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Authors: Stefanie Matteson
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weekend there’s another meet. The plane fares alone are enough to break me, to say nothing of the coach and the motels. I was spending so much time in Fort Lauderdale that I finally bought a condominium there. It was cheaper than paying for accommodations, and I figure I’ll be able to retire there in a few years.”
“She’s very pretty,” said Charlotte.
“Yes, she is,” he agreed with quiet pride. He shrugged. “What are you going to do? She loves it, and she’s good at it too.” He swiveled the chair back around to face them. “Okay, tell me what happened that night.” He nodded at Tom. “Plummer first.”
Tom recounted their meeting with Randy, and their visit to the museum. In response to Voorhees’ instructions not to leave out any details, he included their meeting the Lumkins and Morris Finder, and mentioned Charlotte’s connection with them through Jack Lundstrom. He concluded with Randy’s attack of paranoia, if that’s what it was.
“Well, as the old saying goes,” said Voorhees when Tom had finished, “‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that somebody isn’t out to get you.’” He turned to Charlotte: “Do you have anything to add, Miss Graham?”
“Only that it was the painting—it was a painting of the Falls View Diner by the artist Ed Verre—that seemed to have set him off.”
Removing his hands from his belly, Voorhees leaned forward and toyed with his pen. “The police department is at a disadvantage in this case. The artists’ community here is a tight little group. If the victim had been a numbers runner or a drug dealer, we’d have informants to help us out—to tell us who wanted him dead. But we don’t have informants in the artists’ community, and”—he waved the pen in the direction of the bank of desks where the rank and file of detectives sat—“not being highly cultured types ourselves, this leaves us in something of a bind. A bind that you might be able to help us out of.”
“By becoming your informants?” asked Tom.
“Something like that, yes. Goslau’s death might have been a random thing. He might have been thrown in the river by a crackhead for no reason at all. That sort of thing is always happening around here. But then again, maybe it had something to do with the artists’ community. And a little birdie tells me that finding out whether or not it did might be right up your alley.” He leaned back and smiled. He had a wide mouth, and teeth that were stained from smoking. But it was a pleasant smile.
“Did your little birdie also tell you that we don’t know anything about the Paterson artists’ community?” asked Charlotte.
“You’d met Goslau. Plummer here was going to buy one of his paintings. Your husband is a well-known art collector, which makes me assume that you know something about art. That’s an entree, which is more than we have.”
“What do you want us to find out?” she asked.
“The gossip. These people must have some theories about why Goslau was killed. I want you to find out what they are. Naturally, I’d like you to be discreet.”
“Just satisfying our natural curiosity,” said Tom.
“Exactly. I’ll fill you in on our progress as we go along. So far we only know that Goslau left the museum with Patty Andriopoulis, as you already know. Did you meet Patty at the Falls View?”
They nodded.
“Everybody who eats at the Falls View gets to know Patty eventually. She took him back there, and gave him a couple of stiff drinks to bring him down. She said he was pretty coked up.”
“Were she and Randy lovers?” asked Tom.
“I don’t think so. I think he was just one of her strays. She tends to take in people the same way she takes in dogs and cats. But that’s the kind of thing I want you to find out. He stayed for a while at the party.…”
“Party?” interrupted Charlotte.
“The museum had hired the diner for it—it was a post-opening thing for the organizers and the
“She’s very pretty,” said Charlotte.
“Yes, she is,” he agreed with quiet pride. He shrugged. “What are you going to do? She loves it, and she’s good at it too.” He swiveled the chair back around to face them. “Okay, tell me what happened that night.” He nodded at Tom. “Plummer first.”
Tom recounted their meeting with Randy, and their visit to the museum. In response to Voorhees’ instructions not to leave out any details, he included their meeting the Lumkins and Morris Finder, and mentioned Charlotte’s connection with them through Jack Lundstrom. He concluded with Randy’s attack of paranoia, if that’s what it was.
“Well, as the old saying goes,” said Voorhees when Tom had finished, “‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that somebody isn’t out to get you.’” He turned to Charlotte: “Do you have anything to add, Miss Graham?”
“Only that it was the painting—it was a painting of the Falls View Diner by the artist Ed Verre—that seemed to have set him off.”
Removing his hands from his belly, Voorhees leaned forward and toyed with his pen. “The police department is at a disadvantage in this case. The artists’ community here is a tight little group. If the victim had been a numbers runner or a drug dealer, we’d have informants to help us out—to tell us who wanted him dead. But we don’t have informants in the artists’ community, and”—he waved the pen in the direction of the bank of desks where the rank and file of detectives sat—“not being highly cultured types ourselves, this leaves us in something of a bind. A bind that you might be able to help us out of.”
“By becoming your informants?” asked Tom.
“Something like that, yes. Goslau’s death might have been a random thing. He might have been thrown in the river by a crackhead for no reason at all. That sort of thing is always happening around here. But then again, maybe it had something to do with the artists’ community. And a little birdie tells me that finding out whether or not it did might be right up your alley.” He leaned back and smiled. He had a wide mouth, and teeth that were stained from smoking. But it was a pleasant smile.
“Did your little birdie also tell you that we don’t know anything about the Paterson artists’ community?” asked Charlotte.
“You’d met Goslau. Plummer here was going to buy one of his paintings. Your husband is a well-known art collector, which makes me assume that you know something about art. That’s an entree, which is more than we have.”
“What do you want us to find out?” she asked.
“The gossip. These people must have some theories about why Goslau was killed. I want you to find out what they are. Naturally, I’d like you to be discreet.”
“Just satisfying our natural curiosity,” said Tom.
“Exactly. I’ll fill you in on our progress as we go along. So far we only know that Goslau left the museum with Patty Andriopoulis, as you already know. Did you meet Patty at the Falls View?”
They nodded.
“Everybody who eats at the Falls View gets to know Patty eventually. She took him back there, and gave him a couple of stiff drinks to bring him down. She said he was pretty coked up.”
“Were she and Randy lovers?” asked Tom.
“I don’t think so. I think he was just one of her strays. She tends to take in people the same way she takes in dogs and cats. But that’s the kind of thing I want you to find out. He stayed for a while at the party.…”
“Party?” interrupted Charlotte.
“The museum had hired the diner for it—it was a post-opening thing for the organizers and the
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