She’d barricaded herself in the condo all weekend since their return, putting the finishing touches on her presentation. Julian had watched her in awe, amazed by her easy conversational style and breadth of knowledge on the Ghanian artist being showcased. He could almost recite the presentation by heart with her. Mena expected him to be there, and he wanted to be in the room to support her on this big day.
The rain had caused extra traffic and delays and now it looked like he wouldn’t make it after all.
A gridlock of cars on the road crawled past him.
The steady drizzle of rain turned into a heavy downpour as he waited for the crosswalk signal to change. Tugging at the hood on his rain jacket, Julian glanced at the walk signal, pausing as several cars proceeded through the red light before making his way across the street to the Emershan Smith Gallery.
Stepping toward the glass door, Julian pulled it open and entered. He pushed the hood from his head and tried to minimize the amount of water pooling onto the hardwood.
“May I help you?” A woman asked, walking toward him. She glanced at the wet area, expanding around his feet with disdain, then motioned for another worker who appeared with a cloth to wipe the floor.
“I’m here to pick up a piece for Mena Nix,” Julian said.
The woman’s eyes grew wide. “The mask commissioned by Wangari Irungu?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” Julian said, glancing around the gallery. Dozens of customers milled about the space perusing the paintings and sculptures.
“Give me a moment to get it prepared for you,” the woman said, giving him a warm smile. “Please feel free to look around and see if any other pieces are to your liking.”
Julian nodded, then walked over to a small nook where a series of tall ebony sculptures were arranged in a circle on a pedestal. Slipping a finger under the tag on the shortest one, a male figure with a protruding belly, Julian almost choked at the high five-figure price tag.
A soft vibration fluttered against his leg. Julian reached into his pocket, grabbing the cell phone as he looked out the window at the rain pelting the ground.
“Hey, Kendrick,” Julian said, balancing the phone between his ear and his shoulder.
“Happy New Year, my friend. How were your holidays?” Detective Kendrick Caillouet asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone. The St. Basil Police Department detective was Julian’s closest friend and the one who’d tried to talk him out of going back to Florida for his first holiday with Mena. He should have listened to his friend.
“Pretty much what you predicted,” Julian mumbled.
“That bad?” Kendrick asked. “Sorry to hear that. How are you and Mena?”
“We’re good. I made up for things by taking her to South Beach for New Year’s Eve. That helped her to forget about the disaster that Christmas turned out to be,” Julian said, even though he wasn’t sure Mena had forgotten her disappointment over not meeting his father.
“Well, at least you had someone to share the holidays with. My bad luck in love has dragged into the New Year, despite all my efforts to turn the corner. I swear women don’t want the good guys. Until I do something edgy, I’m not going to get the girl,” Kendrick said, glumly.
“Don’t give up. You’ll meet the woman of your dreams before you know it,” Julian said, hoping to encourage his perpetually single friend.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Kendrick said. “But I didn’t call to drag you into my pity party.”
“You have an update on Dumay’s case?” Julian asked. Priscilla Dumay, the former owner of the Genesis Gallery, a museum for ethnographic art in St. Basil, had led a sophisticated organization that stole embryos scheduled for destruction from cryobanks. After genetically modifying the embryonic DNA, Dumay kidnapped women and forced them to be surrogates for the designer babies she sold for top dollar to infertile desperate couples.
“Evidence keeps piling up on Dumay. There’s no way she’ll be able to wiggle out of this, despite all of her attorneys’ stall tactics. But trying to get Tufa has been close to impossible,” Kendrick said.
“Seems Dumay did everything to protect her brother. The surrogates weren’t able to finger him as one of the doctors that monitored the pregnancies?” Julian asked.
“Not one of them remembered him being involved. They were all sedated for the embryo transfers and I’m guessing that’s how Dumay used his services. Just no way to prove it.”
“Damn,” Julian muttered under his breath. The thought of Dr. Quentin Tufa not paying for his role in the crimes wasn’t sitting well with him but wasn’t much he could do from thousands of miles away.
“Adam Russell is still claiming to have damning evidence against Dumay and Tufa, but his lawyers are playing hardball trying to negotiate complete immunity for him before he hands anything over. PIIB has placed him in witness protection while they negotiate the terms. With Adam, you and Mena, and the surrogates, Priscilla Dumay will get convicted and likely serve the rest of their lives in Tiverton,” Kendrick said.
“No better place for them,” Julian said. Dubbed hell in paradise, Tiverton Prison was a maximum-security facility located on a remote island in the Palmchat Islands chain.
A hand brushed against Julian’s arm. He turned to see the gallery attendant holding a clipboard with various papers attached.
Julian said, “Thanks for the update. Keep me posted if anything changes.”
Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Julian reached for the clipboard.
