A Mind Within Read online

  Giselle laughed. “I will tell you. It does not matter now. The old man was, as you can imagine, quite vain. He was the, I do not know it in your language, narcissique?”

  “Narcissist, in English” Dulcie replied. “But that would have been fairly obvious I should think,” she said quizzically.

  “Certainement, but it leads to his secret. You see, he was very ashamed and I believe even disgusted by Xander. Monsieur Bernstein could not accept that he had such a grandson. It was the other reason that he kept them all in this house. The fewer who knew about his disgrace, the better. I saw him look at Xander many times with eyes of loathing.”

  Dulcie could only imagine how dysfunctional the entire family must have been. She was glad that Xander was unable to recognize his grandfather’s feelings. Yet, was that true? Was he unaware, or did he simply show no emotion?

  Their conversation was interrupted by the domineering presence of Edith Bernstein entering the room.

  “Good, you haven’t left yet. Come with me,” she commanded looking at Dulcie. Giselle was clearly ignored in the statement. The housekeeper turned away, giving Dulcie a bemused smile as she left.

  “Of course, Mrs. Bernstein. Is there something you wanted me to see?”

  “Obviously,” barked the older woman.

  They continued farther down the corridor, away from the stairs. As they passed by Xander’s studio, Dulcie saw him painting again.

  Edith led Dulcie into her bedroom and quietly shut the door. “Earlier I was cleaning up some things of Xander’s. He has all of those paintings just standing there in the studio, and I decided they needed organizing. While I was moving them, I found this,” she pointed to the painting that she had found earlier, now propped up on the chair in the window. “Have a look and tell me what you see.”

  Dulcie stepped forward. She looked intently. Two men appeared to have been talking. One was leaving the room, looking distraught. The other was laughing meanly, or perhaps sneering? Or both? She glanced at Edith Bernstein. “Who are these men?” she asked.

  “Oscar, and his son Lawrence,” the woman replied curtly. “Look closer. Anything else you see? Is there anyone else?”

  Dulcie peered again at the painting. “No one I can see, but there is a shadow, over here,” she pointed.

  “Good, good,” Edith nodded, muttering quietly.

  “But I don’t think I understand why you would show me…” she was cut off by the other woman.

  “Those were the clothes Oscar was wearing the night he was killed. That’s the window he fell through,” she pointed to the canvas directly behind him. “It appears to be about the time of day that he was killed, at dusk,” Edith barked.

  The significance began to dawn on Dulcie. “Xander made this painting,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Of course,” Edith responded.

  “And he only paints what he sees,” Dulcie continued.

  “Now you’re getting it,” the older woman said.

  “So, there must have been another person in the study with Oscar Bernstein. Another person in the house.”

  “Exactly,” Edith acknowledged. “It wouldn’t have been Giselle. She never went in Oscar’s study, unless he wasn’t even in the house. She hates the room. Supposedly, Lawrence was the only other person in the house. This seems to show otherwise.” She boomed.

  “Yes, it does,” Dulcie said. “But Mrs. Bernstein, I don’t understand why you’re showing this to me, specifically.”

  Edith walked across the room. She shot back over her shoulder, “I took the painting from Xander’s study earlier. He was there. He knows I have it. I left this room for a little while. When I came back, this was sitting on the floor propped up against the chair. I think he’s trying to tell us something.” Edith picked up another canvas and turned it around to face Dulcie.

  She was now staring at a portrait of herself.

  It is important to express oneself

  ...provided the feelings are real

  and are taken from your own experience.

  ― Berthe Morisot

  CHAPTER 6

  Dulcie paced up and down the length of her office at the Maine Museum of Art. She knew what she had to do. She had to call Nick. She had to tell him about the painting. It could change everything about Lawrence Bellamy’s conviction. Her history with Nick, however, was a consternation. He hadn’t exactly lied to her, but he hadn’t told the truth, either. She wanted to distance herself from him until she could sort out her own feelings. Fate, however, seemed to have other plans in mind.

  She turned and, with head down, quickly strode back across the room. She nearly ran straight into the bottle-cap Statue of Liberty. “Dammit!” she swore under her breath, sidestepping at the last second.

  Without giving herself another moment to change her mind, she picked up her phone, located Nick’s number, and pressed the call button.

  It rang several times. She was about to hang up without leaving a message when he answered.

  “Dulcie?”

  She was silent, not sure what to say.

  “Is that you?” she heard him say. “Dulcie, are you okay?”

  She inhaled slowly. “Yes, it’s me, Nick. Yes, I’m fine. I just wanted to talk to you about something that’s, well, odd.” She stopped abruptly.

  Nick was instantly concerned. “Dulcie, are you in any trouble?”

  Now she laughed. She was being entirely too serious, and nervous, about talking with him. After all she was, in her professional capacity, simply conveying some important information to him, a police detective in his professional capacity. No need for silly feelings, really, she told herself. Without realizing it she stood up straight.

  “No, Nick, I’m not in any kind of trouble. I just wanted to talk with you about something odd that I think the Police should know of.”

  Now Nick was silent. She hadn’t called him for any personal reasons. It was strictly business. What else could he expect? “Sure, Dulcie. Go ahead.”

  “I can’t explain it very well over the phone. It’s something that you have to see. Could you and Adam come by my office sometime today when it’s convenient?”

  You and Adam. He knew what that meant. She didn’t want to see him alone. She wanted Nick’s partner, Adam Johnson, there also.

  “We can be there this afternoon. Does two o’clock work for you?” Nick asked.

  “That’s perfect. I’ll see you then,” she said and quickly ended the call. She sank into her chair. Whew - that was done.

  Rachel poked her head around the door. “Fresh pot of coffee! Want some?”

  “Seriously, you’ll get me coffee?” Dulcie exclaimed.

  Rachel giggled. “Well, it’s not on the job description, but you look like you need it. Hang on.” She was back in two minutes with a steaming mug. As she handed it to Dulcie she saw the new painting by Xander Bellamy with Oscar Bernstein and his son. She cocked her head sideways, looking at it. “That’s the same guy who did that one,” she pointed at the portrait of Dulcie. “Isn’t it?”

  “Good eye!” Dulcie praised. “I’m training you well!”

  Rachel now rolled her eyes.

  “Tell me what you see,” Dulcie added.

  Rachel gazed very intently at the painting. Dulcie had been serious in giving her the compliment. Her assistant had a very good eye for detail. Dulcie waited, patiently silent.

  At last Rachel stepped back. “He,” she pointed at Oscar Bernstein, “… is a total ass. And he,” she pointed at Lawrence Bellamy, “… is really annoyed. No wait, that’s not the right word. Dismayed? Yes, that’s closer. He looks like his whole world is caving in on him.” Rachel looked back at Dulcie. “Who are they?” she asked.

  Dulcie was processing Rachel’s assessment. It summed everything up quite neatly. After a moment she said, “The ‘total ass’ is Oscar Bernstein, and the dismayed one is his son-in-law, Lawrence Bellamy.”

  “The guy who pushed Xander’s grandfather out th
e window?” Rachel squeaked in surprise.

  “Yes. Strange, isn’t it?” observed Dulcie.

  “Yeah, I’ll say!” Rachel exclaimed. Something about the painting was oddly frightening although she could not decide what it was.

  “I have a meeting at two, with detectives from the police. They want to have a look at this,” Dulcie said. She tried to be as casual as possible.

  Rachel turned to her. “With that dishy detective? Nicholas Black? He’s got the hots for you!” she declared.

  “That’s enough,” Dulcie huffed. “Yes, if you must know, it’s with him and his partner, Adam Johnson, and it’s strictly business. So don’t go getting any ideas or spreading any gossip,” she concluded.

  Rachel said nothing but left the room whistling softly, taunting her boss.

  “I could fire you, you know!” Dulcie called after her.

  “But you won’t!” Rachel jested quietly in a song-song voice from outside the door.

  Dulcie grinned.

  At two o’clock Dulcie heard a soft tapping at her office door. She quickly slipped on the black pumps that she had kicked off under her desk. Her heels clicked across the floor as she crossed the room, pulling open the door.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said to both Nicholas Black and Adam Johnson as a general greeting. She wanted to address them as a group. She had vowed not to engage in an individual conversation with Nick.

  She had no reason to avoid him, really. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong. True, her pride had been bruised, but looking back, he had simply been kind toward her, only bordering on affectionate. She was sure he had not intentionally ‘led her on’ as the phrase went, yet he had not been straightforward as to his own status and availability. He had been married. Technically, he had been separated and going through an overly prolonged divorce, but none of this information had been provided. As a result, she had begun to develop feelings for him, only to have them snuffed out by an embarrassing encounter with his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Dulcie still felt like a complete idiot every time she thought about it.

  She refocused on the two men standing in the doorway and stepped aside, motioning for them to come in.

  “So this has to do with that Bernstein case?” Johnson asked. Dulcie was glad he had spoken first and not Nick.

  “Yes,” she said, looking directly at Johnson. “I realize the case is closed, that Lawrence Bellamy confessed, but I’ve had reason to talk with the family. I’ve even been to the house a couple of times. It’s just that everything seems odd.”

  Nick and his partner exchanged glances. They had used the exact same word on the way over when talking about the case.

  Dulcie continued. “I’ve been putting together a new exhibit, and wanted to feature some of Xander Bellamy’s work. I’m sure you know about his talents. He’s an autistic savant with an eidetic memory.”

  Johnson’s brow wrinkled. “Do you mean a photographic memory?”

  “Basically yes, although no one has yet proven that the concept of a photographic memory truly exists. An eidetic memory is the ability to recall what has been seen, or in some cases heard, with extreme precision for a time afterward. A small percentage of very young children, five years old or less, have it but it seems to fade when language skills develop. In Xander’s case, he may have maintained the ability since he has no language skills.”

  “Interesting…” murmured Nick.

  “Here’s a painting that Xander did of me after he had seen me for only a few minutes,” she walked over to the portrait of herself. “I was standing behind him when he actually painted it, so he was not looking at me at all while he painted.” The two men followed her and stared at the canvas.

  “It’s so detailed, and looks exactly like you,” Nick remarked.

  “Wow,” Johnson simply stated.

  “The point is, Xander takes in an image, a scene, a person, then paints exactly what he has seen. Rather quickly, too.” Dulcie reached for the other painting and turned it around. She had deliberately placed it against the wall so that the men couldn’t see it when they first came in. “Edith Bernstein, Oscar Bernstein’s sister, gave this to me, knowing that I would show it to you. Tell me what you see.”

  The two men leaned forward and bumped each other on the shoulders. Johnson grunted and stepped back slightly. He fished for his glasses in his shirt pocket and put them on. “Looks like an old man with a maniacal laugh, and a pretty upset guy walking away from him.”

  Nick was silent.

  Johnson straightened and turned back to Dulcie. “I’m assuming the older one is Oscar Bernstein and the younger is Lawrence Bellamy?”

  “Yes,” Dulcie replied. “How did you know?”

  “Well, otherwise you wouldn’t be showing it to us,” he said with a smirk. “But seriously, what’s the story?”

  Nick, still silent, stood up as well and faced Dulcie.

  “Here’s what happened. I’m planning to video Xander as he works as kind of a mini-documentary for the upcoming exhibit. I was at the house this morning to observe him and to just get an idea of how things are situated so that I can cause the least amount of intrusion. While the housekeeper was showing me around, Edith Bernstein caught up with us and asked me to look at this painting. She said that it shows both Oscar and Lawrence Bellamy in the same clothes that they wore the night Oscar was killed, and judging form the light outside the window, it shows them right around the same time that he was killed, just before sunset.”

  “So Xander saw them right before it happened?” Johnson asked. “That doesn’t really tell us anything, does it? Why would Edith give it to you?”

  Dulcie was thoughtful. “For two reasons. First of all, the painting shows something interesting. A shadow of someone else in the room. It’s right here,” she pointed. “Secondly, she had found this painting in Xander’s studio. He has stacks of his discarded works in there. He was in the studio when she found it and must have been aware that she brought it back to her room. Later, Edith found another painting of me, one that Xander had done previously, also in her room next to this one. She believes that Xander was trying to convey that she should show the painting to me.”

  “Seems odd,” said Johnson taking off his glasses.

  Nick finally spoke. “I looked over the Bernstein file before we came over. There were four people at home when Oscar was killed: Oscar himself, his son-in-law Lawrence, the housekeeper, and Xander. Evidence pointed to Xander at first, but then Lawrence stepped forward and confessed. He said that the housekeeper had taken Xander for a walk. When they were gone, the two men had argued, and in anger, Lawrence shoved him out the window.” Nick glanced back at the painting. “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but I don’t see that this disproves any of that.”

  Dulcie shook her head. “It doesn’t really. But it does seem strange. Who is the other person in the room? I doubt it would have been Giselle. She’s the housekeeper,” Dulcie added. Both men nodded. “The whole thing struck Edith Bernstein as strange, too. Plus, why would Xander want me to see it?”

  “You don’t think this kid was just using artistic license? I mean, maybe he walked by the room and saw some of this, but just put the rest in?” Johnson asked.

  “No. That’s not how his mind works. He only paints what he sees. He doesn’t create a scene, he captures an image. No, someone else was definitely there.”

  Nick felt an odd, prickly sensation creeping up his neck. He reached back and rubbed beneath his collar. Dulcie was right. Something seemed very strange about the whole scenario. He pulled out his cell phone. “Mind if I take a picture of this for reference?” he asked.

  “Be my guest,” said Dulcie as she moved out of the way. Nick took several photos with his phone.

  Johnson cleared his throat. “Guess I’ll have a look at that file too. Nick, you sure no one else was around when it happened?”

  “Yeah, that’s what it said,” Nick replied, refocusing on a close-up of Oscar Bernstein.

 
“We can’t exactly go around asking questions. Case is closed, so no one would go for that.” Johnson was thinking out loud.

  “You couldn’t, but I could,” said Dulcie. Both men wheeled around and stared at her.

  “Look, Dulcie,” Nick started, “I know you’ve helped with other investigations, but it might not be a good idea…”

  Now Dulcie was annoyed. She had not only ‘helped’ with other investigations, she had actually been instrumental in solving them. She knew that it was probably some sort of misplaced male protective instinct that made Nick hesitate, but she wasn’t about to allow him to tell her what she could or couldn’t say to these people. “Fine,” she lied.

  Johnson chuckled. “Now see what you’ve done,” he said in a stage-whisper to Nick. “No tellin’ what she’ll do now, but she sure as heck isn’t gonna let this drop!” He continued at normal volume, “Think about it, though. She is in the best position to get a little more information. Plus, if nothing is conclusive, we can just let the whole thing go.”

  Nick sighed. He knew that Johnson was right. “Okay, Dulcie. You win. But let us,” he nodded at his partner, “talk about this first and figure out exactly what we need to know. I’ll be in touch. Please don’t try to find out anything on your own in the meantime?”

  Dulcie smiled sweetly. “Of course not, sir!”

  Nick groaned inwardly.

  #

  Detective Nicholas Black and his partner walked back down the street toward the police station. Nick zipped his leather jacket higher on his chest. Fall had definitely begun to chill the air. “So what do you make of that?” he said to Johnson without looking at him.

  “I think you better start making some moves, or she won’t know you’re still interested.”

  Nick sighed. “I mean…”

  Johnson grinned. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  They were approaching their unofficial second office, the coffee shop Roasters. “Wanna get a coffee?” Nick asked.