Текст книги "Death in a Summer Colony"

Автор книги: Aaron Stander

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

40

“I understand that Ms. Markley is no longer employed by Wudbine Investments,” said Ray looking across the table at Jill Wudbine.

“That was a long time in coming. Pepper was one of my father-in-law’s welfare cases. She started with us as an intern. Although she had her degree from a good place, Malcolm could see that she was far too green to make it in the corporate world. I mean she was from some little burg with a name like Hicksville or Piggott, someplace in Arkansas or Iowa. So he took her on, this Eliza Doolittle, thinking he could turn her into a duchess, or at least a moderately cosmopolitan woman. I advised him against it at the time, but Malcolm was determined. Always the optimist. And I have to admit, this job he created for her, concierge, was brilliant. It exposed her to all the right kind of people and things. But at the end of the day, I’m not sure she learned anything other than a taste for the good life.

“As for her termination, with Malcolm’s death, this is the right time for her departure. If she weren’t so obtuse, she would have seen it coming months ago. But you didn’t drag me over here to discuss human resource problems. I’m pressed for time, so please let’s get through this interview as quickly as possible.”

“Okay,” said Ray, “I have two things that I would like to go over with you. First, you’ve had a few days to reflect on the events of last Saturday evening. I was wondering if you might have any new thoughts on who might be responsible for Mr. Wudbine’s death.”

“Your question…don’t you think I would have contacted you immediately, Sheriff, if I had anything to add? I have thought of nothing else since…those terrifying moments. I’ve searched my memory for any detail that might serve as a clue. Nothing. Malcolm Wudbine was an exceptional human being. Whoever killed him was probably a hired assassin or some deranged character who was striking out against the world.”

“And who would have hired an assassin?” questioned Ray, wondering what inane response she would next float his way.

“We live in a global economy, Sheriff. We have competitors in distant places, barbarous societies, people who don’t play by the same business rules we follow. Perhaps that’s where you will find your killer. And then there’s the current political climate, all this chatter about the concentration of wealth. This might have been a hate crime precipitated by class envy.” Wudbine’s answers were delivered in her characteristic monotone.

Without commenting, Ray handed several sheets of paper to her. “There you will find a transcript of our conversation on Sunday. I’ve highlighted the parts that deal with your recollections of what happened while you were in the theater. Please read your statement and see if there are any additions or changes you would like to make.”

Ray sat and watched her read through the transcript, first scanning, and then going over the highlighted areas a second and third time.

“No, Sheriff, I have nothing to add or change. That said, I was thinking about Pepper, just as an example, of course. I saw her early on. She must have been one of the first people there. Then later we were onstage together. And I didn’t see her again after her exit, well, until the lights came on. I can remember seeing her wander in from the makeup area when Grubbs was telling us what had happened.

“I’m not trying to suggest that Pepper might have been involved in this crime. But if she had a murderous intent, it would have been so easy to hide somewhere on the far side of the stage waiting for Malcolm to…well you know the rest. And again, I’m not trying to implicate Pepper in any way. What I’m trying to tell you is that you’re asking questions that are impossible to answer. People were constantly moving about. At best, they might remember where they were, but to give you reliable information on anyone else, impossible. You are wasting your time. And now to an important issue, when will my father-in-law’s body be released for burial?”

“Soon,” Ray responded.

“Patchouli oil, do you know what patchouli oil smells like?” asked Sue as she came into the library building, the screen door slamming behind her.

Ray looked up from his screen. “Patch…what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sound sort of crabby. What’s going on?”

“Jill Wudbine.”

“Oh, I just saw her. Remarkable woman. I don’t know how you can pass someone on a narrow sand trail without making eye contact. Do you remember what she smelled like?”

Ray gave Sue a long look, “What’s going on?”

“Patchouli. It’s a scent, or more correctly, an aromatic oil.”

“I’m totally lost. So put all this together for me.”

“I was just interviewing Tom Lea.”

“How did it go?”

“Couldn’t have been better. When Tom is on his meds, he mostly makes sense. And fortunately, there were no interrupting cell calls from the great beyond.”

“So tell me about this Patch…?”

“Patchouli. We know that Tom was lurking around the auditorium trying to get in to see the play with his personally created ticket. When that didn’t work, he watched through an open window until the rain got so heavy that he took refuge under the picnic shelter. From there he had a perfect view of the back of the building. He said he saw someone open the doors on the electrical cabinet, and then the light on the side of the building went out. He’s sure it was a woman because of the shape of her raincoat. As this person was leaving the area, she stopped briefly under the shelter to light a cigarette. Tom says the scent of patchouli oil was in the air after she came through.”

“He’s sure?”

“He claims to have some expertise in aromatherapy, something his mother verified.”

“Where do we get some of …?”

“Patchouli oil. I imagine we can find some in Traverse City. That’s a good assignment for our summer intern. But there’s something more. Before the patchouli-scented woman passed through, there were two others who used the shelter. The first arrived just after Tom got there, a woman driving a golf cart. A few minutes later a man arrived. Tom said there was a lot of kissing going on. Hollywood-style kissing, that’s what he called it. The kind you see in movies. Then they disappeared.”

“Did someone come back for the cart?”

“He didn’t know. Said he left shortly after the patchouli lady came through.”

“So where does this leave us?” asked Ray.

“We know that Alyson Mickels parked a cart under the picnic shelter. She told us that. So who was the man? Elliott Wudbine? And if it were the two of them, where did they go next? Were they involved in the murder or were they going off to find a place that offered greater privacy?”

“So we need to talk to Elliott and Alyson again,” responded Ray. “And the woman wearing patchouli, your nose is better than mine. I don’t remember coming in contact with anyone wearing excessive amounts of perfume the last few days. You know it usually gets me sneezing.”

“How about when we were talking to Brenda Wudbine?”

“Roses, carnations, and gin. I didn’t sense anything else. Did you?”

“No. But you know I’m Ms. Wash and Wear. I don’t own any perfume. I’ll get our intern, Barbara Sinclair, headed over to TC. I bet there’s someone at central dispatch who can guide her to a source for patchouli oil. When she returns, we’ll see if….”

“But what if Tom Lea is wrong about the scent?” asked Ray, standing, putting his hand on the small of his back, and stretching from side to side.

“Then we look for Hollywood-type kissers.”

“How much faith do we put in Tom Lea?”

“We use the information carefully and see if some truth follows.”

“I like that. Elliott should be here next. Stick around, I may need your help.”

41

“Fast trip to Chicago,” Ray observed, looking across the table at Elliott Wudbine.

“Too fast. But my employees deserved to know exactly what happened. They heard lots of rumors. We must begin planning what to tell our clients. This will be a very difficult period. Our customers have to believe that we can manage their investments with greater skill than our competitors. While my father has not been involved in the day-to-day operations of the firm for years, our client base believed that his legendary knowledge of the industry still guided our investment strategies. Now we have to reassure them that nothing will change, that we will handle their money in the same competent manner.

“And I should tell you, Sheriff, from this point forward for the foreseeable future I will have to be in Chicago. So if there are any bits of information that you still need from me, better try to get them now. I probably won’t be back in the area again for several weeks, depending of course, on where we decide to have the memorial service.”

“Just a few things, Mr. Wudbine. First, now that some time has passed, and you’ve had an opportunity to think about the events of last Saturday, I was wondering if you had some new speculations on who might have killed your father?”

“No. I have no idea. Like I told you, my father was an outstanding human being. His murder is beyond comprehension. Although it seems quite improbable, I somehow think that this was a random act. Anyone who really knew my father wouldn’t have done something like this.”

“We are trying to establish where everyone was near the time of your father’s murder.” Ray placed several sheets of paper in front of Elliott. “This is a transcript of our conversation on Sunday. Feel free to read the whole document, but I especially want to call your attention to the highlighted material. You said that you were in the theater until the end of the scene.”

Elliott pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and looked through the pages, paying special attention to the lines that Ray had marked with a yellow highlighter. After a few minutes Elliott looked up.

“Is the highlighted material consistent with your memory of the events?” asked Ray.

“Yes, I think that’s the way it happened. But so much occurred that evening, it’s hard to remember exactly…and I was exhausted and probably had too much scotch on an empty stomach. I think I had a bit of a buzz on. But for the most part, that’s what happened.”

“Mr. Wudbine, we have a witness who seems to think they saw you under the picnic shelter before the first scene ended. Is that possible?”

Wudbine looked down at the typed copy on the desk, nervously moving pages around. Finally he looked up at Ray. “Like I was telling you, I had a bit of a buzz on, and my back was killing me. I needed to get up and out of there. Maybe some of what I remember was based on things Jill told me. You know how memories sometimes get fused together.”

“Alyson Mickels told us that she moved the golf cart down to the picnic shelter. Our witness says soon after that she was joined by a man. Any chance that was you?” asked Ray.

Wudbine was slow to answer. “I think that’s possible. Given the rain and thunder and all, I was probably worried and went to check on her.”

Sue caught Wudbine’s eye. “Our witness said that it was quite the romantic encounter.”

Wudbine reddened. “We’re friends. I’m sure I only hugged her to show my concern.”

“And the two of you left immediately, heading back into the colony. Where were you going?” she pursued.

“Does this make me a suspect?”

“Quite the opposite,” said Sue. “It takes you out of the area at the time of the crime.”

“I was walking Alyson back to her cottage. She uses the one we keep for flight crews. I had brought an umbrella with me. She was soaking wet. So we got under my umbrella and went over to her place so she could change into some dry clothing. Not too long after we got there, Jill called, asking me to come backstage and get her.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this the first time?” pressed Sue.

Elliott stammered a bit. “Ah, well, I was afraid you’d get the wrong impression.”

“New Topic,” said Ray. “I understand that Pepper Markley is no longer with the firm.”

“That’s an HR matter. I don’t know anything about it.”

“Nothing?”

“Jill mentioned it in passing. With my father’s death, we no longer needed her services. Pepper was probably the highest paid barista in America,” he added. “My father was generous, perhaps foolishly so. Is she a suspect?”

“When are you going back to Chicago? We may need to talk with you again,” said Ray.

“I’d like to be there in time for the business day on Friday. My father’s body, when will it be released? We need to finalize our plans for a funeral or memorial service. I’m losing patience with your bureaucratic bumbling.”

Ray stood. “Thank you for coming in. We will be in touch.”

Wudbine pulled himself out of his chair, looked as if he was going say something, then hastily turned and pushed his way through the screen door. He stopped on the porch, lit a cigarette, looked back at Ray, then marched up the path away from the building.

“If looks could kill, you’d be dead,” said Sue. “We gave him just enough rope for the proverbial hanging.”

“How about his account of his encounter at the picnic shelter?”

“Chivalry runs in the family, distressed maidens are a Wudbine specialty. I wonder if he was good enough to help Alyson out of her wet things,” scoffed Sue.

“So where are we?”

“You can take Elliott and Alyson off the list of possible perpetrators. Whether they were part of a broader conspiracy is another question.”

“When you look at the transcript of the Pepper Markley interview, you will note she suggested that Jill Wudbine insisted that she accompany Elliott on a long business trip abroad in June. When they returned, Pepper felt her relationship with Jill had changed. There was the suggestion Jill thought Pepper might have designs on her husband.”

“Does she?” asked Sue.

“I don’t think so. And now it looks like he’s taken with Ashley.”

“Oh, Ray,” said Sue, “Elliott is probably like the source of his seed, smitten with anything that wears a dress. They are both very attractive women. Does Pepper stay on the list?”

“For now, but I don’t see a motive.”

42

Ray washed the tomatoes, removing the last bits of earth from multicolored fruits. Carefully slicing through the flesh, he arranged the slabs by size, the largest on the bottom, the smallest on the top, a medley of colors, shapes, and textures. After sprinkling course gray Mediterranean salt over the top, he added a dusting of freshly ground pepper. He picked through some fresh basil leaves, selecting only the most perfect ones, and arranged them at the center. Turning his attention to the smoked whitefish, he peeled off the blackened skin, and separated the meat from the spine, taking care to remove all the bones. He laid the fish out on a bed of thinly sliced lemon. Next Ray pulled a baguette from a low oven and started cutting pieces at an oblique angle.

“Did you read this?” asked Hanna, her back to him, papers spread in front of her on the table.

“I made a hard copy and glanced through the first few pages. Then I turned my attention to dinner. I wanted to have things on the table when you got here so we’d have the maximum hours of daylight on the water.”

“Tell me how far you read.”

“In layman’s terms, I know Wudbine died from a severed spinal cord. I also know the insertion point and the dimensions of the part of the blade that penetrated beyond the skin. That gives me a good sense of what we should be looking for. Although, by this point, I think the weapon is long gone.” Ray made several trips from the counter to the table with the bread, fish, and tomatoes. “Ice water?”

“Yup,” she responded, her attention glued to the report. “Did you read the toxicology?”

“Didn’t get that far.”

“You didn’t see the note on the pressure marks and the anterior bruising to the neck?”

“No. Anything else there?”

“Yes, but not definitive. The pathologist speculates, based on the pattern of bruising and fingernail marks, that the victim’s neck was held from the front by a right hand, helping pull the posterior part of the neck and spine into the penetrating object. The pathologist further speculates that the perpetrator was left-handed.”

Ray walked behind Hanna. He reached around with his right hand, gently grabbing her neck. Then he put his knuckles of his left hand against her spine just below her head.

“You got it,” said Hanna.

“Feels awkward,” Ray commented. “I’d want it the other way. But it makes sense.”

And the arsenic, you don’t know about the arsenic?”

“Arsenic, you’re putting me on. His blood was loaded with….”

“No, not a trace. His exposure happened a few months ago. Traces were found in an analysis of the hair. The time frame isn’t too precise, six or eight weeks ago. And the exposure was short term, but at a fairly high level. There’s a note that they can order some more sophisticated tests to better estimate the duration and level of exposure. You should have the complete analysis done. Also, they can do a similar study on the fingernails to verify the hair data.”

“Note those things in the margin. I’ll make sure they are done.” Ray dropped into his chair. “What would that mean, medically? What would be the symptoms of arsenic poisoning? If you wanted to poison him, where would you put the arsenic? Mashed potatoes, oatmeal? Refresh my memory.”

“Ray, this is way outside my area, I can only speculate. And there are lots of ways he could have been exposed. The fact that it’s present in his hair doesn’t mean someone was trying to poison him. For example, if he was downwind from an orchard that was being sprayed with an arsenic-based insecticide, if that is still done, he could have inhaled it. Arsenic is a common chemical in the environment. There are often trace amounts in water supplies and food.”

“How about coffee?”

“Depends where it’s grown, how much might have collected in the soil….”

“I mean, could you give it to someone in coffee. How does it taste?”

“Get me your laptop. I’ll do some background reading while I eat.”

Ray ate in silence, watching Hanna handle a fork with her left hand and keyboard with her right. Finally she looked up and said, “Okay, I know just enough to be dangerous. So don’t take anything I say as the final word. What were your questions?”

“Given a very discriminating coffee drinker, could you slip some arsenic in his brew without him noticing it?”

“Yes, especially if you were only lightly lacing the brew. Arsenic is odorless and tasteless.”

“Would a physician be able to diagnose the poisoning based on symptoms?”

“Well, that depends on how the patient presents. They would have some moderate to severe gastrointestinal symptoms, depending on the dosage. If blood work were done, an usually high level of arsenic would show up. But, I don’t think most physicians would start there. At a fairly low dosage, the symptoms would look like an intestinal virus or food poisoning, the kinds of things that usually resolve themselves in a few days on a bland diet. No one is going to order blood work for a common ailment unless there are extenuating circumstances.”

“How about shrimp and prawns?” asked Ray.

“Give me a few minutes?” Hanna set down her fork, both hands flying across the keyboard. Then she stopped, her eyes scanning the text as she scrolled down the page. “Naturally occurring. Subject to inspection. No reports of arsenic-related illness.” She looked across the table at Ray. “Seafood is usually a leading suspect in cases of food poisoning. I don’t know if it is more fragile than other meat sources, or if it is a problem with shipping, storage, and handling.

“So what’s going on here?” she asked. “This time you talk while I eat. Give me the back story.”

“One of the people I interviewed this afternoon told me that Wudbine had been very ill sometime in June. She said that shrimp or prawns were thought to be the source of the food poisoning. The arsenic finding changes everything.”

“How does the coffee fit into this?”

“My speculation. The person who usually prepared his coffee was out of the country. There’s a lot here I still don’t understand, but I think the pieces are starting to fall together. I need to call Sue. We need some search warrants.”

“Tonight?”

“No, just starting the process. Hopefully we can serve them tomorrow morning. I like to start early, keeps people off balance.”

Hanna remained silent for several moments.

“What’s going on?” asked Ray.

“I think the data just indicates the presence of arsenic in his system at a greater than expected level for a number of days. You would need to study hair samples from other household members and employees to prove that he was an outlier.”

Ray nodded his agreement as his mind whirled with the language of the proposed search warrant.