“If Maureen had found the earrings, would you have gutted her as well?”
Edward bowed his head. “I didn’t want to kill Allie. She was so sweet. Poor woman. The plan was to make it look like Timothy committed suicide. I’d slash his wrists with his own razor. I stole it from the bathroom when I went to visit Allie to cheer her up. He was the only one who could tie me to the earrings if anyone figured it out. I had a chance at the party. He was drugged up; I could take him home and he would just go to sleep. It would have been so easy. If the earring trick was ever discovered, well, he was the one who had them made. He was the one with the chemist father. I had to pin it on someone because it wasn’t an accident any longer. That’s why I was so adamant with you that the writer of the note was the killer. Tim had to die, but…”
“But a more urgent murder came your way.”
“That’s right. I couldn’t believe it when Allie swallowed them. It was disgusting. Well, you saw it. You saw what I had to do.”
“Did she beg you for her life?”
“Come now, that’s unfair. I’m not proud of it. There was no pleasure in killing her. She didn’t suffer—it was less than a minute. I was more worried that Maura had followed her to the theater and seen me leave. I love that girl so much. I’d do anything to protect her. I thought we could have a happy life together, but things just spiraled out of control. I can’t really blame her. Pot and kettle, you know.”
Rowan blurted, “And Williams?”
Edward shrugged. “It was your fault if you think about it. You put me in a corner. You could have turned this case down. You could have quit after Lisa died and called it an accident. Just couldn’t leave it alone though. You—”
The hollow, high-pitched pop of the gunshot rang out through the room. The sound remained in Edward’s ears, vibrating with dull echoes, the pungent smell of sawdust and graphite quickly overtaken by that horrifying scent of copper. Edward clasped against the blood spurting from his throat, his body jerking back against the couch.
“That was for Williams.” Rowan waited patiently for the last spasm and then turned to the steps.
Upstairs, the old woman was snoring, her lips quivering over raw, pink gums. Rowan pulled a chair to the bed and took out one of Dave Bowen’s syringes. He stared at her, trying to see the younger face buried under the old one. “Christine. Christine.” He gently patted her arm.
Her eyelids jerked open, but her body remained at ease. “It’s you. You’re that old detective.”
“That’s right. I am Rowan Manory.”
“Where’s Edward?”
“Downstairs. Christine, I want you to tell me all about Devil’s Lake. I want you to tell me about Clarence Williams.”
She licked her lips. “You know about Clarence?”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Clarence didn’t want to go into the water.”
“No?”
“He was scared. He’d almost drowned before. So, I had to convince him.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I told him I’d sleep with him, silly. It didn’t take much with Clarence. I suggested skinny dipping. A beer and an erection later, he was willing to go in with me. I used to be a decent looking woman if you can believe it. I had beautiful blonde hair. Maybe a little pudgy, but Clarence was never a picky man. I told him I’d keep us tied together with a rope. When we got far enough from land, I untied the knot and swam back just in time to see him go under. I had to do it after what he did to Agatha. I was the one who caught them, him and that little tramp. They were up in the attic. Think about that. He brought her here.”
“Lisa Pluviam.”
“Yes. I heard her voice in the theater. She changed her hair, but I remembered the voice. She was a rotten student, a rotten girl and a terrible actress.” Christine stared off to the window. “I think Edward’s dating her now. I told him not to do it. She probably wants revenge.”
“Your ears are red.”
“Edward put those earrings in my ear. I told them they weren’t pierced, but he wouldn’t listen. Before we left the theater, he shoved them through my lobe. He said it was for a test. It hurt so much.” She winced. “Ouch! What was that?”
“Curare. You will remember it soon enough. Tell me, how did you quit smoking? Keep talking to me, Christine. Do not stop.”
“I quit a long time ago. My doctor said…” She stopped. Rowan leaned in next to her frozen face. Her chest rose and fell a few more times and then lay still above her dying heart. From her paralyzed tomb, Christine watched the old detective leave the room.
Rowan slumped into Christine’s chair and sat motionless, watching the minute hand of the clock move ten times. When he thought the old woman long past the possibility of revival, he went to the telephone.
“Grady, you need to come to the Filius residence straight away. No, two more. The last ones.”
CHAPTER 17 the end of inquiry
2:43 p.m. Tuesday, April 17th
A rainbow arced over the eastern part of the city. Sparse drops of rain hid themselves in the air, defiant of the sun’s newly restored heat and falling in light-drenched sprinkles. Rowan sat on the top step of the porch. He made a visor with his hands. “Did you catch Maureen?”
Grady paced back and forth over the lawn. His mouth scowled upward, flattening his mustache against his nose. “Young’s still looking for the kid.”
“The mother informed me she would arrive at Union Station by nine o’clock. It would be nice if Maureen went back with her. We could say that something good came from all this.”
Inside the house, the paramedics covered Edward’s body with a sheet and discussed how they would go about getting the old woman’s body down the stairs.
Grady perched himself on the bottom step, flopping his hat over his knee and squinting at the sun. “At least we won’t have to go to that goddamn theater anymore. Getting pretty tired of that place.” He slapped at a mosquito on his neck. “I’ve done dumbass things for a woman, but not quite like you. Not like this. Jesus. I told you not to take the case. I still can’t believe you killed an old lady in her nightgown. Just about the most damn cowardly thing I’ve seen in my fifty-seven years, Manory.”
Rowan said, “Williams also told me not to take the case. I should not be so stubborn.”
Grady’s voice lowered to a whispery rasp. “I’m sorry, son. Walter was a good man.” He looked off in the distance. “So this crime scene…”
“There is nothing to discuss. I did what I had to, and now you must do the same. You have my confession. I’ll sign any paper you put in front of me.”
Grady harrumphed. “You, of all people—blowing your wig like that. I know Walter was your friend but…Christ, you killed an old lady. I don’t mean to harp on it, but goddamnit!”
Rowan nodded. “You have to take me in Grady. There is no other choice, is there?”
“Yeah well, I worked with your mother. I knew you when you were as tall as my crotch.” He was silent for a while. Only the cawing and chirping of birds could be heard. Finally Grady growled and slapped on his hat. “Here’s the deal, sport. If there’s anything left in that chrome dome, you’ll take it. I’ll end all inquiries on the opening night murders. Get your affairs in order and then skip town. I don’t care where, just not here. And don’t tell me your new address neither. I don’t want to have to send you a fucking Christmas card every year.”
“Awfully benevolent of you, Grady. I was planning on leaving Chicago anyway. Williams always wanted to go to Los Angeles. Perhaps I will make a new identity for myself there.” Rowan pushed himself off the steps, staggering onto the walkway.
“Hey, Manory? Did you at least tell Filius that he killed the wrong sister? I mean, before you popped him?”
“I meant to. I had planned it to be the final line. It would have been most satisfying to see the look on Edward’s face. But then he said the wrong thing, and my finger…it slipped.”
“Pretty good
shot. You got him right in the throat.”
“I was aiming for his forehead.”
Rowan was about halfway down the block when he hailed Young’s approaching squad car. Maureen hunkered in the backseat, her hands cuffed in front of her. The sides of her hair draped over her eyes.
Rowan lowered his head to the half-rolled window. “Good afternoon, Maureen. How are we feeling today?”
She brushed her hair aside, revealing black, mascara-smudged tracks of tears running down her face. “Acksherly, I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m in the right frame of mind to answer that question. I don’t want to go home, Rowan. All my friends are here.”
“It is rough, I know.”
“Will you tell Eddie what happened? I never meant to hurt him. He must think I’m such a louse.”
“I will. Listen, Maureen, I’m sorry I pointed a gun at you. I thought you would have stopped and given yourself up. If I had been a Chicago cop, you would be in the morgue right now.”
“I was going to pay him back for the morphine. He lost his job because of me.”
“That is not important. I have some advice for you. It would behoove you to listen.”
“Do you want to hear a joke?” She gave him a plaintive, hopeful look.
Rowan almost gasped. “A joke?”
“I thought of it the other day. I haven’t told anyone though. I don’t know if it’s any good. This might be the last chance I have to tell it to somebody who’ll get it. My mom doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.”
The detective’s tired shoulders slumped in defeat. “Sure. I would love to hear it.”
“Okay.” She propped up her knees on the back seat, leaning close to the window. “How fast was Lisa Pluviam going when she hit the stage?”
“I have no idea.”
“Breakneck speed.”
He looked at her without expression.
She spoke slowly. “She was going at breakneck speed.”
“I understand.”
“Because she broke her neck—”
“Yes, I get the joke, Maureen. It is…it’s funny.”
She sniffled. “I can work on the delivery. It probably won’t end up in the act.”
“A wise decision. Listen—”
“The set-up would be too long. It’d be too complicated for the audience to follow. Doncha think?”
Rowan’s mouth shut. He gave two knocks on the glass, “Well, you take care, Maureen. Be good to your mother. And…” He searched for something to say—something positive he could leave her with. “You were my favorite actor in the play.”
Maureen smiled. “You mean...you mean I was better than Lisa?”
“I cannot say better. That would be overstatement. You were the most likable. However, in all honesty, that might not be saying much, considering the cast.” He bowed and then continued his little shuffle down the sidewalk.
Such a gorgeous day. Why, I can almost hear that awful tune Walter used to whistle. How did it go?
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This is James Scott Byrnside’s second novel. His first, Goodnight Irene, was a deliberate attempt to duplicate the thrills and excitement he experienced while reading classic whodunits and impossible crime novels. He has a weakness for locked rooms, footprints in the snow, missing murder weapons, misinterpreted clues, and unreliable suspects. His third novel, a prequel of sorts to both Goodnight Irene and The Opening Night Murders, will be released in the summer of 2020. It is tentatively titled The Strange Case of the Barrington Hills Vampire.
Follow the author on Twitter
@JamesSByrnside
Or on Facebook
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The Opening Night Murders Page 19
