The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  “Problem, Detective?”

  “Yes, there’s a problem. Any time we start consulting with a community of criminals, trying to make them feel ‘included.’” He made quote marks in the air. “That’s when I have a very real problem. Our job isn’t to handle these bastards with kid gloves. We should go in there hard and pull them out in batches – get them into the interrogation room and make them tell us what they know. Because you can be damn sure that every mother’s son in that village knows who did it. Hell, they probably held his drink while he committed murder. You don’t mess around with people like that.”

  “A community of criminals?” said Eulalie. “What makes you say that, Detective Wright? What crimes have the villagers been involved in lately?”

  “Well, there’s this right now. Or isn’t murder serious enough for you? And a few months ago, there was that kid that got kidnapped. Murder and kidnapping – charming.”

  “The man who kidnapped that boy was a Queen’s Town businessman who had nothing to do with the village. The villagers were victims in that case, not perpetrators. Before that, the last recorded incident was five years ago. Please explain to us how that makes them a community of criminals?”

  He made a dismissive sound. “Just because they don’t report incidents doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Everyone knows what those people are like.”

  Eulalie risked a glance at Angel. Her grandmother looked as though she had been carved from stone. That total immobility signified a deep rage, and Angel had been known to regret the things she did when that kind of anger took over.

  “I’m sure you’re aware of the new directives concerning community policing, Detective,” said Chief Macgregor. “The ones that have come down directly from the governor’s office? But if you prefer, I can remove you from this case and let the governor know you aren’t prepared to work within the new guidelines?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Detective Wright glared at his superior officer. “You’re the new broom getting rid of all the old ways, whether they worked or not. Change for the sake of change, that’s what you’re about.”

  Chief Macgregor was about to reply when Angel spoke.

  “How is that shoulder of yours, Detective Wright?”

  Eulalie felt a prickle at the back of her neck. Angel’s words dropped into the silence like stones. Her voice was deeper than usual and overlaid with menace. Her eyes, usually a cheerful green, were so dark they appeared almost black.

  Eulalie wanted to beg her to reconsider, to think about the consequences.

  “How do you know about my shoulder?” Detective Wright rubbed his left upper arm and glared at her.

  “It’s rheumatoid arthritis, you know? The joint is degenerating and becoming inflamed. It’s progressive, and there is no cure. You are getting a build-up of fluid around your rotator cuff. Already, you can’t lift your arm higher than shoulder height. It is starting to bother you at night. You can’t get comfortable. You toss and turn, longing for relief. The pain pills the doctor gave you don’t work. You might as well be taking M&Ms. Your shoulder feels hot to the touch. It feels as though it is burning with a fire that you can never douse. The pain is…”

  “Stop!” Detective Wright stood up. “You know nothing about me. You stop that at once.”

  “Where are you going, Detective?” Chief Macgregor asked as he turned towards the door.

  “I’m going to start work on this damn case. I don’t have time to sit around talking all day, even if the rest of you do. Goodbye.” As he left, Eulalie could see him clutching his left shoulder. He slammed the door so hard the whole room vibrated.

  Angel sat back in her seat with a smile and a sigh. Her eyes looked perfectly normal.

  “Such a shame.” She shook her head. “Just when we were getting to know him a little better.”

  An uneasy laugh ran around the room. Chief Macgregor was the first to recover.

  “I believe you weren’t quite finished, Ms. Park?”

  “Uh… yes, of course.” She pulled herself together. “When we have exhausted all avenues of investigation at the village, we will return to Queen’s Town. I will try to find out who might have guided the victim through the forest to the village. It’s not something you can just stumble upon. There is a small community of ex-villagers living here in Queen’s Town. Some of them were expelled from the village for undesirable behavior. They have been known to undertake guided expeditions into the forest. If we can find out who guided him, we’ll be that much closer to knowing what happened. I’d also like to take a look at the arrow that killed the victim. I’m sure my grandmother would too.”

  Angel nodded in agreement.

  “Thank you, Ms. Park. And now, Dr. Autry. What can you tell us?”

  “I haven’t had him on my table yet, so I don’t know much at this stage. I’ll perform the autopsy this afternoon. Any member of the police department is, of course, welcome to attend.”

  “Then I think that’s it,” said Chief Macgregor. “The minutes of this meeting will be typed and emailed to each of you by close of business today.”

  As everyone stood up and shuffled out, Eulalie hung back to speak to him.

  “Does Detective Wright know you were recording the meeting?”

  “He might have forgotten. I’ll remind him of it when I send a copy to the governor’s office.”

  “You handled it well.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You on the other hand.” Eulalie turned to face Angel. “What did you think you were doing trying to put a hex on him? That’s a load of mumbo-jumbo, and you know it.”

  “Did you see how he was holding his shoulder when he left?” said Angel dreamily. “He seemed quite uncomfortable, the poor man.”

  “It’s unethical!”

  “Now, chérie. It is either all mumbo-jumbo, or it is unethical. You can’t have it both ways.”

  Eulalie glared at her. “It’s not right.”

  Angel put her head back and laughed. “He’ll have a sore shoulder for a few days. And he’ll probably get into a panic about it being arthritis. It’s not, of course. Just an old injury. But he’ll worry.”

  “The power of suggestion,” said Eulalie. “That’s all it is.”

  “If you say so, dearest. Now, who’s for lunch? I’m famished.”

  Chapter 3

  At two o’clock, Eulalie and Chief Macgregor went to the medical examiner’s office to watch the autopsy. It was already underway when they arrived, so they slipped in quietly to watch.

  Detective Wright had got there before them. He was holding his left arm draped across his body and supported by his right hand. He kept wincing and shifting his position as though something were causing him pain.

  Dr. Autry nodded to Chief Macgregor as he came in but ignored Eulalie. Detective Wright ignored them both, but not because he was trying to make a point. He was too preoccupied with the blooming pain in his shoulder to think of anything else.

  Eulalie adjusted her position, so she could watch him unobserved. The scientific part of her mind tried to fathom what it was that had caused this sudden pain. She refused to accept that Angel had actually put a hex on him. It was the power of persuasion - it had to be. Perhaps a kind of low-grade hypnosis combined with a susceptible mind had convinced Detective Wright that he was in pain.

  Even the scientific community acknowledged and respected the part played by psychological factors in pain perception. Detective Wright would have heard of Angel’s reputation as a local practitioner of the ‘mystic arts’ and had convinced himself that he really had been cursed. That perception combined with fear to create the toxic psychological brew that was currently making him very unhappy indeed.

  Eulalie didn’t feel particularly sorry for him. They had never got on, but she’d had no idea how deep and ugly his prejudices were until now. It worried her that he had been assigned to this case. It would make her job as liaison more difficult to be dealing with a bigot in the police departme
nt. She would have to make sure he had no contact with the villagers.

  Dr. Autry was wrapping up the autopsy. She dictated her concluding remarks into her handheld device.

  “In conclusion, the victim is a well-nourished white male, approximately forty-eight years of age. The victim was in good health, with no signs of pathology or recent injury. There is a healed fracture to the right ankle which probably occurred in childhood. There is blistering of the skin around the heels bilaterally that suggests recent, unaccustomed walking activity, possibly in new shoes. The victim had a well-built physique, suggesting regular exercise, including resistance training.”

  Dr. Autry nodded to her assistant to take the samples that had been collected during the autopsy through to the laboratory for analysis.

  “Cause of death is trauma to the upper abdomen caused by a long wooden projectile fired at close range, and powerful enough to have passed straight through the victim’s body. The aorta was completely severed, resulting in massive blood loss. Death would have occurred within thirty seconds of impact.”

  She broke off to speak to Chief Macgregor.

  “I’ll let you have the preliminary report of my clinical findings by the end of the afternoon. The final report will have to wait for a full laboratory analysis and toxicology screen. I’m not expecting anything significant there. It is clear that this man was in excellent shape and died because the arrow hit him in exactly the wrong place. A few inches to the left or right and he could have survived with prompt medical attention.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Autry. That’s very helpful.”

  As they walked out, they heard Detective Wright moaning softly as he tried to find a comfortable position for his arm.

  “Can I interest you in some Motrin, Detective Wright?” said Chief Macgregor. “I have them in my office.”

  “I already took four. They’re not helping. I don’t know what to do.”

  The distress on his face almost tugged at Eulalie’s heart strings, until she remembered what he had said about every member of the village being in on the murder.

  “I’m going to the drugstore to get something stronger, Chief. I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time, Detective.”

  As Wright headed into town, Eulalie and Chief Macgregor walked towards the police station.

  “She has asked me to have dinner with her.”

  Eulalie turned to look at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Dr. Autry. She says she wants to discuss ways in which we can improve efficiency in the cooperation between the police department and the medical examiner’s office.”

  “Does she indeed? And what did you say?”

  “I said yes, of course.” He sounded surprised. “Better interdepartmental cooperation is very important.”

  “Why dinner, though? That doesn’t sound very businesslike. What’s wrong with lunch?”

  “I asked if we could make it lunch, but she says she is always too busy to have more than a sandwich at her desk. She says she is freer in the evenings.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I think I should pay for the dinner on my department expense account, don’t you agree? Even though she invited me. It would be polite and contribute to fostering better relations between us. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a date.”

  Chief Macgregor was astonished. “A date? Whatever do you mean?”

  “I mean that Dr. Autry has asked you out on a date because she wants to get to know you on a personal level. I noticed it weeks ago - she has her eye on you.”

  The panic on his face made her want to laugh.

  “Nonsense. Why do you say that? It’s not true at all. She knows that you and I are… getting closer. I told her myself. Why would she do such an irrational thing?”

  “She thinks she can persuade you to ditch me and date her instead. She thinks you will prefer her because she’s beautiful, well-groomed, and brilliant.”

  Chief Macgregor stared at her. “It’s not about that. It’s about the skin. My skin recognized you. It didn’t recognize her. She and I have shaken hands on several occasions. My skin does not recognize hers.”

  Eulalie suppressed a smile. “I don’t think she knows that.”

  “What should I do? Should I explain about the skin?”

  “Absolutely not. Officially, this is a business dinner. She’s an important colleague and you need a good working relationship with her. I might be completely wrong about her intentions. When is it?”

  “Tomorrow night. At La Colombe.” He named one of the most intimate restaurants in Queen’s Town, traditionally reserved for first dates.

  “I’ll be in the forest. You can tell me about it when I get back.”

  “Would you like an ice-cream cone?”

  The change of subject threw her off balance.

  “An ice-cream cone?”

  “Yes, I feel like something sweet.”

  Eulalie was suspicious. “You want an actual ice-cream cone? Not some sugar-free, lactose-free, gluten-free ice-cream substitute?

  “Food substitutes aren’t healthy, despite how they are marketed. As long as one eats a healthy diet most of the time, one can indulge in occasional treats, like an ice-cream cone.”

  “In that case, I know just the place.” She linked arms with him and steered him along Lafayette Boulevard.

  Lafayette Drive was flanked on either side by tree-lined pedestrian walkways known as Lafayette Boulevard. Colorful sidewalk cafes spilled out onto the boulevard, creating a festive atmosphere that kept the tourists coming back year after year. The locals loved it too. An evening promenade along Lafayette Boulevard was the traditional entertainment for families, teenagers, couples, and the ever-present tourists.

  There were pleasant walks to be had on the boardwalk along the beachfront too, but nothing beat Lafayette Boulevard for sheer atmosphere.

  Eulalie avoided the cafés with their puffy piles of ice-cream in rainbow colors. She turned left down a sideroad and led Chief Macgregor to the entrance of a tiny general store.

  “Here?” He looked doubtfully up at the Coca Cola sign hanging crooked next to an advertisement for Lifebuoy soap.

  “Yes, here. There are only three flavors, but it’s the best ice-cream on the island. They have vanilla, caramel, and chocolate. You should try all three.”

  The door dinged as she pushed it open.

  “Ciao, Eulalie.” The elderly man behind the counter seemed delighted to see her.

  “Ciao, Alessandro. Due gelati, per favore.”

  “You speak Italian?” said Chief Macgregor as she confirmed that they each wanted a taste of all three flavors.

  “Only a little. Alessandro started teaching me when I was twelve. Angel would bring me here for ice-cream on a Saturday afternoon. If I didn’t ask for it in Italian, I didn’t get it.”

  “Buona sera, Chief,” said Alessandro.

  “Buona sera, Signore Mancini.”

  The ice-cream at Mancini’s was not kept in an oversized display window like on Lafayette Boulevard. Instead, Alessandro reached into a refrigerator and took out three plastic containers from the freezer section. He scooped a portion of each flavor into two cones and handed them over.

  “Mille grazie, Alessandro.” Eulalie gave him the money. “Ciao.”

  “Ciao, bella.”

  As they walked out into the late afternoon sunshine, Chief Macgregor licked each flavor in turn. His face was thoughtful as he rolled the ice-cream around in his mouth, giving it a thorough evaluation.

  “You’re right,” he said at last. “This is exceptional.”

  “Alessandro and his wife Alicia make it according to an old family recipe. Fleur has been trying to coax it out of them for years. She knows she’ll never get it, so she’s trying to persuade them to supply her with boxed ice-cream to sell through Sweet as Flowers. They have grandchildren starting college soon, so they might just agree.”

  Eulalie’s best friend Fleur Du Toit owned a coffee shop
and confectioners on Lafayette Drive.

  “If anyone can, it’s Fleur. Are you and your grandmother leaving first thing tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes. We want to be there at five when the first cable car goes up the cliff. I’d like to get to the village while it’s still light enough to inspect the murder scene and talk to some people. If I were on my own, I’d leave tonight, but I can’t expect Angel to make that journey at night. She might look forty, but she’s actually fifty-six and an overnight hike through the forest would tire her out.”

  “I keep forgetting how small the age difference is between you. Your mother was fourteen when you were born, wasn’t she?”

  “That’s right. And Angel was fourteen when my mother was born.”

  “That seems very…”

  “Young. I know. It is - even by village standards where women get married and have babies around the age of nineteen or twenty. The difference between my grandmother and my mother is that Angel stuck around and dealt with the consequences of the new direction her life had taken. My mother panicked and ran off, never to be seen again. If she is still out there somewhere, she would be forty-two now. But Angel is convinced she is dead.”

  Chief Macgregor nodded. He had heard that part of the story.

  “I don’t have to tell you to be careful tomorrow, do I?” he said.

  “I’m always careful. I’ll be extra careful because I have my grandmother with me.”

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  Eulalie went home to get an early night before her predawn start the next day.

  If she and Angel were to make the five o’clock cable car, she would have to get up at four. If she had been going on her own, she would simply have grabbed the backpack she kept permanently stocked for expeditions into the forest. But because Angel would be with her, she needed extra supplies, like food, water, first-aid equipment, and tools.

  When she was fully packed, she went to the kitchen to make herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner. Something bumped against her shin as she dug a knife into the peanut butter jar. She looked down.

  “Oh, it’s you.”