would take it to the police? I know that Lawrence confessed, but this could prove it false, perhaps? I told the police that I was outside, walking with Xander. This proves that to be true. He could not have drawn this if he had not seen it.”

  “And that in turn proves that Xander could not have pushed his grandfather out the window. But I don’t see how it helps Lawrence. Yes, there’s a shadow of a person in Oscar’s study. But Lawrence could have pushed Oscar, then run downstairs and outside to his body.”

  Giselle shook her head. “Non, jamais!” Her French edged its way in as she became agitated. “I followed Xander on the trail. We both heard glass breaking and a scream. We did not see him fall but we emerged from the trees immediately after. Lawrence would not have had enough time to leave Oscar’s study, come down the stairs, proceed down the hall, and come out this door,” she pointed to the picture, “in that amount of time. Impossible!” Her accent was pronounced again on the final word.

  “So someone was up there,” Dulcie said.

  Giselle did not reply.

  “Giselle, I know who should see this. I mean, I know who on the police force should see this. Could I keep it? Could I bring it to him?”

  “By all means. If this helps Lawrence to come home to his son, then… by all means! We all know that he could not have done it!”

  Dulcie carefully closed the sketchbook and put it in her briefcase. She thanked Giselle who now walked her to the door.

  “Non, I must thank you,” Giselle said. “Since you have come into our lives, I have sensed something different in this house.”

  “Me?” Dulcie proclaimed. “Something from me?”

  “It is difficult to explain,” Giselle replied. “But the only word I can think of is espérance. Hope.” She smiled at Dulcie. “We shall see you tomorrow. Thank you, again,” she added and gently closed the door.

  Dulcie stood for several moments on the steps, looking bewildered.

  “You’ll never guess what I have!” As a rule, Dulcie did not talk on the phone while driving. She had just pulled into the museum parking lot. The car was still running. She tried to turn off the car with her left hand and nearly dropped the phone in the process.

  Quickly switching hands with the phone she heard Nick say, “Want me to try, or would you rather just…”

  She cut him off. “I have the sketchbook! And wait till you see it! It’s a doozy!”

  “A good doozy, or a bad doozy?” he asked.

  “Shut up and get over here!” Dulcie exclaimed.

  “Fine, but where is here?” Nick laughed.

  “Oh, sorry. At my office. The museum. Oh, wait. If we’re closed by the time you get here, just rap on the door. I’ll tell the guard to let you in.”

  “Great. See you in ten minutes!” Nick turned to Johnson who was walking laps around the desks again.

  “Looks like more walking for you! How many paces to the museum?”

  “A lot!” Johnson said happily. “What’s up?” he added, pausing briefly.

  “Tell you on the way,” Nick said throwing on his jacket.

  “Okay, but slow down a little! I don’t want this dammed thing to screw up the count and miss any!”

  Nick just shook his head. By the time they reached the museum, Johnson knew what they were about to see. He had voluntarily increased his pace while Nick talked. “This could be good!” he said.

  Nick tapped on the door and the guard opened it. They hurried to Dulcie’s office.

  “Come over here and sit,” she said, pointing to a table. She sat between them and opened the sketchbook. “It’s decidedly Xander’s, of course, and all of the drawings show the people around him with various expressions of fear. And then we come to this,” she turned to the last page.

  Nick and Johnson both leaned forward in front of Dulcie. She pushed her chair back, stood, then circled to the other side of the table. The two men leaned in even closer, their heads nearly touching.

  “Okay, that’s Lawrence,” muttered Johnson. “And that’s gotta be Oscar,” said Nick. “Looks like the pictures of the crime scene.”

  “There’s another detail you haven’t caught yet,” Dulcie interrupted. They both looked up simultaneously, then down again like two puppies. Dulcie pointed.

  “What is that? Looks like…”

  “A shadow. Of somebody. In Oscar’s study. Huh!” Johnson was the first to sit back. He rubbed his eyes, then stood and started pacing the room.

  Dulcie gave Nick a quizzical look. “He’s wearing a pedometer. It’s a bet with his wife. Don’t ask,” he said under his breath.

  Dulcie hid her smile but was quickly serious again. “There’s more to the story. As you know, because you’ve heard it over and over, Xander only paints, or draws, what he sees. So he obviously saw this scene,” she gestured toward the sketchbook. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. However, Xander was out walking with the housekeeper, Giselle. She said that they were returning to the house when they heard glass breaking, a scream, then within only a few seconds emerged from the woods to see this.”

  The two men stared at her blankly.

  “Giselle also said that in the amount of time it took her to hear the glass break and the scream, then to come out of the trees and witness this,” she pointed to the sketch, “Lawrence would never have been able to push Oscar out of the window, then run all the way down the stairs and through the house to get outside and reach the body. It isn’t possible.”

  Nick nodded. “So, he must have been either outside or at least downstairs, near the door,” he concluded.

  “Right,” said Dulcie. “And, this shadow in the window shows that there was someone else in that room!”

  “Yeah, but here we go again,” Johnson chided. “Xander gives us another shadow.”

  “True,” Nick said. “But the fact that it’s there. It’s there in the painting and it’s there in the sketch. We can’t discount it.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Besides, we don’t have to necessarily prove who killed Oscar Bernstein. The first step could be to prove that Lawrence made a false confession, and that he didn’t do it”

  Johnson stopped. “Right. So, Mr. Law-degree, what’s it take to do that?”

  Nick thought for a moment. “I’d say, convincing evidence to the contrary, and a compelling reason to make the false confession in the first place.”

  “This looks pretty convincing to me. Xander’s work is pretty much like taking a photograph. He doesn’t exactly embellish,” Dulcie informed them.

  “True, and with Giselle’s claim that he couldn’t have made it down there in the amount of time given,” added Nick, “along with the compelling reason of protecting his son from being locked up in an institution…”

  “Yeah, plus, it was Butt-head Butler who ran the initial investigation,” Johnson chimed in from across the room. He had begun walking again.

  Nick smirked and glanced at Dulcie. “Excuse him, but that’s the nickname around the station. Butler is known for making enemies and sticking with his initial conclusion, right or wrong. He’s pretty close to retirement. I think the chief is just waiting him out.”

  “Why would they put him on an important case like this?” Dulcie asked.

  “There was no one else, probably,” Nick answered.

  “You know, Nick,” Johnson mused, “Come to think of it, Chief’s gotta know we’re looking into this by now. I’ve thought it was funny that he hasn’t come down on us yet. Maybe there’s a reason? Maybe he knows Butler botched it, and he wants us to open it up again?”

  Nick swiveled around in his chair to look at his
partner. “OK, you gotta stop pacing. You’re driving me nuts! I do agree, though. We’ve been allowed to quietly stay on this case for a reason.” He turned back to the table and closed the sketchbook. “Could I take this?” he asked Dulcie. “We might have to use it as evidence.”

  “Yes, although I don’t know if Xander realizes that it’s missing,” Dulcie said.

  “Does that matter?” Nick said. “Would he even notice?”

  “Yes, I think he would. You saw those drawings. He notices far more than we realize.” She thought for a moment. “What if you bring the book with you tomorrow, and I’ll talk to Xander about it. I’ll know if it’s okay with him.”

  Nick wasn’t exactly sure how she could know, but he didn’t question her. She’d brought the book to them in the first place, and technically the case was still closed so they couldn’t confiscate if for evidence. “All right. But you keep it for now. I’ll get it tomorrow,” he said. “If I can,” he added.

  “Fine,” Dulcie answered. “But now gentlemen, I need to get home. Tomorrow will be a busy day,” she said.

  “Would you like an escort home?” Nick asked quietly.

  Johnson heard him. Without thinking he said, “Yeah, we can walk you home! That’ll give me a thousand or so more steps, at least!”

  Nick glared at his partner pointedly, but Johnson missed it. He was heading for the door. “C’mon kids! Let’s get rolling!” he said, plowing across the museum’s marble floor.

  Nick mouthed “Sorry!” to Dulcie.

  She giggled and whispered, “Let’s go or we’ll never catch him!”

  If I create from the heart,

  nearly everything works;

  if from the head,

  almost nothing.

  ― Marc Chagall

  CHAPTER 9

  Dulcie was always amazed by the amount of work that went into professional photography, especially a professionally done video. She had asked for a minimal amount of equipment, but there were still lights, screens deflecting the lights, tripods, and quite a few cords. They had brought only one microphone, however.