Speaker 1: Content warning. This story contains descriptions of violence, disturbing themes,
Speaker 1: and graphic imagery that some listeners may find unsettling. Discretion
Speaker 1: is advised.
Speaker 2: Calaruga Shark Media, Hello and welcome to the artist. This
Speaker 2: episode is titled Murder in the Air Tonight.
Speaker 3: In the neon drenched streets of nineteen eighty four Miami,
Speaker 3: the air was thick with the electric buzz of nightlife.
Speaker 3: Detective Michael mick rayis cruised down Ocean Drive in his Ferrari,
Speaker 3: the pulsating beats of Phil Collins melding with the humid
Speaker 3: night air, setting the tone for a city that danced
Speaker 3: on the edge of beauty and danger. Mick, with his
Speaker 3: son bleached hair in a wardrobe that screamed Miami Chic,
Speaker 3: teal jackets over pastel shirts, was a man who knew
Speaker 3: every shadow of the city he protected. As the Miami
Speaker 3: skyline glittered against the dark canvas of the night, a
Speaker 3: call crackled through on his car radio, shattering the illusion
Speaker 3: of peace. Code ten fifty four at Ocean View Condominiums
Speaker 3: on South Beach. Responding officers report a ten to thirty
Speaker 3: five scene is secure but needs detective oversight. Immediately arriving
Speaker 3: at the scene, Mick was greeted by his partner, Linda
Speaker 3: Lynn Carter, whose sharp intellect and no nonsense attitude had
Speaker 3: solved more cases than most in the precinct. The luxurious condo,
Speaker 3: a high rise palace overlooking the shimmering Atlantic, had become
Speaker 3: a scene straight out of a nightmare. As Mix stepped
Speaker 3: into the opulent living space, his senses were assaulted by
Speaker 3: the stark juxtaposition of elegance and horror. The victim, Manny Martinez,
Speaker 3: a real estate mogul known for his ruthless business tactics
Speaker 3: and lavish lifestyle, lay sprawled across the white marble flooring,
Speaker 3: his body a canvas of violence, blood dark and almost
Speaker 3: too red against the pristine white painted a gruesome picture.
Speaker 3: It had spattered across the expensive persian rugs and splashed
Speaker 3: onto the abstract paintings that adorned the walls, turning objects
Speaker 3: of beauty into witnesses of a brutal end. The mogul's face,
Speaker 3: once the picture of confidence and power, was now frozen
Speaker 3: in an expression of shock and pain, his eyes wide open,
Speaker 3: staring into nothingness. The initial cut was precise, a deep,
Speaker 3: jagged line, across the throat, severing the carotid artery, suggesting
Speaker 3: the killer was not only familiar with anatomy, but intended
Speaker 3: to inflict maximum horror. The brutality didn't stop there. Subsequent
Speaker 3: wounds were cachaotic, frenzied stabs that punctured the chest and abdomen,
Speaker 3: each mark telling a tale of rage and hatred. It
Speaker 3: was as if the killer wanted to destroy not just
Speaker 3: the man, but what he represented near the body. The
Speaker 3: murder weapon, a blood stained kitchen knife with a handle
Speaker 3: made of polished bone, lay discarded, its blade, reflecting the
Speaker 3: muted lights of the city below. The meticulous placement of
Speaker 3: the knife suggested a message, a signature left with purpose.
Speaker 3: But it was the cryptic note left on the counter
Speaker 3: that added a chilling layer of mystery to the already
Speaker 3: gruesome scene. Written in a hurried, almost manic scrawl, it read,
Speaker 3: the tide brings in more than waves. Mick broke the
Speaker 3: heavy silence that hung between them. He glanced at Lynn Cartel.
Speaker 3: He ventured the word hanging in the air like a verdict.
Speaker 3: The question was loaded. Lynn was steady, her analysis, cutting
Speaker 3: through the ambiguity with clinical precision. This isn't their style,
Speaker 3: it's too messy. Cartels are calculated. They aim to send
Speaker 3: a message without drawing unnecessary attention. This. She gestured to
Speaker 3: the chaotic scene, where blood seemed to seep into the
Speaker 3: very walls. This is personal. It's designed to shock, to horrify.
Speaker 3: We're dealing with a sociopath, not a business transaction gone wrong.
Speaker 3: Mick ran a hand through his hair, tension evident in
Speaker 3: his voice. Christ Lynn, if this isn't cartel work, we're
Speaker 3: in uncharted waters here. Any ideas on motive? Lynn crouched
Speaker 3: near the body, her eyes narrowed. Hard to say. The
Speaker 3: level of violence suggests rage, But the precision of some cuts,
Speaker 3: it's almost like he's showing off. He Mick raised an eyebrow,
Speaker 3: just a hunch, Lynn shrugged. Length required for some of
Speaker 3: these wounds. But I could be wrong. Mick nodded grimly.
Speaker 3: Anything else stand out to you? Lynn pointed to the
Speaker 3: victim's chest. See how the cuts form a pattern here.
Speaker 3: It's like he's signing his work. Sick bastards treating this
Speaker 3: like art some gallery. Mick muttered, his stomach churning. You
Speaker 3: think this is his first not a chance? Lynn stood,
Speaker 3: snapping off her gloves. This level of craftsmanship, it takes practice.
Speaker 3: We need to dig deeper, look for similar cases, Mick
Speaker 3: sighed heavily. Great, so we've got ourselves a seasoned killer
Speaker 3: with an artistic flare. Just what this city needs. Welcome
Speaker 3: to Miami, Lynn said dryly, where even the psychos have style.
Speaker 3: Their next stop was an encounter with one of their
Speaker 3: most unconventional informants, Twitchy Joe. Joe earned his nickname due
Speaker 3: to his constant nervous scratching, a telltale sign of his
Speaker 3: uneasy existence on the fringes of Miami's underworld. Despite his
Speaker 3: shifty demeanor, Joe had proven himself a reliable source of information,
Speaker 3: his ear to the ground in places the police couldn't
Speaker 3: penetrate without drawing unwonted attention. They found Joe in his
Speaker 3: usual haunt, a dimly lit dive bar nestled between a
Speaker 3: pawn shop and a laundromat, a place where the city's
Speaker 3: secrets often found a voice. As Mick and Lynn approached,
Speaker 3: Joe's eyes darted around nervously, the habitual scratching intensifying under
Speaker 3: their scrutiny. Joe greeted them, his voice barely above a whisper,
Speaker 3: as if fearing the walls themselves might be listening. Heard
Speaker 3: you've been sniffing around the Martinez Case. Dangerous waters you're
Speaker 3: swimming in. Joe glanced around once more, his nervousness peeking.
Speaker 3: It's not the cartels, he said, hurriedly. They're laying low,
Speaker 3: too low. But there's talk, whispers of something new, a
Speaker 3: lone wolf playing games with the big dogs. Someone not
Speaker 3: afraid to splash around, make a mess. They say he's
Speaker 3: painting the town. Red literally calls himself the artist Lynn. Ever,
Speaker 3: the analyst pressed further, any idea where this artist hangs out,
Speaker 3: any connections, any names. Joe shook his head, the scratching
Speaker 3: momentarily ceasing as he locked eyes with them. Nah, it's
Speaker 3: like chasing shadows. Man. But word is, he's got a
Speaker 3: taste for the dramatic, likes the high life. You might
Speaker 3: want to check the galleries, the openings. He moves in
Speaker 3: those circles, hiding behind a mask of sophistication. Thomas Ashton
Speaker 3: stood before the mirror in his upscale Miami apartment, adjusting
Speaker 3: the lapels of his tailored suit. The transformation from med
Speaker 3: student to respected art dealer had been a carefully orchestrated performance.
Speaker 3: He smirked, recalling how easy it had been to forge
Speaker 3: the right connections to schmooze his way into the city's
Speaker 3: elite circles. His fingers danced over the silk tie, a
Speaker 3: vibrant splash of color against the crisp white shirt, a
Speaker 3: nod to the tropical paradise outside his window. The suit
Speaker 3: of bespoke ARMANI fit him like a second skin. It
Speaker 3: was armor, really, protecting the predator within from prying eyes.
Speaker 3: Thomas allowed himself a moment of pride as he surveyed
Speaker 3: his reflection. Gone was the awkward, haunted young man who
Speaker 3: had fled Philadelphia. In his place stood a polished, confident figure,
Speaker 3: the kind of man who moved effortlessly through Miami's upper echalons.
Speaker 3: He thought back to his first forays into the art world.
Speaker 3: It had started small, a few well placed bribes, a
Speaker 3: handful of forged documents. Then came the net working, the
Speaker 3: endless parade of gallery openings and champagne soaked soires. He'd
Speaker 3: learned to speak the language of the elite, to recognize
Speaker 3: true talent and separate it from pretension, and all the
Speaker 3: while he'd cultivated his other talents in private. The skills
Speaker 3: honed in med school found new, darker applications. Each kill
Speaker 3: was a masterpiece, each victim of canvas. The art world,
Speaker 3: with its obsession with beauty and death, provided the perfect
Speaker 3: hunting ground. Thomas straightened his eyes, glinting with dark amusement.
Speaker 3: Tonight's gallery opening was just another performance, another chance to
Speaker 3: cement his carefully crafted persona. But beneath the charm and sophistication,
Speaker 3: the hunger still burned. Soon he knew it would be
Speaker 3: time for the artist to create again. In the heart
Speaker 3: of Miami's eclectic art district, a clandestine gathering was taking place,
Speaker 3: hidden from the prying eyes of the law, beneath the
Speaker 3: guise of an exclusive art show. The venue, a repurposed warehouse,
Speaker 3: throbbed with the pulse of electronic music, its walls adorned
Speaker 3: with pieces that blurred the lines between avant garde and
Speaker 3: the macabre. It was here, amidst the cities affluent and
Speaker 3: the morally ambiguous, that Detective Mick Reyis under the guise
Speaker 3: of collector Mick Johnson, found himself His cover a thin
Speaker 3: veil at best, relied more on his ability to blend
Speaker 3: into the shadows, than on the believability of his alias.
Speaker 3: Yet somehow it had served him well over the years,
Speaker 3: allowing him to navigate the murky waters of Miami's criminal
Speaker 3: underworld with an ease that belied the danger of his profession.
Speaker 3: Mick moved through the crowd with a practiced ease, his
Speaker 3: eyes scanning the sea of faces for any sign of
Speaker 3: the sociopath they were hunting. His attention was not on
Speaker 3: the displayed art, which served as little more than a
Speaker 3: backdrop for the Knight's true purpose, the exchange of oln
Speaker 3: and forbidden pieces that thrived in Miami's underground black market.
Speaker 3: It was then that he felt it, the prickling sensation
Speaker 3: on the back of his neck that came with being watched. Turning,
Speaker 3: he found himself face to face with a man whose
Speaker 3: presence seemed to command the space around him. Dressed in
Speaker 3: a tailored suit that spoke of wealth and taste, the
Speaker 3: man's eyes held a depth that was both captivating and chilling.
Speaker 3: Mick Johnson, is it. The man's voice was smooth, laced
Speaker 3: with an edge that hinted at a familiarity with danger.
Speaker 3: An intriguing choice for a night like this. You have
Speaker 3: an eye for the unusual. I presume Mick met the
Speaker 3: man's gaze. His response measured. You could say that I
Speaker 3: find beauty in the shadows. The man's lips curled into
Speaker 3: a knowing smile. Ah, but the shadows can be a
Speaker 3: dangerous place to wander, mister Johnson. Some truths are best
Speaker 3: left undiscovered. Felt a chill run down his spine. The
Speaker 3: man's demeanor, the veiled threat in his words, and a
Speaker 3: certain coldness in his eyes, left little doubt this was
Speaker 3: the artist. Mick maintained his composure. Without a little danger,
Speaker 3: life would be dreadfully dull, wouldn't it. The artist leaned in,
Speaker 3: his voice, dropping to a whisper that only Mick could hear.
Speaker 3: Be careful, mister Johnson. Not all art is meant to
Speaker 3: be appreciated by the living. Some masterpieces are reserved for
Speaker 3: the dead. With that cryptic warning, the man melted back
Speaker 3: into the crowd. Mick slammed the door of his Teal Ferrari.
Speaker 3: He sat for a moment in silence, the weight of
Speaker 3: the night pressing down on him. As he turned the ignition,
Speaker 3: the police radio pierced the quiet of the car. Bravo
Speaker 3: six to two, Come in Bravo six two. We have
Speaker 3: a ten to thirty four in progress at Bayfront Park,
Speaker 3: possible one hundred eighty seven. Request immediate response. Mick grabbed
Speaker 3: the radio. This is Bravo six to two, Roger that
Speaker 3: en route. He tossed the radio back on the passenger seat.
Speaker 3: The artist wouldn't be caught tonight, maybe not ever, a
Speaker 3: stark reminder of the relentless cat and mouse game that
Speaker 3: defined his existence in nineteen eighties Miami. He flicked on
Speaker 3: the stereo the opening drums of Phil Collins in the
Speaker 3: Air Tonight, filling the car, a fitting soundtrack to the
Speaker 3: complex narrative of his life. In the back room of
Speaker 3: his gallery, Thomas meticulously cleaned his tools, the same steady
Speaker 3: hands that had once practiced sutures, now prepared for a
Speaker 3: different kind of incision. He thought back to his decision
Speaker 3: to leave med school, the realization that his true calling
Speaker 3: lay not in healing, but in transformation. The art world
Speaker 3: had welcomed him with open arms, never suspecting the darkness
Speaker 3: that lurked behind his charming smile. It was almost too easy.
Speaker 3: The parties, the drugs, the decadence, all perfect cover for
Speaker 3: his nocturnal activities. As he packed away his kit, Thomas's
Speaker 3: mind wandered to the detective he'd encountered at the last show.
Speaker 3: There was something about him, a spark of understanding perhaps
Speaker 3: that both thrilled and unnerved him. He'd have to tread carefully,
Speaker 3: but oh what a game this could become.
Speaker 2: Next time on the Artist, A Killer's Canvas.
Speaker 1: Miami, nineteen eighty nine. Five years have passed and Detective
Speaker 1: Mick Reyes is still haunted by the elusive killer known
Speaker 1: as the Artist. As another g ruesome murder shakes the
Speaker 1: city's elite, Reyes finds himself drawn deeper into a world
Speaker 1: of shadowy art dealers and clandestine gatherings. A mysterious invitation
Speaker 1: leads Reyes to a high stakes masquerade ball where every
Speaker 1: guest could be the killer he's been chasing. With time
Speaker 1: running out and the body count rising, Reyes must confront
Speaker 1: his own demons and navigate a treacherous world of wealth
Speaker 1: and power to unmask the Artist. But in a city
Speaker 1: where everyone wears a mask, can Rayes trust anyone, and
Speaker 1: as he gets closer to the truth, will he become
Speaker 1: the next masterpiece in the Artist's deadly collection. Don't miss
Speaker 1: Episode four, Masterpiece of Death, where the line between hunter
Speaker 1: and hunted blurs in the dangerous game of cat and
Speaker 1: mouse through Miami's glittering art scene.
Speaker 2: The Artist is a Calaroga Shark Media production hosted by
Speaker 2: Aidan I Flanagan, written by Aidan I Flanagan and John McDermott,
Speaker 2: produced by Mark Francis. Executive producers John McDermott and Mark Francis.
Speaker 2: Portions of the podcast may have been produced with the
Speaker 2: assistance of AI. If you enjoyed this series, check out
Speaker 2: the inspiration podcast Murder Weekly, available wherever you get your podcasts.
Speaker 2: This show is also available commercial free. Check the show
Speaker 2: notes for more info and how you can buy merch
Speaker 2: for The Artist. Calaroga Shark Media