by M. K. Wren
Chapter 7
Conan followed Kleber down the flagstone walk, bending with him under the yellow tape. Justine Lasky was striding toward them, her posture imperious, her tone, when she spoke, controlled and crisp.
“Chief Kleber, how long must we wait here? ”
“Ma ’am, I ’m afraid I, uh, don ’t have jurisdiction here. We ’re waiting for the sheriff. ”
She frowned, then looked around distractedly as a white station wagon slewed to a stop in a cloud of dust that overtook it and blew southward. Conan recognized the driver, whose profile was as distinctive as an Assyrian king ’s: Dr. Gregory Feingold.
Justine asked, “Is that the sheriff? ”
“No, that ’s the medical examiner, ” Kleber replied. “Look, as long as you folks stay in town where the sheriff can reach you, I don ’t see any reason for you to wait out here in the sun. ”
“Thank you, Chief, ” she said with a sigh of relief. “We ’ll be at the Surf House if the sheriff wishes to speak to us. ” She started toward her car, then paused to add, “At least until the funeral arrangements are made. We will, of course, attend the services, wherever they may be. ”
“Yes, ma ’am. Just let the sheriff know before you leave town. ”
She nodded and hurried away, while Kleber, with Conan in his wake, set out for the station wagon. By the time they reached it, Justine was already driving up Dunlin Beach Road in the gray Buick, with Marian in tandem at the wheel of the white Buick.
Feingold slid out from behind the driver ’s seat of the station wagon, peering through thick glasses at Kleber. “Chief, how are you? ”
He didn ’t answer that. “I hear Giff is on his way. ”
“Well, that ’s what he said. Conan! I wondered if you ’d figure a way to get mixed up in this. ”
“I’m just an innocent bystander. How are you, Greg? ”
“Running a little ragged, actually. Summer. Business is brisk on the coast. By the way, Chief, Giff is bringing his crime scene team in. ”
Conan asked, “His what? ”
Kleber grimaced with disgust. “You haven ’t heard about Giff ’s shiny new crime scene team? Set the taxpayers back a bundle, and all he ’s got to show for it is a van with minimum equipment and two deputies to man it, and only one of ’em has any real training. ”
Conan turned to Feingold. “Giff isn ’t calling in a State Police team? ”
“He knows who the victim is, Conan, and he knows who the victim ’s wife is. He figures this ’ll give him more media coverage than he could buy in a lifetime. Ol ’ Giff isn ’t going to share any glory with the State Police —not with an election coming up. ”
Kleber demanded, “He told you that? ”
“I just read between the lines. I also read between the lines about who the main suspect is, and I ’m sorry about that, Chief. One thing going for you, though, is he ’ll have to send all the material to the state crime lab for analysis. ” He pushed his glasses up on his imperial nose as he squinted northward. “Looks like the Marines are about to land. ”
Out of a storm of dust, two tan sheriff ’s department cars rumbled into the turnaround, followed by a van of the same color marked with the same badge insignia and the words CRIME SCENE TEAM. As the dust settled, car doors opened, and the first to emerge was Sheriff Gifford Wills. Clad in a brown uniform, gun belt riding low under his belly, a tan Stetson covering his sparse blond hair, Wills strode toward Kleber.
But he wasn ’t alone. A young woman in a deputy ’s uniform got out of the passenger seat of his patrol and maintained a strict distance behind him of perhaps two paces. She was black, her caf é au lait skin unadorned with cosmetics, her Stetson aligned at a perfect horizontal over hair cut no-nonsense short. Her eyes were striking, large and slanted. Conan guessed she would be entirely captivating when she smiled. He guessed further that she seldom smiled on duty. No doubt she had trouble enough getting her male colleagues to take her seriously without calling attention to her very evident femininity.
Wills nodded at Feingold, then drawled, “Earl, how ’re you doin ’?”
Kleber managed a curt “Fine, ” but he had a smile, however brief, for the deputy. “Morning, Deputy Jones. ”
“Hello, Chief, ” she said soberly, then pointedly surveyed Conan. He had the feeling she didn ’t miss much.
Kleber took the hint. “Conan, I guess you haven ’t met Deputy Neely Jones. Conan Flagg. ”
Neely Jones seemed a little surprised when Conan offered his hand and said, “I’m glad to meet you, Deputy. Neely? Was that originally Cornelia, by any chance? ”
“Right. My aunt ’s name. ” She pronounced it ahnt. “Seemed a little too dignified for me. I figure I can always revert to Cornelia when I reach eighty. ” She had almost smiled with that, but with a glance at Wills, she reverted to her businesslike sobriety.
Wills eyed her obliquely, then hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and asked, “Well, Earl, what ’ve you got here? ”
Kleber gave him a succinct but full report, referring occasionally to his notes. The report did not, however, include his and Conan ’s examination of the body. Neely took out a notebook, and she wrote so quickly, Conan guessed she was using shorthand. Finally Wills nodded sagely, then turned to squint at the house. “Well, I better go have a look at the body. Come on, Neely. Dr. Feingold? You comin ’?” Feingold nodded, and the three of them set out for the house.
Kleber sighed. “I’d give my eyeteeth to have Neely Jones on my force. Specialized in homicide investigation at the L.A. Police Academy, and Giff treats her like a combination stenographer and gofer. ”
“How long has she been putting up with him? ” Conan asked. “And why? ”
“Neely ’s been working for Giff for about a year, and I guess the why has to do with her boyfriend. He ’s a biologist at the Oceanographic Center in Westport. ” Kleber gave a short laugh. “Neely says she ’s Giff ’s bargain package. His token black and token woman, all in one. ”
Wills ’s look at the body was brief. He came out of the house, alone, moving noticeably faster than when he entered it, his usually florid face pasty. He paused to talk to his crime scene team, and they began hauling equipment into the house. Wills ambled over to Kleber and Conan, pushed his Stetson back, and shook his head, but his pale eyes were glinting with triumph. “That ’s the damnedest thing I ever seen. Earl, you got any idea who that chain saw belongs to? ”
Kleber replied coolly, “We figure it must belong to Cady MacGill. ”
“MacGill? ” The sheriff frowned, as if perplexed. “He any relation to the guy your daughter married? ”
Kleber snapped, “He is the guy my daughter married. ” Then he added with some satisfaction: “We picked Cady up. He ’s at the station. ”
“Oh. Well, good work, Earl. Now, you know, we got a problem here. This is your jurisdiction, and normally this ’d be your case, but —”
“I’m removing myself from this case, ” Kleber cut in. “It ’s all yours, Giff, and we both know why. The only reason I ’m here now is because Byron Lasky called me, and I came out to secure the crime scene. And now that you ’re here, my men and I are leaving. ”
He started to walk away, but Wills, obviously caught short, stuttered out, “Well —I mean, just —Earl, just a minute. ” Kleber turned, and Wills said, “Okay, but just remember, we gotta keep this thing off the radio. We don ’t want this gettin ’ out any sooner than we can help, or we ’ll have reporters and TV people all over the place. ”
“Well, we certainly wouldn ’t want that, would we? My people have the word, Giff. ” And with that he stalked away to his patrol car, shouting orders to his men. Within thirty seconds, the two Holliday Beach police cars were heading north on Dunlin Beach Road. Wills glared after them, jaw thrust forward pugnaciously, and Conan decided that the time had come for an unobtrusive exit.
He made it to the XK-E, whose shining black finish had collected a great deal of the dust thrown up in th
e comings and goings here. And more dust was on its way. He frowned when he recognized the maroon Skylark that materialized out of the tan cloud, then he jogged into the turnaround to join Wills as he strode toward the car. “Sheriff, that ’s Dana Semenov. She was here at the party last night. ”
“So? ”
“So she was one of the last people to see Gould alive. She ’s a potential witness and maybe a suspect. ”
Wills ’s snort of disgust was eloquent, but he held up a hand to stop Dana and went to the driver ’s side. She pushed her cornsilk hair back from her cheek with an impatient gesture. “Officer, what ’s going on? ”
“It ’s sheriff, ma ’am. There ’s been a death here, Ms….Semenov. Is that your name? ”
“A death? ” She stared at him, then opened the car door and got out, and for a moment it seemed she might bolt for the house. “Is it Ravin? What did he do? What happened? ”
“I’m afraid Mr. Gould is dead, ma ’am. ” While she digested that, Wills patted his pockets and finally came up with a pen and notebook. “I need your full name and address. ”
Dana provided them, the words barely intelligible. Then she pleaded, “Officer, for God ’s sake, what happened? ”
“It ’s sheriff, ma ’am. Mr. Gould was murdered. ”
“What? Was it a burglary? ”
“I don ’t figure it was, no, ma ’am. ”
She sagged against the car. “This is…it ’s such a shock,Officer. ”
Wills grimaced irritably. “Lady, what ’s your relationship with the victim? ”
“With Ravin? Well, we ’re friends. I’ve known Ravin and Savanna for years. I flew in last night for a quick visit, and I just came by this morning to say goodbye. I’m due in L.A. this afternoon. ” She looked at her watch and started to get back into her car. “Excuse me, Officer, I have to go. The helicopter shuttle leaves in —”
“It ’s sheriff, ” Wills repeated. “When was the last time you saw Gould alive? You were one of the last people to see him alive, weren ’t you? ”
She flinched. “All I can tell you is that I dropped by to see Ravin and Savanna last night, and they had some guests. I left at the same time the other guests did —about nine-thirty —and drove back to Baysea. I had a drink in the bar, then I went to my room, and I didn ’t leave it. I was trying to sleep off my jet lag, and it wasn ’t easy. At one o ’clock in the morning a bunch of drunks came staggering past my window and serenaded each other at the top of their lungs out in the parking area. ”
“Uh-huh. ” Wills nodded indifferently, his attention wandering. “Okay, I ’ll get a formal statement from you later. Maybe tomorrow. ”
“Tomorrow? Officer, are you out of your mind? ”
Which was an error on her part, not only questioning his sanity, but persisting in calling him officer. Conan managed not to smile as Wills tipped back on his heels, eyes down to slits. “It ’s sheriff, lady, and I am not out of my mind. I’m investigating a murder. So stick around. I’ll let you know when you can leave town. ” When she began sputtering in outrage, Wills added, “You got two choices: stick around, or I ’ll put you in the courthouse jail, where I can keep an eye on you. ”
Dana got into her car, the keys jangling with the shaking of her hands as she started the motor. Then she looked at Conan suspiciously. “Your name is Flagg, isn ’t it? I thought you ran a bookshop. What ’re you doing here? ”
“I was also one of the last people to see Gould alive, Ms. Semenov. ” Then he said casually, “By the way, there was something stolen: the manuscripts for Gould ’s next book. For Odyssey. ”
He saw the suspicion freeze in Dana ’s amber eyes, and for a moment she couldn ’t seem to get her breath, and Conan considered that response recompense for risking the sheriff ’s ire.
She said bitterly, “Then it was probably Byron who stole them! ”
“Why would he do that? ”
“Because he —” She stopped to get herself under control, said coolly to Wills, “I’ll be at Baysea, Officer. ” With that, she drove away, throwing up an explosion of gravel that forced Conan and Wills to step back out of the way.
Wills swore under his breath, then with one object of his annoyance gone, he turned on Conan. “Flagg, what the hell ’re you hangin ’ around for? ”
“I was just pointing out a potential witness and suspect, Sheriff. ”
“Witness? Suspect? ” Wills tore off the sheet on which he had written Dana ’s name and address, wadded it, and tossed it away. “Flagg, I don ’t need any witnesses, and I got the only suspect that matters. ”
“You mean Earl Kleber has him. Before you get too carried away, you ’d better talk to Dr. Feingold. ” Conan looked past Wills and saw Feingold emerging from the house. “And here he comes. Goodbye, Sheriff. ” And he made his way to his car at a fast walk. Wills undoubtedly had more to say to him, but Dr. Feingold was heading in his direction, and he obviously had something to say to the sheriff.
As Conan drove down the dusty road, he lighted a cigarette and took a long drag, remembering that he ’d had neither breakfast nor coffee this morning. Hell of a way to start a day.
Hell of a way to end a life.
He knew that the image of Ravin Gould ’s body and that hideous wound would never fade from his memory. Nor would that small, carmine wound, the bullet hole.
It didn ’t make sense.
Ravin Gould had doubtless provided ample motivation for his murder. He had taken such obvious pleasure in antagonizing people. Playing games. And there were the missing manuscripts to consider.
But why kill Gould twice?
And it was interesting that Dana Semenov claimed to have known Gould and Savanna for years, yet she hadn ’t asked about Gould ’s widow.
Chapter 8
When he passed the bookshop, Conan noted that it was closed as per Kleber ’s orders, while the other shops along the block seemed to be doing a brisk business. But Miss Dobie was still on duty, as evidenced by the presence of her red Porsche in the parking lane. He wondered what she found to do within the darkened shop, other than fume at the loss of what she called a Prime-Time day. Probably she was restoring books to their proper places, no small task at any time of year. Some perverse law of human nature dictated that once a book was removed from a shelf, it was never returned to the same place.
But such perversities were not foremost in his mind. As he drove north on Highway 101, he was still mentally wrestling with the fact that Ravin Gould had been murdered twice. And wrestling with the missing manuscripts: somewhere around twenty-seven hundred sheets of manuscript. Plus the notebooks. Who had stolen them? Not Cady MacGill. Why would he? To destroy them as an act of revenge?
That seemed too intellectual for Cady. He didn ’t lack intelligence, but his thinking processes were direct and pragmatic. He had an innate grasp of mechanical function, and he could not only use but repair any machine, from chain saw to Cat. He grasped the physics of falling a tree in the same manner, and his skill at dropping a hundred-foot, ten-ton column of solid wood and putting it exactly where he wanted it was legend. But if asked to explain how he achieved that feat, he ’d probably shrug his massive shoulders and say, “Well, it just works out that way. ”
No, Conan thought, Cady MacGill didn ’t steal the manuscripts any more than he coolly shot Gould in the heart before administering that spectacularly unkindest cut to the throat with his own chain saw.
But the theft of the manuscripts and the murder must be related.
“Oh, hell. ”
He realized he was almost upon the junction where he should turn off to the police station. He squealed into a right turn, dodged potholes for two blocks, then turned left into the parking area in front of the concrete-block building that housed Holliday Beach ’s twelve-person police force. The station, and the radio antenna on its roof, had been given a new coat of paint this summer: pale blue with white trim.
Inside the station, Conan found Sergeant Dave Hight sitting
behind the counter near the front door, arms folded over his thick torso, the fluorescent lights reflected on his bald head. He said, “Hi, Conan. ”
“Hello, Dave. Is the chief…” He noted Hight ’s worried frown and followed the direction of his gaze to the glass-paneled door on the east wall. Kleber ’s office. The chief was standing behind his desk, shoulders hunched with tension, and on the other side of the desk Angie MacGill stood, head bowed, waiflike in jeans and an oversize shirt that was probably one of Cady ’s.
Kleber ’s words weren ’t intelligible through the door, except for one phrase: “What would your mother have said? ” It was then that Kleber looked out through the glass and saw Conan. He said something to Angie, and she nodded and left the office. She closed the door, staring at Conan, then ran to him and grasped his arms with small, strong hands.
“Conan, I ’ve got to talk to you. Please, Conan! ”
He nodded. “All right, Angie. Where? ”
She apparently expected more resistance. “Well, we can use the interrogation room. ” She struck out toward the corridor leading to the back of the building, with Conan behind her, and once they were inside the small, windowless room, she sank into one of the metal chairs at the table and wailed, “Oh, this is all my fault. If it hadn ’t been for —I mean, Cady wouldn ’t have…” Her pretty face was so contorted, Conan expected a howl of anguish. But none came. She only repeated hopelessly, “It ’s all my fault.…”
“Why? ” Conan sat down in the chair on the other side of the table. “Because you were sleeping with Ravin Gould? ” Perhaps that was less than tactful, but Conan needed a cup of coffee. He needed breakfast. He did not need Angie ’s mea culpa.
Her blue eyes went wide, then she looked down, nodded. “It seems so dumb now, but…oh, he was so sweet, so kind and gentle. ”
Conan took his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, and while he lighted one, tried to imagine Ravin Gould as sweet or kind and gentle.
“Angie, did you tell your father about you and Gould? ”
