Phet sat in his studio staring at the commission he was almost finished with, willing himself to complete it. Hart would be there tonight; and the piece was due to be in Bangkok tomorrow. He had to make himself get it done. Phet hated this kind of work. Every piece of art hid a piece of the artist's soul. For him most commissions represented stolen pieces of his soul, pieces he didn't willingly give, and he could never get back. Sighing, he slipped the canvas to the floor and instead picked up his sketchbook.
He'd had another dream of a man in shadows intermingled with the night sky. Hastily, he sketched what he could remember of the dream, adding it to what he had drawn the day before. He sketched the man but never painted him, choosing instead to focus on the sky. He's been obsessed with the inky velvety expanse of the universe for years; it held endless possibilities of life, planets, stars, and constellations. Where others saw cold emptiness, he found a warmth there he couldn't explain. Instinctively, as he sketched magic flowed out of him. First a soft, purple darkening to a deep wine like a raging sea. Then things cleared, and swirling around him were the very stars he loved so dearly. He had opened a small pocket of space, his own window into the universe.
Finishing his sketch, he placed the pad still open to the picture on a stool and picked up a blank canvas. Putting it on his easel he set about prepping it. He needed to build it up in some places to get the effect he wanted. Taking a painter's knife, he spread gesso on the canvas, working carefully over the next several hours building, drying, and shaping it to be exactly what he envisioned.
The light shifted in the afternoon, changing the colors of the universe around him. Phet had to adjust his easel, so the light spilled across the canvas at the right angle. Mixing his paints meticulously to get the precise colors he wanted took time and he had just finished the first few strokes of gold that he would overlay with a rich wine when the doorbell rang.
Phet froze, wide-eyed, brush in hand, the universe that had rotated with beauty around him instantly winked out of existence, a cold sweat broke out on his brow. It couldn't be Hart; he had a key. Had he been found, already? Hands shaking Phet carefully placed his brush on his pallet. Picking up his sharpest painter's knife he crept to the studio door and peered out of the gossamer curtains.
"Shiaaa," he whispered under his breath. "Cops! What do they want?" He thought to himself. He stood there trying to decide if he should risk talking to them or just hope they would go away. Even if they left, they would probably come back so he might as well confront them now, if he needed to move again it was better to find out sooner. Slipping his painter's knife into his back pocket he unlocked the door just as a second car sped up the gravel driveway. Phet groaned; now the situation was sure to escalate. Hart had just arrived.
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Hart came screeching up the gravel drive in his red BMW convertible, he hated being out of the city too long. He could feel the color drain from his face in the country, all this peace and tranquility gave him hives. He would never go this far for anyone but Phet. His bright nails clicked on the steering wheel along to the beat of the song on the radio. Sunglasses and a colorful scarf completed his look. If he was forced to drive through the country, he was going to look like a romantic era movie star while doing it.
Jamming on his brakes, Hart cursed as he almost plowed into a cop car that was parked just over the crest of the driveway. Throwing the car into park he flung off his seat belt and stormed out of the car.
"What is wrong with you! Who the bloody hell parks in the middle of the drive, and what are you doing at my house!" He screamed at the two stunned officers.
Kram and Love exchanged glances, before pulling out their badges. Kram smiled.
"Hi, I'm detective Kram, this is detective Love. We…"
Before he could finish Hart cut him off.
"Let me see those. You don't look like the local buffalo with badges we usually see around here," said Hart.
Extending his hand, he quickly clenched and unclenched his fist, his brightly colored nails clicking impatiently. Clearly, he was used to getting what he wanted. Slightly bewildered but mostly amused, they passed over their badges for inspection. Hart narrowed his eyes as he carefully examined the badges, suspiciously looking from the pictures to the men before him making sure they matched.
"DSI? Is this about that fraudulent art? I filed that report months ago! These people act fast, blitz an area, and move on; you'll never catch them working this slowly!" He sighed, annoyed at their apparent lack of motivation.
"So, what do you want from me?" asked Hart.
Kram flashed his dazzling smile. "I just need you to take me through exactly what happened."
Hart rolled his eyes, handing the badges back to the cops. "You'd better come in, I'm not about to melt in the heat to explain things to you."
Hart led them into the main part of the house. Despite being made of logs it was light and airy, having huge windows overlooking the forest behind the property. He motioned them to have a seat on the couch but didn't offer them anything to drink, clearly not wanting them to linger. Hart waited till the detectives were seated before beginning.
"Honestly, there isn't much to tell. I was in the gallery preparing for a show. This man came in wearing a cheap suit and said he wanted me to look at some art he had. At first, I wasn't sure if he was looking for an appraisal or was himself an artist trying to sell his work, so I agreed to look at it. We made an appointment for the following day at three, I never make morning appointments the day after the opening night of a new show. You can't rush a hangover you know?
Anyway, he shows up with a portfolio explaining that his friend is the artist and he's just trying to help him out, to get some exposure. So, he unzips the case and passes me two charcoal sketches that were quite good and then he brings out this painting. I knew instantly it was a fraud. Fraud is rampant in the art world, and it can kill a gallery overnight. I just lost it on him, how dare he come into my shop and try to pass off a fake of one of my own artists! I mean the audacity! Well, once I told him I was going to report him, he grabbed his shitty art and took off." Hart said, waving his hand as though he could still see the man retreating.
"What did you do after that?" asked Love.
"I called the other gallery owners to let them know to look out for him," replied Hart.
"And did any of them see the man?" asked Kram.
"Not that I heard about," said Hart.
"How long after he left did you file a report?" asked Kram.
"Hmm, I'm not sure, 30 minutes maybe? Calling the gallery owners was more urgent," said Hart.
"What did the man look like? Did you give a description?" Asked Kram
"Of course I gave a description. I have eyes, don't I? Look, all this was in my report which you clearly haven't read, so what do you really want?" snapped Hart.
Kram and Love exchanged glances before Kram pulled the small plastic bag of sparkling powder out of his suit coat pocket.
"We're here about this," Kram said, passing the sealed baggy to Hart.
"But we'll look into the other case too, I promise. Can you tell us what this is used for? We had it analyzed, and we are tracking down anyone who's ordered powdered goldstone in the last year, and yours is the only name that came up." said Kram gently.
Hart shrugged.
"I ordered it for one of my artists, but I can't tell you if this is mine or not," he said.
"We need to collect a sample of yours to compare to this in case it matches," said Kram.
Hart narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious.
"Why? Is there something wrong with the goldstone?"
"No, nothing like that. I'm sure it's perfectly safe," said Love.
"Then what?" asked Hart.
Love looked at Kram who nodded.
"We found this sample on the body of a lady that was murdered," said Love.
Hart frowned, handing the bag to Love. He had had enough of death in his life. Somehow, items there at the time of death always took on the cold stillness of the aftermath of all they had witnessed.
"The Goldstone is kept in the studio. Give me a moment and I'll bring you some." said Hart.
"I'm sorry but we have to go with you and collect it ourselves. It's evidence." Said Kram, choosing his words carefully to keep the situation neutral.
Hart nodded and led the way through a side door toward a studio in the back. As they entered the studio Kram had the distinct impression someone had just been there, the air felt disturbed. Was it his imagination or was there a hint of perfume in the air? Instinctively he breathed deeply, scent had a profound effect on him, he had broken up with partners in the past if their smell was off and he could identify who had recently been in a place by the scent they left behind. Someone had definitely been here.
"Who else is here?" asked Kram.
"Just us." said Hart. He flicked his hand almost as if he was waving the question away.
Kram frowned, but didn't push the issue. Hart was hiding something. Letting Love follow Hart to where the powdered goldstone was stored, he took the opportunity to look around the studio. The main room was large and full of light, with a loft running along the back wall. In one corner stood an easel. The canvas on it was covered in something that gave it texture whatever it was had not had a chance to fully dry before they arrived. Someone else was here. If not now, at least very recently. A large sketch pad that lay open on a stool near the easel drew his attention. Carefully, Kram picked it up examining the drawing within. The page itself was dominated by the night sky, but the overwhelming presence of the sketch came from a shadowy figure in the foreground. All the freedom and possibilities of the expanse of the sky around him couldn't make up for the feeling of darkness this figure created. Who was he? Most importantly, who drew this?
"Please put that down." Hart's curt voice startled him.
"Artists are notoriously temperamental, and I can't afford to have one of them thrown off of creating for weeks on end because they are upset that you disturbed their workspace." Hart's arms were crossed in annoyance.
Kram and Love both towered over Hart, but that didn't seem to bother him. He was fierce and this was his territory, he wasn't about to let them overstep their bounds. His full lips that already had a pouty quality to them, were made even more pronounced in his annoyance. Love found himself drawn to those lips, wondering if they were naturally that red or if he was wearing makeup.
"I'm sorry." said Kram in an admonished tone, and truly he was. He hadn't meant to pry into what was obviously someone's raw emotion. He was so drawn into the Sketch and the feelings portrayed he completely forgot to finish looking around the studio.
As they were herded toward the door by Hart, Kram gave a quick glance around. Three doors led off the main room, the one they had come through from the main house, the second Love and Hart had entered to get the goldstone powder. The third in the loft stood slightly ajar. He was sure it hadn't been that way earlier.
'What's in there? Kram asked.
"Nothing, just more storage," Hart said, stepping between Kram and the stairs that led to the loft.
"I've answered all your questions and I have a lot to do before I head back to Bangkok, so if there is nothing else…" Hart motioned to the door. Kram and Love both left through the front glass door of the studio which Hart closed on their heels, practically pushing them forward. He followed them all the way to their car.
"Here," he said, handing his business card to Love. "If you need anything else, call me. I'm sure you can manage that. Don't show up at my house like barbarians again. You're lucky you caught me here at all. Usually, I'm in Bangkok at the gallery. What a waste of taxpayer money this trip could have been." he said.
Hart flicked his eyes over both cops as they got into their car. He stood watching their lights retreat down the driveway into the growing darkness before letting out a sigh of relief.