Murder as a Fine Art by John Ballem Page A

still life. “You are very, very good,” he said finally with the air of one who knows. “Just as some musicians have perfect pitch, you have a perfect eye for colour.”
    Laura was impressed. Ever since her earliest days at art school she had been recognized as a superb colourist.
    Still gazing at the paintings, Geoff murmured, “Thank you for letting me see that there may still be some worthwhile things in life.”
    â€œErika meant a great deal to you.” Without ever saying so, they had abandoned all pretense that Erika might still be alive.
    â€œIt took a separation to do it, but I came to realize that I couldn’t live without her.” He paused, then said, “But that’s what I will have to learn how to do now, isn’t it?”
    â€œI take it Erika didn’t know you were coming?”
    â€œNo. I wanted to surprise her. God help me.”
    You were taking a chance there, my friend, thought Laura. You could easily have found her involved in a new affair. Sometimes the mountains did that to people, especially those on the rebound.
    â€œI really do want to see her studio,” persisted Geoff.
    â€œThere’s not much to see. Let me check it out with Corporal Lindstrom.” Laura picked up the emergency phone. Today everything was an emergency. “Geoff Hamilton is here with me in my studio. He wants to have a look at Erika’s studio and I thought I would ask if that would be all right with you,” said Laura, emphasizing the “all right.”
    â€œThe body’s been removed, if that’s what you mean. The dental records have arrived from New York and they’re checking them now.”
    â€œThat’s fine then.” Laura replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief. “We’ll walk as far as we can down the path,” she told Geoff. “We should be able to see it from there.”
    A huge black bird, at least three times the size of the average crow, plopped heavily down from a tree and swaggered along the trail in front of them, its tail insolently swinging from side to side. Geoff looked at it with something close to dread, as though it were an omen.
    â€œErika said you were quite a bird watcher,” Laura found herself saying.
    â€œI am. And that’s the first northern raven I’ve seen. I hope to God I never see another one. I’ll always associate it with what happened here.”
    â€œYou’re out of luck there, I’m afraid,” said Laura matter-of-factly. “Banff is overrun with them.”
    Geoff took one appalled look at the site of the fire and quickly turned away. “Let’s get out of here!” he said in a strangled voice.
    Back inside Laura’s studio, he took several deep breaths as he fought to regain his composure. “I wasn’t ready for that.” Moving agitatedly around the studio, he said, “I can’t believe that I’ve lost her. Not now. Not when the way was finally clear for us to spend our lives together.” He stopped his restless pacing to look at Laura. “I’ve asked my wife for a divorce.”
    â€œAre you going back to her?”
    â€œNo. That part of my life is over. It’s been over for a long while. I just didn’t face up to it in time.”
    Corporal Lindstrom was standing beside a cruiser in the parking lot, talking to the uniformed driver. She waved Laura and Geoff over as they rounded the music hut.
    â€œThe medical examiner has confirmed that the body is Erika’s . I’m very sorry, Mr. Hamilton.”
    Laura heard Geoff’s sharp intake of breath, then he said, “I guess we all knew that’s how it would turn out. Still ...” Blinking rapidly, he fished in his pocket for a Kleenex and blew his nose.
    The Mountie said, “May I ask what your plans are, Mr. Hamilton?”
    Geoff looked a little taken aback by the question, but answered civilly enough. “I really haven’t