Dead Matter

by M. K. Wren

  “Why not? ”

  “Because if…” Doc stopped, his eyes closing to slits as he downed half his drink in one swallow. “That was a long time ago. I’m going home. Too damn many strangers. ” He dismounted from his stool and with beleaguered dignity made his way to the entrance.

  Max was taking advantage of a lull in orders to inventory the bottles behind the bar. He came over to Conan. “What ’d you do to the old man? Never seen him leave anything in his glass before. ”

  “I don ’t really know what I did, Max. By the way, were you on duty Saturday night? ”

  “Yes. I usually pull a double shift on Saturdays. ”

  “The lady with Marc…”

  “Marian Rosenthal? ” Max asked. “What about her? ”

  “Do you remember seeing her here after, say, ten o ’clock? ”

  Max picked up Doc ’s glass and wiped the bar with the towel that always seemed to be ready in his left hand. “She was here, Conan, but I can ’t be sure of the time. I do know she was still here at closing time. ”

  “But you can ’t say whether she was here all the time from ten until two-thirty? ”

  “Nope. Saturday nights are always busy in the summer. I can keep my eye on people I think might make trouble, but Marian wasn ’t the troublemaking type. I just remember she seemed to be having a real good time. Liked the music. ”

  “So she said. Do you know Byron and Justine Lasky? ”

  “Sure. Perrier twists and very dry martinis. ”

  Conan smiled at that. “Did you see either of them Saturday night? ”

  “Not here. But I saw Mrs. Lasky. I took a cigarette break about midnight, and when it ’s not raining, I like to go over to that spot on the walk between the pool and the new suites. Kind of out of the wind, and I can see the ocean from there. As it happens, I get a good view of the front of the suites from there, too, and I saw Mrs. Lasky leave the building and go to her car and drive off. The walk ’s lit up at night, so I was sure it was her. She ’s the kind of woman you remember. ”

  “She was alone? ”

  “Right. That seemed strange. I mean, she and her husband are like Siamese twins, you know. Always together. ”

  “Did you see her return? ”

  Max laughed. “Hey, Conan, I was lucky to get one break Saturday night. ” His eyes narrowed as he looked toward the entrance. “Damn, speak of the devil. Or angels, for all I know. ”

  Justine and Byron Lasky had just walked into the bar. Marian hailed them, and Conan watched while she introduced them to Marc, who rose and offered Justine a courtly bow. Byron Lasky seemed entirely recovered from the near panic Conan had seen this morning, and Justine, her exotic coloring enhanced with a scarlet blouse and white slacks, was smiling graciously. They did not, however, sit down, and Marian rose, seemed ready to leave, then began rummaging around in her big canvas purse.

  Conan crossed to the table, arriving just as she took something out of the purse and started to hand it to Justine, but, perhaps distracted by Conan, dropped it. “Oh, damn…” He leaned down to retrieve it. An amber plastic pill bottle. He managed to read three words on its label before he handed it to Marian: Byron Lasky and Nembutal.

  Marian said, “Oh, thanks, Conan. Here, Justine, I ’d better get these back to you before I forget. ”

  Justine slipped the bottle into her slacks pocket, her smile cool as she faced Conan. “Mr. Flagg, how nice to see you again. I didn ’t realize earlier that we were in the presence of a genuine private investigator. ”

  Byron offered a smile that, unlike his wife ’s, seemed quite sincere. “I hope that ’s not something you didn ’t want bandied about, Mr. Flagg. ”

  “Well, it seems to invite bandying. ”

  “I’m sure it does. ” Lasky ’s smile turned ragged around the edges as he asked, “Do you know if anyone has found the manuscripts? ”

  “No, not yet, Mr. Lasky. ”

  Marian cut in, “Conan, what do you recommend for dinner here? I’m famished. Must be the sea air. ”

  “Well, I like the stuffed sole, but I ’ve never had a bad meal here. ”

  That served as a signal for hurried —and it seemed to Conan nervous —leave-takings, and within a minute Marian and the Laskys had disappeared to seek a window table in the dining room.

  Conan resumed his chair and his drink, while Fitch watched him with the intent patience of a cobra. He said, “Conan, I ’ll forgive you for dallying around while I sit here in miserable ignorance, because I find your Manhattan friends most interesting, and because I know bartenders are perhaps the best sources of information on Earth. But what about the old man? Did he offer a revelation? ”

  “No. Damn, I have to find out what Odyssey was about, Marc. ”

  “Maybe you should look in a bookshop. Like your own. What kind of bookshop doesn ’t have at least one copy of Homer? ”

  “Not that Odyssey. Gould ’s last book. The manuscripts are missing. ”

  Fitch reached for his Chivas. “Ah. Now we ’re getting down to the case on the docket. Talk to me, Conan. Tell me everything you know. ”

  Conan talked to Fitch and answered his questions for half an hour, and finally Fitch seemed mollified, if not satisfied. There were too many gaps in Conan ’s knowledge to satisfy either of them.

  At length, Fitch rose, glanced at his diamond-encrusted watch. “I’ve got another court gig in the morning, but I ’ll be back here tomorrow afternoon for MacGill ’s bail hearing. Not that any Taft County judge is likely to grant my client bail, but one must try. After all, that ’s what I ’m getting paid for. Isn ’t it, Conan? ”

  Conan laughed as he walked with Fitch out into the entry hall. “Well, Angie said she was willing to work out your fee. I’m sure you could use a little help around the office. ”

  “Are you talking about MacGill ’s ever-loving Angel? ”

  “Of course. She was Herb Latimer ’s secretary for four years. Almost his legal secretary, she says. ”

  “An almost legal secretary trained by Herb Latimer? ” Fitch pushed open the outside door, staring back at Conan. “Surely you jest! ”

  “Not at all. By the way, you were supposed to bring a package from Shelly Gage today. ”

  “Well, unfortunately, I came to Holliday Beach straight from the Multnomah County Courthouse. I called my secretary on my car phone, and she told me about the lovely Shelly ’s visit, and yes, she did leave a package. ” They had reached Fitch ’s Rolls-Royce, and he unlocked the door and slid in behind the wheel. “What ’s in it? ”

  “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. ” He was not in a mood for more of Fitch ’s comments on his television appearance. “Just bring the package. ”

  Fitch began backing out of the parking place without bothering to look behind him. Miraculously, he didn ’t hit the passing station wagon and its vacationing family, complete with at least four children and a cocker spaniel.

  “Not to worry, Conan, I ’ll bring it. And then you will damn well reveal the contents of that package. ”

  Chapter 18

  Conan stood at the bar at the south end of his living room, a hand still resting on the telephone. It had been a one-sided conversation, Savanna bubbling on about Booth Kettering ’s imminent arrival, about the myriad calls and offers her agent had reported, about people she referred to by first names, whom he guessed he should recognize, but didn ’t. She was, as his father might have said, wound up like a ten-cent clock. Conan offered occasional comments so she ’d know he was still on the line, but he wondered if she needed that. Perhaps. Her farewell had been equivocal: “Conan, oh, you sweet man, don ’t forget me. ”

  As if she didn ’t know very well how impossible that would be.

  He hadn ’t asked Savanna about her visit to the bank. He told himself he couldn ’t be sure Gould had put the original disks of the third draft in the safety deposit box.

  Behind the bar, the lights in the cases that displayed Conan ’s collection of jade prayer wheels
had automatically switched on as the last light faded on the horizon. He poured an Old Forester rocks and took it with him into the library. On the desk lay a plastic envelope containing the scrap of manuscript he had taken from the fireplace at the Gould condo, a legal pad and several sheets of notes, plus the first forty pages of Gould ’s fourth draft.

  Conan sat down at the desk, lighted a cigarette, took a sip of bourbon, and thus fortified, picked up the manuscript. Ravin Gould ’s hook, his immortal first line, was: “My father was a fucking bastard. ” Conan groaned, but read on hopefully. Gould did not, however, amplify that lead in this chapter, which took place when Jimmy Silver, down to his last dollar and last toke, was living in an empty warehouse in New Orleans, where he not only found a willing and exotic fifteen-year-old girl to bed down, but was graphically beaten by the nymphet ’s pimp, and while lying bleeding in the rain, had a full-blown epiphany.

  All this in forty pages. And none of it told Conan anything about Jimmy Silver ’s formative years in Forsuch Beach.

  Conan grimaced as he tossed the manuscript aside. But there were other questions whose answers might be more accessible. He went to a shelf near the corner where the Knight brooded, pulled a book off the shelf, and took it to the desk. It was a Hebrew-English Dictionary.

  All he had to go on was the sound of the word Marian Rosenthal had said was inlaid on the ring, and it took a while to translate the sound into a word: ahava. He had no doubt this was the word she intended. The dictionary translated ahava into the English word love.

  Had Jacob Rosenthal given that ring to his wife? It didn ’t seem likely in view of the fact that it had been on Ravin Gould ’s hand Saturday night only a few hours before he was murdered.

  It seemed far more likely that the ring had belonged to Gould ’s third wife, the daughter Marian still grieved.

  Allison Rosenthal Gould.

  Conan wrote ahava on the yellow page headed Marian.

  He turned to another page, one headed Dana. There were few entries there. After a moment, he opened a drawer and pulled out a local phone book, found the listing for Baysea Resort, motel office. When he punched the number, a voice both young and feminine answered with “Baysea Resort, this is Tiffany. ”

  Conan thought: of course it is. Aloud he said, “Yes, ma ’am, this is Conan Flagg, and I ’m investigating the murder of Ravin Gould. ”

  There was a sharp “Oh ” from Tiffany before she asked, “What can I do for you, Officer? ”

  Conan let the officer stand. “I’m checking a witness statement, ma ’am. Was a Ms. Dana Semenov registered there last Saturday night? ”

  “Well, let me check…” Conan heard the click of computer keys, then Tiffany said, “Here she is. Room 1003 in the top tier. She ’s still registered, you know. ”

  “Yes, ma ’am. The witness claims there was a commotion in the top tier about one o ’clock Sunday morning. Some intoxicated persons were singing loudly in the parking area. Did your office receive any complaints from other customers that would verify that claim? ”

  “Oh, yes, we got lots of complaints. Frank —he ’s the manager —went up with the security man, you know, but by the time they got there, the people had gone to their rooms and passed out. I mean, that ’s what Frank said probably happened. ”

  “How many complaints did you have? ”

  “Let ’s see, there ’s a form I have to fill out if —oh, yeah, here it is. One, two…uh, five units called in. You want their names? They all checked out, you know, but we have the names and addresses. ”

  “No, that won ’t be necessary at this time, but I ’d appreciate it if you didn ’t destroy the list until you hear from me. ”

  “Oh, I wouldn ’t do that anyway. Everybody who stays here, you know, goes on our mailing list. ”

  “Was one of those complaints from room 1003? ”

  Tiffany took a moment to check her forms, then replied cheerfully, “Nope. No complaint from 1003. ”

  When Conan hung up, he wrote: Five complaints, none from Dana, after the notation Singing drunks —1:00 A.M. And he wondered if Dana had actually heard the inebriated carolers or had been told about them the next morning by one of the complainers.

  His next call also went to Baysea, this one to the Orca Lounge, where he learned that the bartender on duty tonight, one Dion Lake, had also been on duty Saturday night. Yes, he remembered a tall, attractive blonde. He always remembered tall, attractive blondes, although this one was maybe a little thin-shanked. Vodka, ice-cold and straight up. He even knew her name, because she paid her tab with an American Express card. Dana Something. The accounting department could find it. They had all the charge card slips.

  Conan asked, “Can you remember approximately when this Dana arrived and when she left? ”

  Dion had to think about that. “Well, she must ’ve come in about ten-thirty. I didn ’t go on till ten, and it wasn ’t long after that when this bim —uh, this lady came in and sat down at a table in the corner. All by herself, but she wasn ’t interested in company. When I was delivering a round to the next table, I heard her tell one guy to bugger off. Said she was expecting somebody. ”

  Conan made a note on Dana ’s sheet. “Did that somebody appear? ”

  “Nope. A little while later, she left. ”

  “Can you be more specific about the time? ”

  “Hey, it was a Saturday night. We were busy. I’d say it was maybe eleven-thirty when she left. Could ’ve been later, I don ’t know. ”

  Conan thanked Dion and hung up, made a notation on Dana ’s sheet, then picked up the plastic envelope and studied the manuscript fragment. Was it something that Gould had deleted from the third draft? If so, why had Savanna burned it?

  And why didn ’t he just ask her?

  Because, he reminded himself, staring into the corner at the Knight, it wasn ’t always wise to reveal evidence to a suspect.

  Was Savanna Barany still a suspect?

  Conan put the envelope aside and lighted another cigarette before he again reached for the telephone. This was a long-distance call. It went to Steve Travers in Salem.

  He found Steve at home, apparently watching a baseball game. “Okay, Conan, it ’s the seventh-inning stretch, so what ’s going on down there? ”

  “If you really want to know, it ’ll be a long stretch. ”

  Steve sighed. “Well, it ’s a lousy game anyway. ”

  “By the way, is the Oregon State Police ’s official policy still to give Giff Wills his head? ”

  “Right. But we ’re keeping a tight rein on him. He just doesn ’t know it yet. In fact, we ’ve been taking care of a few details for him, just in case he forgets. ”

  “Details like what? ”

  “Like a search of the Gould condo. But before I start spilling all my beans, I want to hear what you ’ve got to say for yourself. ”

  Conan had a lot to say for himself. He referred occasionally to his notes, sometimes adding a question as it occurred to him. Yet when he had finished his account, it seemed pitifully devoid of substance.

  Steve, however, was impressed enough to say, “It ’ll do for a start. ”

  “It damn well better. ” Conan picked up his glass, noting that the ice had melted down to transparent pebbles. “So now it ’s your turn. What about the autopsy? ”

  “It ’s done. We had the body sent to the state M.E. ’s lab, and Dan Reuben did the autopsy himself. He faxed me a copy of the report. Just a minute, let me get my briefcase. ” There was a silence, then after a minute or so, a rustle of papers. “Okay, Dan says the cause of death was a twenty-two caliber bullet fired into the heart at point-blank range, probably from a small handgun. If the gun ever turns up, he extracted the bullet for ballistics. Time of death, between 11:00 P.M. and 2:00 A.M., give or take an hour or so. ”

  “When did Gould get his throat so crudely cut? ”

  “After he was shot. That ’s as far as Dan would commit himself. He says it ’s hard to pin down the time
on a postmortem wound. ”

  “What else did he come up with? ”

  “A blood alcohol content high enough to kill some people in itself. Other than that, nothing. No marks on the body to indicate a struggle. ”

  “Which might mean that when Gould was shot, he was unconscious due to his high Bruichladdich content? ”

  “High what content? ”

  “Bruichladdich. It ’s a single-malt Scotch. Gould ’s poison of choice. ”

  “Well, he wasn ’t alert enough to fight back when somebody pulled a gun on him. ” Steve hesitated, then, “Damn it, why would somebody shoot him dead, then go to the trouble of nearly cutting off his head? Why take the extra risk of breaking into your bookshop to steal the chain saw? ”

  “Maybe it was symbolic, Steve. ” Conan blew a lopsided smoke ring while he waited for the predictable explosion.

  “Symbolic! You mean a satanist killing, like Gould was some sort of sacrificial lamb? Who ever heard of sacrificing a lamb —or goat or virgin or whatever —with a chain saw? ”

  “Well, Taft County does have a few satanists in its wide lunatic fringe, but I ’ll admit a chain saw is an unwieldy tool for a sacrificial coup. Did Giff ’s crime scene team turn up anything at the murder scene? They sent everything to the OSP Crime Lab, didn ’t they? ”

  “Yes, and I ’ve got an inventory and a report on that, too. Giff ’s men picked up some glass fragments sifting through the stuff off the carpets in the living room and office, and they match the glass from your shop. ”

  “Not exactly a revelation. Steve, did anyone find any computer disks in the house? I think they ’d have noticed, since the disks were marked with Gould ’s name and Odyssey. ”

  “Let ’s see…no, nothing here about computer disks. ”

  “What about fingerprints on the saw? ”

  “There were plenty, including yours, but the rest were MacGill ’s. Interesting thing, though, the lab guys found a fragment of something caught in the chain. Maybe plastic or rubber. They ’re working on it. ”