The Mystery of the Dead Impressionist

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The Mystery of the Dead Impressionist

The adrenaline coursed through her from the nearness of averting disaster.  Letting out a sigh of relief, she looked at the small bottle of perfume that she had knocked off the dresser as she placed her newest perfumes on the dresser top.  A moment ago, as fortune would have it, Carmen Travis saw it as it disappeared over the edge and in an instant made a desperate grab to save the precious cargo that she acquired from Cairo a few years back.



Chiding herself for her carelessness, she was thankful that her husband was on the balcony catching up on the happenings in Tournesol De Paris, a local Parisian French and English newspaper, from the last month and not underfoot as he usually was or she never would have heard the end of it.  They had just returned from their latest trip.  Florence had been their home for the last month where both the Travis enjoyed the realization of a dream.  Florence, like Paris, wasn't the low-rolling hills of her west Texas home, but they were both beautiful nonetheless and especially so in the early summer of June.  As expatriates living abroad, currently in Paris, they planned to use all the money from the selling of their ranch in San Angelo, Texas to see the world.  For what they sold the property and Buck Travis' pension from the Texas Rangers, they would likely be traveling for the rest of their lives.  Along the way, Carmen collected small bottles of fragrances as keepsakes from their adventures.



The peace of the bedroom was interrupted by a boom.



"Hey, Honey!"



The start almost caused Carmen to drop the bottle of perfume, again.



Buck bellowed, "Guess what happened while we were gone!"



Carmen placed the bottle down and briefly looked at herself in the mirror.  Noting that lines betraying her age, she wondered once again what the old bear on the balcony still saw in her.  Smiling, she was thankful that whatever it was, he was still in love with her.



Heading to the balcony, Carmen picked up the mail and called out, "Coming, dear."



The small country home they currently leased was very modest by any means but was clean.  It was a short walk to the balcony.



As she passed, she could see that Bradley "Buck" Travis was exactly where she saw him last; sitting at the balcony table with a stack of newspapers in front of him.  His straw cowboy hat brightly reflected the evening sun into her face.  It was the one thing that Buck refused to let go of in their many travels despite how it clashed with the different local styles.  He had always said the old hat was as much a part of him as she was.  Carmen didn't know if this was a good thing or not.



Hearing Carmen behind him, Buck's attention was fixed on an article in the newspaper.



"It would seem that one of those Impressionists died a couple of weeks back.  It was the rage in these papers.  It says the police have no idea if it was suicide, natural causes, or murder.  Doctors say he died of a heart attack, but some are claiming murder."



Bending one side of the paper down so that he could see his wife sitting down at the table, he asked, "Didn't you know some of them?  His name was ...," he struggled as he looked for the answer, "Armand Santier."



Nodding to herself, "Yes, I have met some of them but not him as I recall," Carmen quietly sat down at the table disturbing nothing.  "We might have met at one of the shows."



Carmen started loosely leafing through the mail when she noted a particular thick parcel with a return address from Paris' Brigade Criminelle.  Taking an interest, she ignored the other envelopes and pulled this one out.



"Interesting," she said to herself.



"You're damn right," Buck said already with his nose in the paper, "It even has a picture in the paper."



Carmen held up the envelope in the evening sunlight noting the color and condition.  It was relatively large for ordinary parcels and the thickness suggested multiple pages yet a rigidity in the envelope puzzled her.  Noting nothing else strange or amiss, she carefully opened the envelope.  In it were many apparent clippings from the Tournesol and scraps of writing while the very last piece of paper stood out from the rest.



"The picture shows a dead guy with a brush in his hand.  God bless him, he had a straw hat."  He chuckled to himself.



Carmen pulled out the last item in the envelope and studied it.



"In front of him is his thing to paint on and his painting," Buck went on.



"It's an easel, dear," Carmen said as she continued studying the item closely.



"Yes, that's it.  Anyway, his case is next to him with something in it."



"It's a palette, dear."



"It's roundish and it seems to have paint on it." He said as he strained his eyes to take a closer look at the small picture.



"It's a palette, dear," she absentmindedly said.



"It looks like it's made of wood," he muttered.



"Might it be a palette, dear," she asked no longer paying attention to him.



"Yes, yes, a palette.  That's right."  A quizzical expression crossed Buck's mustached face.  Looking at Carmen, "How did you know?  You don't have the paper."



Carmen revealed the item in her hand.  It was a blown up photograph of the crime scene shown in the paper.  Carmen dumped the Tournesol De Paris clippings and notes about the Santier murder on the table; a grin crossing her face.

"It would seem that Inspector Rowley would like a word with us."

*****

The Brigade Criminelle was busy.  Very busy.



The ride into town was pleasant during the morning.  Although muggy, it was pleasant summer morning and the carriage ride went quickly.  Buck and Carmen talked late into the night and all the following morning about the articles and picture of the scene.  Morning couldn't come early enough.



The building was crowded with people going in and out.



The couple entered the building and checked in with a secretary.  In very bad French, Buck Travis conveyed they were here to see Inspector Rowley.  The secretary escorted them to the back and left them by a desk.  From there, the Travis' could see the secretary enter an office with glass on three sides where 6 men were huddled in intense conversation.  The secretary bent into the group obviously talking to someone when a head poked up.



Buck and Carmen recognized the handsome face of Inspector Rowley who in turn immediately locked onto them.



Excusing himself from the group, Inspector Rowley exited the room and quickly walked up to the pair obviously glad to see them.



"Monsieur and Madam Travis," the inspector extended his hand, "It so glad to see you.  I trust you return safely and received my package?"



"Oui, Jean-Claude.  We just got back yesterday," Carmen replied.  Buck and Inspector Rowley shook hands vigorously and Carmen received the traditional double kiss greeting.  Holding up the now worn envelope stuffed with the picture and articles, "We did receive your invitation?"



Confusion momentarily clouded Inspector Rowley's eyes then cleared in understanding.



"Oui, madam.  Considering your past help, I hoped that you might have help for us.  The Perfect discourages help from outside, but we have permission from the boss.  I thought of you two."



Over the course of the last year, by accident the first time, the couple assisted n solving a pair of crimes.  The first crime involved what amounted to cattle rustling which Buck's Ranger experience was invaluable as well as another time regarding a bank robbery.  While Inspector Rowley admired and respected the ex-Ranger, both knew that the true brains of the team were in the wife.  It was her powers of observation that were truly unique.



The former Ranger dwarfed the slight Inspector, yet it was obvious that both were at ease with each other.



Inspector Rowley motioned to a back door.



"If you will, we can go outside where we can talk."



Carmen couldn't suppress a wry smile as she realized that Inspector Rowley was trying to discreetly exit them out the back as to not draw anymore attention to his talking to the foreigners for possible help.  Making the slightest eye contact with Buck, she could tell that he was thinking the same thing.



Deciding not to take offense, Carmen waited until they exited the building before asking, "How can we be of help, Inspector?"



Catching the ever so slightest edge in Carmen's voice, Inspector Rowley reddened a bit before clearing his throat.



"If you no mind, I would like to hear your take of the story.  I will then tell you what I know."



Rowley led them to a park nearby.  They engaged in small talk, mostly about Florence, until they found a small cafe where the inspector bought all a coffee as an unsaid apology for the earlier possible perceived slight.



Feeling that the time was right, Inspector Rowley led into the Santier death.



"Thank you for your patience.  What was your impression about the impressionist?"  The pun was accompanied with a slight waving of his eyebrows.



Buck leaned forward tilting the brim of his old hat back on his forehead.



"It started an interesting conversation, that's for sure."  An easy grin emerged.  "To be honest, we do not know if it was murder but we both feel pretty strongly that the scene in the papers was staged."



The inspector exhaled and slowly leaned back.  His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Buck.



Carmen started, "The scene that was being painted on the easel was one of the first things that struck me as being wrong.  Even though Santier was in the same area, it wasn't the same scene.  This seemed pretty obvious and I imagined that you would have noticed something similar."



Rowley nodded in acquiesce.



"Because of this, it would seem that Santier was using a picture to paint from.  As I understand, there were pictures taken by Felix Nadar from different view points of the scene in the painting recovered from his flat, plus there was a painting that was purchased some time ago that depicts the same scene as the one found at the scene of death and a photograph was used to paint it," Carmen continued.



"You are correct, madam," Rowley confirmed.



Carmen nodded, "One might wonder why the artist would venture to an area only indirectly related to the scene being painted without the photograph then."



Buck was grinning.  "Oh, it gets better."



Carmen smiled and produced the envelope Inspector Rowley sent them.  She emptied the contents on the desk briefly sorting through the papers finding the article she was looking for.  Pulling out an article and the picture, she pointed at a place on the picture and handed it to Rowley.



"If you don't mind, Jean-Claude, what is that in his hand?"



Inspector Rowley looked carefully, "It is a brush.  A paint brush."



"What kind?"



"Pardon?"



"If you look closely, you will note that it is a round brush."  Carmen produced an article from the mound of paper.  "According to an interview with Santier's paint supplier, Tanguy, which was published on May 16th Tanguy said that Santier rarely bought round brushes.  Tanguy said that Santier mostly bought flat brushes and pallet knives.  As a matter of fact he was known to paint mostly with a pallet knife.  However, he supposedly died with a round brush in his hand with no paint on it."



"Interesting.  I do not believe I realized that," conceded Rowley.  "This no proves anything except that it no likely he die with round brush in hand."



"True, but it is suggestive.  Also, if Tanguy is to be believed and Santier mostly bought flat brushes and pallet knives, where are the pallet knives?  Studying the painting, it is evident that a pallet knife and flat brushes were used in the actual painting according to the brushstrokes.  However, I did not see any pallet knives in the photograph at the scene.  One has to ask why this is so."



"Good point, Madam Travis, but again this no prove anything.  Could it possible that Santier merely forgot his knives this day?" pointed out Rowley.



"It is simply not possible if you examine the canvas," Carmen replied as she took back the picture and placed it on the table.  Pointing to the pallet on the case, "Haven't you wondered why the painter's pallet is here and not being held by the painter or fallen nearby?  From where it is in the photograph, it was obviously placed."



"Hmmm," frowning the inspector contemplated.



"As I understand, the pallet seemed dry.  This should not be the case if it was recently used.  Assuming that the anonymous letter led authorities to the deceased painter in a relatively short time span in this relatively well populated park, there should have been wet paint on the pallet.  Another thing that bothers me about the pallet is the fact that there was so little white and blue noted on the pallet from your notes.  Considering that the painting has much sky and clouds, there should have been a lot of these colors on the pallet.  Also, there is no Red on the pallet like that of the boat right there.



"This would suggest that this is not the pallet the painter was using with this painting," concluded Carmen.



"Well, could not Santier have used different kits and pallets which might explain why these facts do not match up?"



Buck chimed in and drawled, "Maybe, but the artists are not generally wealthy.  As Carmen explained to me, they usually reuse their pallets and kits.  Even though Tanguy said that Santier paid his bill, we can assume that he isn't rich."



"We aren't done yet, Inspector," Carmen continued, "There are questions about the signature.



"My first issue is that, according to the photograph you sent us, the signature was dry.  I am no expert on art or Impressionism, but I do know that usually artists sign the painting after the painting is complete, yet the paint is seldom dry.  The paint from the signature is usually mixed with the paint from the layer below causing a slight blurring.  In this painting, the color seems to be white with no mixing, the signature is clean.  The other problem is that the signature is usually indicative of the work being completed; however, you can clearly see lines on the right hand side of the painting that artist uses to scale their painting.  This would suggest that the painting was not finished.  Why would the artist sign an uncompleted work?"



Inspector Rowley had been listening attentively and now leaned back contemplating what he had heard.



After a few moments of awkward silence, Buck motioned the barrista for another round.



"Inspector Rowley, I hope we haven't offended you or your department.  We're just a couple of old cow hands spouting off about what we think," offered Buck.



"Offended?  Not at all.  I learn much today," assured Inspector Rowley.  "Madam, anything else that you observe?"



"Thank you, Jean Claude.  There are only a few other things that bother me.



"I was struck by something else that Tanguy said.  He mentioned that Santier normally used a size 5 canvas.  The canvas the in the photograph is clearly larger than a size 5.  Why the change?"



Rowley nodded.



"One last issue and it is the thing that bothers me the most," Carmen observed, "Was the 'Refused' sign on the back of the painting?



"A painter would never submit an unfinished painting for serious consideration to the Salon Jury.  We know it is unfinished because of the lines we talked about that are still seen up here."  She pointed to the grid lines on the right side of the painting.  "And even if he did submit and was refused, the Impressionists are use to this.  The mainstream art world does not usually accept Impressionism.  Santier had been refused before many times for that matter.  Also, the Salon puts on a show, the 'Salon des Refuse' where refused paintings can still be showcased, but more important the Impressionist have their own show where their art is widely accepted by those who attend.



"Still this is what bothers me most," with a slight shake of her head.



"According to May 19th article, Monet says that Armand Santier was doing better than most Impressionists.  Monet also said that some of Santier's paintings were being bought by a gentleman named Naudet.  I know that suicide has been considered, but this would counter the suggestion.  Why would Santier possibly commit suicide if he is being successful?"



A quizzical expression crossed Rowley's face.  "Why does this bother you?"



"This could be a motive for murder," answered Carmen.



"Ain't that a 'Hum Dinger,'" offered Buck.



"Hum Dinger ..., yes.  Please explain, Madam."



"Well, it's common knowledge and Van Gough confirms that the value of a painting increases with the death of an artist.  If Naudet is buying up Santier's paintings and Santier dies, what will that do to the value of the paintings?"



"Increases quite a bit, madam."



"Oui."



"So," observes Rowley, "You suspect Naudet has something to do with all this?"



"Purely conjecture, Jean Claude."



"Interesting."  Inspector Rowley reached into his inside jacket and pulled out a writing pad.  "You make a compelling case, Madam Travis.  Much of what you pointed out we missed as possibility.  The truth is we investigated Pierre Naudet, but did no have anything on him."



Flipping pages, Rowley found what he was looking for and reviewed.



"Pierre Naudet is a gentleman from a well respected family.  The family wealth comes from shipbuilding; making rowboats to be exact.  According to my notes from when I interviewed him, he said he was a friend of Santier and did indeed own a few paintings.  Several witnesses have placed him at Santier's apartment on several occasions."



"Was it a business relationship," asked Buck?



"Not entirely.  Naudet spent much time at Cafe Baudequin with Santier.  It seems that it is a meeting place for the other Impressionists."



"Might be a good place to learn more about Naudet's relationship to the Impressionists," offered Buck.



Rowley finished his coffee, "Indeed."

*****

The Cafe Baudequin was a run down tavern in a run down area of town.  Despite its rough exterior, it was easy to see that it was thriving as people went in and out of the tavern.  It was also easy to see that the spirits being sold inside the establishment was not the only trade occurring judging from the many female voices heard within the building.



Standing outside the cafe, Rowley looked at the couple and spoke to Buck.



"Perhaps it better to let me handle this?  This does not look like a place for a lady like Madam Travis."



Carmen interrupted, "Don't be silly, Jean-Claude."  Carmen walked away and left the two men staring after her.



Upon entering the caf Carmen looked around immediately spotting a familiar face.



Buck and Rowley caught up only find themselves following Carmen again as she walked up on a man sitting alone at a round table.



"Bon Jour, Vincent."



The man brooding over his tankard of drink looked up and immediately brightened.  The ruddy man with brown hair and Dutch features in his early 30s stood and hugged Carmen.



"Carmen!  My God, it's good to see you again!"  The man's English was impeccable with just a slight accent.  "What brings you to a dive like the Baudequin?"



Carmen smiled, "Vincent, this ridiculous looking gentleman is my husband, Buck."



Vincent looked up to Buck extending his hand, "Carmen had spoken many times of you.  You are a lucky man to have such a fine woman for your wife."



Buck' good nature showed as he smiled and shook his hand.  "Don't I know it?"



Carmen continued, "And this gentleman is Inspector Jean Claude Rowley."



"Inspector," Vincent formally greeted with a handshake.



"Gentlemen," Carmen grinned, "May I introduce to you the most amazing artist in the world, Vincent Van Gogh."



"Carmen, you flatter me," he gushed.  "Please, everyone, have a seat and let me buy you a drink."



Everyone sat down, but Carmen had a slight disapproving expression.



"Vincent, would Theo approve of your expenditures," referring to his drink of choice.  Theo was Vincent's brother who was sending a monthly stipend for Vincent to live on.



Vincent laughed.  "I think he would understand.  I would explain it off as painting materials," he said with a wink.



Buck leaned over to Rowley and half whispered, "I knew my wife was acquainted with some of the local artists, but this takes the cake."



"Indeed," confirmed Rowley.



Carmen smiled at Vincent, "We are looking into the Santier death and was wondering if you could help?"



Vincent's expression darkened at the mention of Armand's name.  "Of course, anything I can do to help, but I have talked to the police many times.  Perhaps their records will be of more use?"



Inspector Rowley leaned forward.  "We specifically are trying to learn about Pierre Naudet.  Do you know him?"



"Pierre?  Of course.  We never really spoke very much, but I knew that he and Armand were friends.  We would occasionally drink a few rounds as Pierre was loose with his purse."



"What can you tell us about him," asked Carmen.



"I do not know a lot, but he doesn't come around here very much since Armand's death.  He has even stopped visiting his girlfriend."



"Girlfriend," asked Buck.



Vincent looked up at a series of rooms where a steady stream of men and ladies entered and exited.



"Armand and Pierre first met as rivals for the affections of a pretty little lady named Annette Aiton.  Pierre's wealth won out in the end, but as fate turned out Pierre and Armand became pretty good friends.  Then their friendship became professional as Pierre began buying many of Armand's paintings."



"Friend, wouldn't one of these women be a loose definition of a 'girlfriend,'" asked Buck.



Vincent, looking over Buck's shoulder, replied, "Friend, you have not seen the 'girlfriend.'"



Following Vincent's eyes, they saw a beautiful brunette talking to a jolly looking gentleman.



They could hear rather than see the smile in Vincent's voice, "That would be Annette."



The brunette let out a beautiful laugh at an unheard joke from her private conversation.  Beaming, the gentleman rose, tipped his hat to her and walked out.



"I think we should talk to her about Pierre," Buck motioned.



"It could no hurt," agreed Rowley.



They bid Vincent a fond farewell and went over to the brunette's table.



Buck walked up to her and said, "Howdy, ma'am."



The brunette looked up and smiled, "American?"



Buck sat down, "Texan.  Do you speak English?"



"A girl in my business needs to speak many languages."  She studied the other two. "And know many things."  Looking at Rowley, she observed, "Police?"



"Oui, Mademoiselle Aiton, we have a few questions we would like to ask you about one of your ... acquaintances.  One Pierre Naudet?"



"Ah, Pierre.  I haven't seen him in some time."



"What can you tell us about him," asked Rowley.



Annette smiled and started to pack her things into a purse as if to leave.



"I am sorry, but I must leave for an appointment."



"Pay the girl, Buck," said Carmen.



"Huh?"



"Pay her for her time," Carmen answered.



"Boy, there is something seriously wrong with a man's wife telling him to pay a prostitute," Buck said as he pulled out a money clip and placed a few bills on the table.



Annette picked up the bills and daintily placed them in her purse.



"I haven't seen him in a long time," Annette began, "Not since Armand's death.  I was rather fond of Pierre, but he had not been around in a while after accruing a large gambling debt with my business manager."



Rowley said, "You mean 'Pimp'?"



"More like 'Partner'.  He takes care of my financial needs and I am never in want of things.  Anyways, Pierre had a large debt because he liked the cards.  It looked like it was going to get a bit nasty, but Pierre came up with the money and paid off the debt.  Rumor had it that he was selling Armand's painting for a small fortune.  I figured that he would come back around, but I have not seen him in quite some time."



"When did he pay off the debt," asked Inspector Rowley.



"I would guess ... maybe, ... a couple of weeks back."



"After Santier's death," Carmen observed.



"Very interesting," remarked Rowley.

*****

The three investigators stood outside the Cafe Baudequin comparing notes.



"I agree things look suspicious," admitted Inspector Rowley.



"Yes, but all the information doesn't suggest that if Santier was murdered how he was murdered," said Carmen.



"About that," Buck cut in, "I've been working on an idea.  Just out of curiosity, was turpentine found in or on Santier?"



Rowley started turning pages in his notes.  Finding what he was looking for and quickly reviewing, he confirmed, "Yes, but we no believe it important.  Many artists use turpentine in closed rooms with small ventilation.  Doctors believe he die of heart attack."



"I understand, but we use turpentine in Texas so I have a little experience with this.  Clyde at our local mercantile always said to use turpentine in the open because it could cause a heart attack, but only it high doses.  Could it be possible that a rag with turpentine smothered over the face could cause a heart attack?"



"Perhaps," conceded Rowley.



"Also consider, Naudet's family makes boats and turpentine is used in boat making.  Naudet could easily know about the effects of turpentine," concluded Buck.



"Going back to the idea that the studio is the original scene of the crime, it would be hard to notice because the landlady said the flat was always a mess," offered Carmen.



"We did detect strong smell of turpentine in flat.  We thought it usual."



"But no containers of turpentine where found at the studio, though according to a recent bill from Tanguy, Santier had just purchased turpentine," stated Carmen.

"What happened to the turpentine," she asked, "What was it all used for so quickly?



"If Naudet staged the scene, he could have panicked and had the letter delivered too soon.  If he had waited a little, the scent of turpentine might have dissipated more," said Carmen.



"You have given me many things to think about.  I think I have enough to interview Monsieur Naudet."

*****

Carmen walked to the balcony with her cup of coffee.  The morning air was crisp as it was fresh.  Already sitting at the table was Buck sitting much as he does these days with the latest edition of the Tournesol De Paris.  Looking over his shoulder, she could read the headline.



"Murder Solved," Buck read for her.  "It seems our boy Jean Claude had an interesting talk with Naudet."



"Really," said Carmen more as an exclamation than as a question.



"Yep."



"Well, go on."



Buck laughed a bit.



He read, "Police confirmed late yesterday that the mysterious death of the local Impressionist, Armand Santier, was solved.  Spokesmen stated that a tip led to the interrogation of Pierre Naudet, a local gentleman and avid collector of Santier's work.  Inspector Rowley stated, 'Facts that came to surface due to the help of concerned citizens led to the interrogation and confession by Naudet.'



"According to Rowley, Naudet befriended Santier and found himself with access to a series of paintings where he made a plan to murder the artist so that the value of the paintings would escalate.  This plan was created due to a large amount of debt he incurred through gambling.  While from a wealthy family, his parents had cut him off because of reckless spending.  Once Naudet befriended Santier, Naudet bought a series and then showed up one day at Santier's studio with a blank canvas requesting he paint another painting to go with the series painted from the photographs Saniter had Felix Nadar take for him that Naudet had bought. 



"He told Santier that he had gotten the canvas from a friend who once painted and gave it up and saw no use in the canvas going to waste.  This was confirmed by the building concierge, Madame Jory, who remembered seeing Naudet with a blank canvas going up to Santier's studio.  Madame Jory made mention of this as she let Naudet in the flat on the day of Santier's death like she had many times before.  She thought it was funny that she mostly saw him come down with painted canvases, now he was taking one to be painted.  Naudet put a false Salon Paris stamp and written "refusal" on the back when he gave the canvas to Santier.  He had already glued a false canvas back in place under the wooden frame.  Once he killed Santier with a rag soaked in turpentine, he signed the unfinished painting at the studio as he had been practicing based on the signatures he had on the other paintings he had purchased, then tore off the false back and then took everything down to stage the crime scene at the park.  Naudet knew he could not leave the body at the studio because he might be a suspect since he frequently came and went from the apartment.  If the police thought the death was from anything other than natural causes, Naudet knew that he could be implicated.  He left Santier's body at the park so that it would seem natural like a natural death.  Naudet then went through Santier's studio to see if there was anything else worth selling and he did not want to do it with a dead body there.



"Naudet," Bucked read aloud, "was haphazard plus he didn't know the "tools" of making art. He thought you could just throw random "art looking" things like brushes, paints, and a canvas around, little did he know that a scene can always tell the real story...if you look close enough at the clues."