Gallery of the Dead

Forty-Three

The twenty-four-feet-long passenger cabin inside the Dassault Falcon 2000EX jet was divided into three very luxurious areas — Forward, with four seats, Middle, with three seats, and Aft, also with three seats. All ten 360-degree swivel seats were finished in soft beige leather, each with its own media center, individual climate controls, and power outlets. There was a fully stocked bar up front, near the cockpit, together with a locked weapons cabinet. At the back, past the Aft cabin was a spacious bathroom, with impressive shower facilities. Low-heat, fully controllable LED overhead lights allowed the passengers to set the mood either individually, per cabin, or for the entire airplane.

‘Wow,’ Garcia commented as he and Hunter finally boarded the aircraft. ‘The Feds do have it much better than we do.’

‘Oh, you can certainly bet on that,’ Agent Fisher said, as she squeezed past them to take one of the seats at the front of the plane.

Agent Williams took the one facing her.

‘You can stop drooling now, Detective.’ Agent Fisher couldn’t help the dig. ‘It’s only a plane.’

Staying in the forward cabin, Hunter and Garcia took the two seats across the aisle from the agents.

‘Did you make it in time for dinner with the in-laws?’ Hunter asked, after fastening his seatbelt.

‘Nah,’ Garcia replied. ‘I missed dinner completely, but I made it in time for dessert and drinks, which, thanks to my charming personality, made everything OK again.’

Hunter smiled. ‘I’m sure.’

Within minutes of everybody boarding the private jet, the Dassault Falcon taxied its way up the runway. Two minutes later the control tower gave the go-ahead for takeoff, which it did very smoothly before climbing up to a cruising altitude of 28,000 feet. Through the speakers, the pilot quickly announced that flying conditions were good, the sky was cloudless and that their flight time would be around one hour and twenty-five minutes.

‘How about you?’ Garcia asked. ‘What time did you leave the office?’

Hunter’s head tilted to one side. ‘A lot later than I wanted to.’

‘Yeah, somehow I sort of knew that that would happen.’

Agent Fisher waited until the pilot had finally turned off the “fasten seatbelt” sign before swerving her seat around to face everyone.

‘There’s something that I would like to show everybody,’ she said, retrieving several photographs from her briefcase and placing them on the large retractable table that sat between her and Agent Williams.

Hunter’s and Garcia’s attention gravitated toward the images.

Just like she had done back in their temporary office, Agent Fisher separated the photos into three groups — victims, carvings, and crime scene.

‘Yesterday in your office,’ she began, ‘you guys mentioned the possibility of this killer being crazy enough to see murder as an art form, remember?’ She nodded at Garcia. ‘The possibility that maybe he treats his crime scenes as some sort of canvas, some sort of window for his work.’

Garcia looked almost shocked. He found it hard to believe that Agent Fisher had actually taken notice of something he had said, never mind considered it.

‘Well,’ she continued, ‘once we got settled into our office, we began revising a few files, including all the photographs belonging to The Surgeon’s first two crime scenes.’ Her gaze moved to the photos on the table, dragging everyone else’s with it. ‘And I think that we might have something.’

‘Something?’ Garcia leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Like something that might link the first two crime scenes to this art theory?’

‘Possibly.’

Even the air inside the private jet seemed to stand still in anticipation.

‘There’s something you said yesterday,’ Agent Fisher said, once again addressing Garcia, ‘that kept on repeating itself inside my head over and over.’

‘And what was that?’ Garcia asked.

‘That though we had deciphered the Latin phrases, we hadn’t yet figured out the real meaning behind them. So, as I reassessed the photos of the first two crime scenes, I realized you were right. Blinded by our initial theory, we perhaps made a grave mistake.’ Her voice took on an almost apologetic tone. ‘That mistake was that we looked exclusively at the victims and disregarded everything else.’

‘Everything else?’ Garcia asked. ‘As in the scene itself?’

‘Exactly. Our sole concern was always the victim.’ Agent Fisher lifted her right hand in a ‘wait’ gesture. ‘Let me ask you all a question here — are any of you big into art? I mean, do you read about it, go to galleries, museums, expositions, that sort of thing?’

‘No, not really,’ Garcia replied.

‘Rarely,’ Hunter admitted it.

‘Why?’ Garcia again.

From her briefcase, Agent Fisher grabbed three printouts she had obtained from the internet. None of them were related to any of the crime scenes or the victims.

‘Well, I have never really been an art buff,’ she said. ‘But yesterday, in your office, you mentioned that art is subjective. It depends on your point of view.’

She placed the first photo on the table. It displayed a perfectly made bed, with crisp white sheets, at the center of a very dirty and messy room.

‘What may look like art through someone’s eyes...’

She displayed the second printout. It was almost the reverse of the first — a messy and dirty bed at the center of a totally white, sterile room.

‘... can look like nothing but junk through someone else’s.’

The last of the three printouts showed exactly that — a pile of junk that had been dumped at the center of an art gallery.

As Agent Fisher placed the printouts on the table, the thoughtful look on Hunter’s and Garcia’s faces deepened.

‘These are only three quick examples, but art galleries just about everywhere seem to be littered with similar pieces. Art used to be something people would cherish, but in our modern world, just about anything can be considered art. This pile of junk,’ she once again indicated the last of the three printouts she had shown them, ‘sold for half a million dollars.’

‘No way.’ Garcia looked surprised and upset at the same time. ‘I’m definitely in the wrong line of work, because that I can do.’

Agent Fisher left the printouts on the table while she selected a photo from the ‘victim’ pile.

‘So, with that in mind, like I said, perhaps we made a grave mistake by looking at the victims in isolation. Take our first victim, for example.’ She presented the photo she had selected. It was a full-body shot of Kristine Rivers lying on the shed’s dirty floor. The rest of the shed could not be seen. ‘If you isolate the victim, this is pretty much what you see.’

Agent Fisher returned the photo to the table and selected a new one, this time from the ‘crime scene’ pile. It was a wide-angle shot where Kristine Rivers’ body could be seen against a backdrop of vibrant graffitied walls and a floor packed full of colorful debris. The agent took several steps back, placing herself in the Middle cabin before showing everyone the photo.

‘But if you take in the entire crime scene as a whole, or better yet, a single image...’

The distance added a whole new perspective to the photograph.

‘... then you just might be able to see the big picture.’