Page 32 of Go Now
Kate stood up.‘I think we need to pay Mr Caldwell a visit.’
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Caldwell lived in a row of apartments above a strip mall.The whole boulevard seemed to be the same, for miles: big, blocky buildings housing laundromats and taquerias, with short rows of single-story apartments on top, accessed by a railed breezeway.A dog barked incessantly as they came up the stairs, whilst tendrils of greasy smoke floated up from the Chinese restaurant on the ground floor. As they’d more or less expected, nobody answered the door to Apartment E, although, after Marcus shouted ‘FBI Open up!’the occupant of D opened his door just a crack.
‘Looking for James,’ Marcus said.‘You seen him?’
The door closed again, quick and quiet.Marcus turned to his companions.
‘I don’t know about you guys, but I thought I heard somebody in distress inside Apartment E.’
‘Yes, I think I heard that, too,’ said Kate.
‘So distressed that we’d be entirely justified in making a forced entry,’ Chen added.
It was a long-established means of gaining entry without a warrant. Not exactly by the rule-book, but it happened, sometimes, when it had to.Marcus kicked the door, which didn’t work at all.
‘Where brute force fails…’ said Chen.She produced a neat little set of picks from her back pocket, and within seconds, they were inside.
The apartment was compact, but sparkling clean; indeed, the first thing that hit them when they came through the door was the smell of soap and polish, undercut by something musky, like patchouli oil, or incense. A solitary bowl sat in the gleaming sink unit, while the living room at the back was light and airy. The bedroom was a different matter; it was no less clean and tidy – the bed made, a sweater folded on a chair, the window open just a crack – but the walls were covered in photographs of artists and newspaper clippings concerning everything bad that could ever happen to an artist, from being dropped by their agent to dying in a car crash or being murdered.
‘It’s like a split personality in 3-D,’ Kate said.‘There’s the neat and clean and tidy side that folds his clothes and washes the dishes.And then there’s… this.’She pointed to the wall.
‘What the f…?’
The three of them jumped in alarm at the deep, unfamiliar voice.Towering in the tiny hallway, with a bag of shopping in his hand and looking no less startled, was the large form of James Caldwell.He stepped into the bedroom, filling the space.
‘We’re the FBI,’ Kate said.‘We’d like to talk about your blog.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘We thought we heard someone in distress,’ Marcus said.
Caldwell frowned, clearly disbelieving him.In the end, judging by the slowly changing array of expressions that moved across his face, he seemed to accept it.
‘So we’re in a police state now,’ Caldwell said.‘You’ve come here to harass me, because you don’t like what I’ve written on the internet.’
‘I wouldn’t go there, James,’ Kate said.‘You said that Brandon Ashworth and Elena Vasquez’s killings were justified.Prior to that, you’d been stalking both of them, along with other figures from the art world, and publishing large quantities of private, personal information about them on your blog.Information that I doubt you sought permission to publish. So we’re going to have some questions about that, aren’t we?’
‘I didn’t kill them,’ Caldwell said.‘And I’m allowed to think they deserved it.’’
‘But why would you think they deserved it?’Kate asked, genuinely appalled.‘They were people.People with families.Brutally killed.You really think they deserved that, just because of a painting you didn’t like?’
'Their mockery of something many people hold dear is just one example of how arrogant and facile the art world has become,' Caldwell thundered.He paused for breath, leaning against the wall.'It's a little club that specialises in sneering at all the people who aren't allowed to join.Art is supposed to celebrate the world's beauty. But they just use it as a kind of ironic weapon.'
‘You were a sculptor,’ Kate said.‘You must have had talent to win that scholarship, to graduate cum laude.What went wrong?’
‘You can’t begin to understand,’ Caldwell said, breathing heavily.
‘Why didn’t you make it,’ Kate went on.‘After that promising start?Is that the meaning behind the little statues?They look tortured.Is that what happened to you?’
Caldwell wiped his brow.Saliva dripped from his open mouth.He staggered a little.
‘Are you ok?’Chen asked.
‘Excuse me, I need to…’ The rest of Caldwell’s words were lost in mumbling as he staggered backwards through the doorway into the hall.
‘Is he ill?’Marcus asked.
