Jason Deas - Benny James 03 - Brushed Away (9 page)

“You wouldn’t be the first person to pass out in there.”

Nina laughed.

“I need to ask you a favor,” Benny said.

“Sure.”

“We had another murder.” Benny watched Nina’s face. It didn’t change. “I was talking with Officer Kearns and we’re at a point where we need to narrow our suspects. Every suspect we can eliminate helps tremendously with the legwork. I need your permission to talk to Uncle Karl’s doctor.”

“So, you’re saying he’s a suspect?” Nina seemed surprised.

“Unfortunately he is.”

“Why?”

“Can I trust this information won’t leave the front porch?”

“Of course. I don’t have many friends outside of my family, and I rarely leave the house.”

“The second murder involved art just like the first. Uncle Karl is… well, that is part of the problem. I don’t completely understand
what
he is, but I do know a few things about him. He pretends to be an artist. He is wildly strange. He may do things he is not aware of, or maybe he has everybody snowed over and is willingly doing crazy things. That is my job—figuring this out. I would like to rule him out.”

“So what does this favor involve?”

“It’s simple. I have a piece of paper that I would like you to sign, which will give me permission to talk with his doctor. His doctor will hopefully be able to explain his condition to me a little better and I will mark him off of my list of suspects.”

“Fine. I’ll sign it.”

Benny pulled the form out and handed it to her with a pen.

“I have another question,” Nina said. “I’m an artist. Am I a suspect?”

Benny made a motion with his hand as if he was signing a document and he looked at the paper in her hand. Nina hesitated with the question still in her mind and Benny pointed to the place he needed her to sign. Nina signed and Benny pulled the paper away from her and put it away.

Finally answering her question, Benny said, “Unfortunately, yes.”

Dr. Walton’s office occupied the ground floor of an old two story Victorian located near Tilley’s town square. He lived on the second floor with his mother. It was his childhood home. He had the same bedroom and his mother still did his laundry and cooked for him. Benny caught him just as he was about to lock the front door.

Dr. Walton pulled open the door and said, “I was just closing for the day.” His eyes studied Benny. “Hey, you’re the FBI guy.”

“I used to be in the FBI. Now I’m helping out Officer Kearns with his investigations when he needs me.”

Dr. Walton reminded Benny of an overgrown kid. He had a terrible bowl cut, inquisitive eyes, and his clothes were about two sizes too small. Benny decided he must have been at least six-feet-five at the shortest, but his silly grin made him look much smaller.

“I’ve seen you on television.”

Benny was never completely sure how to answer this statement.

“I have been on TV a few times.” As usual, Benny felt stupid with his response.

“You look bigger on television.”

“They say the camera adds ten pounds,” Benny tried.

“No. Not fatter. Taller.”

“I’m over six feet tall.”

“Hmmm…”

Benny had serious doubts that the man before him was a competent doctor.

“Do you like lamb?” Dr. Walton asked.

“They’re cute. Sure. I love wool sweaters and…” Benny had no idea where this was going.

“Do you like to eat them?”

“Oh. Yes. I do like lamb chops.” Benny thought it was quite an odd question.

“Mother made lamb sandwiches for dinner. Would you like to join me?”

“Sure.” Benny looked at his watch and it read four o’clock. Just in case Dr. Walton misspoke, Benny asked, “Are you having a late lunch?”

“Heavens no. We have lunch at ten forty-five.”

“Oh,” Benny said, trying not to act too surprised.

“Follow me upstairs.”

Benny immediately noticed the smell of the house. It smelled old and sterile at the same time, somehow. Nearing the top of the stairs the smell changed and although Benny had not been hungry, the aroma woke his stomach and he was now ready to eat whatever he was smelling.

“Mother,” Dr. Walton called. “Set another place at the dinner table. I have a guest.”

Benny followed in awe of the situation. Dr. Walton had not asked why he was visiting and didn’t seem to care. Benny wondered how he always seemed to get himself into the strangest of situations.

They entered the kitchen. The table was already set for three and Benny paused. Dr. Walton’s mother had her back to the two men as she was tending to something sizzling on the stove.

“Sit down, Mr. James,” she said, without turning around.

He did as instructed and sat at the round wooden table. Dr. Walton’s mother turned with a black skillet in hand and shoveled a hand-pressed sandwich onto Benny’s plate. It looked delectable.

Benny looked up from his plate to her eyes and she gave him a wink accompanied with a warm smile. She turned back to the stove, deposited the black skillet, and picked up another. This one contained fried potatoes and she dumped a healthy portion on his plate.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Benny asked. He knew there was no way possible she could have set another place in between the time Dr. Walton called out and the time they walked into the room.

“No,” Dr. Walton’s mother said. “Sweet tea or water?” she asked brushing aside his curiosity.

“Ice tea, please.” Benny studied her as she turned to the fridge and estimated she was late sixties or early seventies. Her skin rippled with wrinkles galore swaying Benny’s guess in favor of older. Stark white hair sprung from her head and she stooped when she walked in the same manner as her son. As she placed the glass of ice tea in front of him, Benny looked into her eyes to find a youthful gleam.

“I’m Benny by the way.”

“I’ve seen you on television.”

There that statement was again and Benny had an idea of how to respond this time.

“Do I look shorter, taller, fatter, or skinnier to you in person than I do on television?”

“You look much bigger. On television, you’re only about this big,” she said spreading her thumb and index finger.

Benny realized she was making a joke and chuckled politely. “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Hazel. Are you one of my son’s patients?”

“No.”

“I didn’t know the two of you were friends.”

“We’ve actually never met.”

“Well then, is something wrong?” Hazel asked, suddenly alarmed.

Dr. Walton looked up from his sandwich. “I was so hungry, I didn’t get around to asking Mr. James why he was here, Mother. I thought I would ask him over supper. There isn’t a problem is there?”

“No. I just need to speak to you about one of your patients.”

“I’m afraid that may be tricky.”

“I have a consent form,” Benny said, pulling the paper out.

Benny handed the paper to Dr. Walton and he set his sandwich down just long enough to study it. Nodding his head, he handed it back to Benny and filled his mouth with a load of fried potatoes.

“Karl Oglethorpe,” Benny said.

Hazel dropped her fork and it struck her plate with a clang and bounced onto the table splattering the ketchup from her potatoes onto the white table cloth.

“My goodness,” she said. “Excuse me.”

“Was it something I said?” Benny joked.

Hazel’s eyes looked frightened for a split second before she recovered and said, “Heavens no. I just bit my tongue.”

“I hate it when that happens,” Dr. Walton said through a mouthful. “What would you like to know about Mr. Oglethorpe?”

“Is it OK if we speak about this in front of your mother? No offense, Hazel.”

“None taken. I do all the filing down there so I pretty much know everything anyway.”

“Go ahead, Mr. James. I discuss my patients freely with her. She won’t hear anything she probably doesn’t already know.”

“Very well. I’m trying to understand his condition. I want to know what you think he’s capable of and I want to know how he changes when he’s on or off his medications.”

“Slow down, Mr. James.” Dr. Walton pushed his plate away from him. Finally satiated and with a full belly he seemed like a different man. “I don’t believe any of Mr. Oglethorpe’s problems are medical in nature. I believe they are purely psychological.”

“Then why is he not seeing a psychologist?”

“Nina believes differently and she is his legal guardian and calls the shots. So, I do what I can. Can you imagine him having a therapy session?”

“No. So, give me your theory of why he is the way he is.”

“Shame. Do you know the history of the Oglethorpe place?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you know it was once a thriving, marvelous, awe-inspiring place. It is now in shambles, barely standing and in utter disrepair. Equal rights aside for a moment, Karl is the last surviving male, not married, and with the traditional mindset, he should carry the responsibility of maintaining the family home and bringing in money. He didn’t. He couldn’t handle the responsibility and checked out.”

“What about the mimicking? What about the fantasies of being an artist?”

“The artist fantasy lets him forgive himself for not being a good businessman. He tells himself he is the antithesis of the businessman—the free spirit artist. It’s his favorite fantasy.”

“I was there yesterday and he was sunburned from using an arc welder. Supposedly it wasn’t the first time he did it. And, he has a studio.”

“Yes, he has all the tools to be an artist—but it doesn’t mean he is. I was called out to the Oglethorpe home last Thanksgiving because he had sunburned his backside severely.”

“That’s the story I heard.”

“He had welded two pieces of metal together, but I certainly wouldn’t call it art.”

Hazel stood and collected the dishes from the table.

“Would either of you like some pie?”

“No, thank you,” Benny answered.

“Maybe later, Mother.”

Hazel put the dishes in the sink. “I’ll clean these up later so you two boys can talk. I’ll be in my room reading if you need me.”

“I see your point,” Benny said as she disappeared around the corner. “I could have all the equipment you have downstairs, but it wouldn’t make me a doctor.”

“Exactly. Karl’s studio is just kind of a clubhouse of sorts.”

“It had some good paintings in there.”

“Nina puts her castaways in there. She told me when I asked the same question.”

“Why does she play along? I noticed her daughter Angel does as well. Why don’t they confront him?”

“Because it’s an unpredictable tactic. They can live with a fake artist. What if they confront him and he decides to try on another persona?”

“OK. So, is that what he’s doing when he mimics? Just trying on different personalities? Nina said after a few visits with me he would be able to mimic me perfectly.”

“That’s my guess. He’s a unique case, that’s for sure.”

“What about the medications? Nina told me he can be wild when he doesn’t take his meds.”

“That is simply not true and something she projects onto him. Luckily, she hasn’t ever researched the medications I’ve given him. If she did, she would discover one is for depression and the other two are basically vitamins.”

“She seems to believe they’re some type of antipsychotic drugs.”

“They’re not. Ms. Oglethorpe seems to live in a world of her own as well.”

“Do you think Uncle Karl is capable of murder?”

“No. Not without leaving a trail.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“I believe anybody is capable of murder, so he falls under this grand umbrella. I don’t think he has the ability to cover up a murder at this point with the state of his mental health.”

“Are you certain?”

“Take a close look around his studio the next time you visit. He can’t even hide the fact that he didn’t create the works in there. He doesn’t wash his brushes. All of his pallets are filthy and filled with browns, blacks, and other dark colors. He doesn’t even know how to mix paints properly. Make a point to go and look. If he can’t hide that—he is definitely not your killer, Mr. James.”

Benny nodded his head up and down as he thought.

“OK,” he finally said. He stood. “You have been incredibly generous with your time and your home,” he said sticking out his hand.

The two men shook hands.

“It was my pleasure. Come back if you think of any more questions.”

Benny followed Dr. Walton back to the top of the stairs. Just as they were about to descend, the door to a room opened, and Hazel appeared.

“You sure you don’t want a piece of pie, Mr. James?”

“I’m too full, but thank you,” Benny said looking past her and into her bedroom.

On the wall, above her bed, was a painting covered in numbers.

Chapter 11

Benny’s mouth fell and his eyes shot open wide. Hazel’s did the same.

“Where did you get that painting?” he asked pointing.

“That old thing,” she said accompanied by a laugh Benny processed as fake. “I don’t recall.”

Benny walked into the room without being invited. Sure enough, the canvas had eights painted all over its surface. He turned and walked toward Hazel. Benny stopped when he was face-to-face with her. All of his nice was gone.

“Remember, now,” he instructed.

“OK. I don’t want him to get into any trouble.”

“Who?”

“Karl.”

“And why would he get in trouble?”

“I read the paper,” Hazel answered. “I know there was a painting that had numbers involved with the murder. And you think this has something to do with that. Karl would never do anything like that.”

“Let the law be the judge of that,” Benny said, unsuccessfully trying to find his nice again.

“I can prove it has nothing to do with numbers,” Hazel said walking over to the painting.

“It’s obviously full of eights,” Benny huffed.

“No, it’s not. I hung it the wrong way because I didn’t like it the way it was meant to be.” Hazel climbed on her bed at the foot and carefully made her way to the headboard. She stopped and gained her balance before pulling the painting away from the wall and rotating it to the right. She hung the painting back on the wall and climbed down from the bed.