by Joan Hess
“Yes, sir.” Trey made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “And have a nice day, sir. It was lovely to see you once again. Perhaps you and the wife can drop by some evening for a drink.”
Theo grabbed Stahl’s arm and hurried him down the steps to the driveway. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you, Sergeant.”
“Capital punishment? It’s not legal, but it can be arranged.”
“Forget about the Ellison boy; he is, as you said so eloquently, a retarded little snot. There is a problem about the prints you obtained from the roll of film in Eli’s room.”
“Yeah,” Stahl said, beginning to grin, “they show an old man lusting after a naked girl. Ooh, she sure does have knockers, doesn’t she? We’re still watching for her. My men are working their way through all the bars and parties, but there are a daunting number of them and it takes time. I don’t suppose you’ve had any word from her yet?”
“No, not a peep. But we both know I was present when at least some of those photographs were taken. The problem is that I’m not at all sure that Eli was.”
“You were too busy staring at those big round nipples to see who else was around, Bloomer.” He held up his hands in mock defense. “I’m not saying that in criticism, either. I sure as hell wouldn’t have been analyzing the bushes for covert camera equipment. My wife could have been standing on her head in a palm tree, along with her mother and my boss; I wouldn’t have seen any of them.”
Theo gave him a pained look. “I will admit that I was rather taken aback when I first opened my eyes, in that I expected to see nothing more startling than a few of the young people preparing to sunbathe in normal attire. Indeed, I was momentarily at a loss for words. But once I recovered from my initial confusion, the girl apologized and went to the far side of the pool.”
“And stripped? Ooh, ooh, ooh,” Stahl said gleefully.
“She did remove her bikini in order to avoid tan marks. However, I was unable to continue my nap, and I did not see Eli anywhere in the vicinity of the pool.”
“Oh, Bloomer, don’t tell me you spent the rest of the afternoon watching the steps from the driveway to the patio around the pool. I know damn well what you looked at—and it wasn’t some ocean liner out in the pristine waters of MoBay.” Laughing, Stahl went down the driveway and drove away in a white police car.
Theo simmered in silence until he could trust himself to return to the terrace. When he did, he found Sitermann and Sandy seated at the table. The coffeepot had been replaced with a pitcher of rum punch, and the two were arguing amiably about the utility of woods on the fairway.
As Theo took a seat, Sandy looked up. “Ah, Mr. Bloomer, the policeman never showed us the actual photographs, but I gathered from what was said that they were of Mary Margaret … in the flesh. What do you think that means?”
Sitermann snickered. “What I’d like to know is how we can get our hands on the negatives.”
“I would hate to imagine the look on the obstetrician’s face the day you were born,” Theo said to the spy. “But as for the odd roll of film, Sandy, I’m not sure what it means. If I hadn’t been an unwitting participant, I would have presumed that Eli persuaded Mary Margaret to engage in a private session while the rest of us were occupied.”
“The look on your face,” Sitermann cackled, thumping Theo on the back. “Lordy, Bloom, you were about as bewildered as a nun in a soap opera!”
“To continue,” Theo said, “at least some of the photographs were taken the first afternoon of our trip, not too long after our arrival. Most of you went upstairs to unpack. I went down to the pool, where I inadvertently dozed off for a few minutes. When I awoke, Mary Margaret was nearby, dressed—or should I say undressed—to some extent.” He ran a finger around his collar as heat raced up his neck. “I tend to think Eli was not even at the Villa at that time, that he had gone to fetch ice or a newspaper.”
“Then you think Eli was in cahoots with someone?” Sandy asked.
“You bet your time-share in Bermuda,” Sitermann inserted. “And whoever it is ought to be put up for an Oscar for cinematography, or whatever you call fancy camera work.”
“And you ought to be put out of your misery,” Theo said testily.
Sitermann left in a flurry of crude innuendos that Theo might be more of a rogue than one might assume on first appraisal. Sandy picked up his golf bag and started for the dining room.
“I’m amazed you found the energy to play golf after such a difficult night,” Theo said, shaking his head at the very idea of physical exertion. “How was the course?”
“When the uniforms swarmed in, I went to the backyard to practice chip shots,” Sandy admitted. “I see too many of them at school. Biff and I are going to try to get in eighteen holes later this afternoon.” His scalp turned pink under his stubby blond hair. “Is Mary Margaret’s anatomy some kind of clue, sir?”
“Go polish your putter.” Theo went to the kitchen in hopes that Amelia and Emelda had returned. They had not. With a sigh, he located Gerry’s number on a business card taped near the telephone and dialed the number.
“North Shore Property Management,” she answered listlessly.
He identified himself, then apologetically mentioned that the residents of the villa did not have a key to the gate.
“I suppose the police have Eli’s key. I’ll have a copy made and have a messenger bring it over immediately. This terrible mess has left me in a walking fog, and I didn’t think about the key. How did all of you get in the gate last night?”
“We managed,” Theo said evasively. He went on to report that the staff had vanished, most likely because of a police invasion of the kitchen, and very well might not reappear anytime soon. He did not intend to cause difficulty, but it was—well, somewhat of a crisis, since his young people were not likely to respond well to the proposal that they all pitch in. Any inherent spirit of self-sacrificing volunteerism lay in the arena of charity functions, black ties, large orchestras, and an opportunity to display the family jewels to an audience with appreciative tastes.
“I’ll call Amelia and plead,” she said in the same flat voice. “You’ll be leaving in two days, so I can even offer her time-and-a-half for … combat duty. Have you heard anything from the police? Did they show you the prints?”
“Yes,” he said, relieved that she could not see the redness creeping up his neck, “and at this point Count D’Orsini may be safe from any kind of prosecution. The roll of film did not contain any incriminating shots of him in the middle of a transaction with this mysterious associate.”
“Oh, thank God. Then the police aren’t planning to arrest Hal? He would be brutalized in jail, and probably wouldn’t last a month. I’ve got to call him and tell him. Despite his show of bravado earlier today, he was absolutely terrified of what might happen. He will be so thrilled to know he’s safe.”
Theo interrupted before she could say good-bye and ring off. “There’s something you and D’Orsini should consider. The roll of film that the police now have may not be the only one in existence; it’s possible Eli left the pertinent one with a friend. The police have searched here and in Eli’s quarters, but they haven’t given up yet. They’re currently checking with the private film laboratories. It very well may surface somewhere.”
“Oh,” she said, deflating more quickly than a punctured balloon. “Then you think Hal is still in danger of being arrested?”
“I don’t know.” He gazed at the two ackees on the windowsill. “There is something else which you ought to discuss with D’Orsini, Gerry. This so-called associate of his might have decided to murder Eli rather than deal with the blackmail demands. Now that the film has failed to expose him, D’Orsini is the only person who knows his identity. If he has killed once, then he may decide to do so again in order to lay to rest any possibility that he might be identified in the future.”
There was a very long moment of silence. Theo could hear her breath against the receiver as she considered his w
ords. “No,” she said slowly, “I think Hal is safe. I’ll tell him what you said, and warn him of the possible danger. He’ll be cautious until this is resolved.”
“The only way in which he can be safe is to tell the police the identity of this associate.”
“That would prove a little more complicated than you think. But it is kind of you to be concerned, and I will speak to Hal about taking precautions until the police can solve the murder. Now I’ll telephone Amelia and see if she and Emelda can be persuaded to return for the rest of the week. It will take some bribery, but I suspect they’ll agree.”
Frowning, Theo replaced the receiver. The roll of film was a puzzle. The lens cap had been found on the balcony of Dorrie’s bedroom, and it had been plausible to conclude someone had taken a series of photographs of occurrences next door. Now it seemed the camera had been aimed in quite a different direction, although it made little sense. Eli had told Count D’Orsini the film was incriminating. Surely Eli had known which way he was pointed—and at what subject. He had agreed to produce the prints, and it would have been more than whimsical to hope to collect any blackmail money by flourishing the study of unclad flesh. Neither art nor pornography would motivate D’Orsini into paying twenty thousand dollars.
So where was the roll of film that Eli valued and D’Orsini feared? It was not in the villa, Theo decided as his frown deepened, and not in Eli’s quarters. Eli had, however, shown it to D’Orsini around the middle of the afternoon, then returned to the villa, mixed a pitcher of rum punch, and gone up to the pool to celebrate his anticipated windfall. By that time, Amelia and Emelda were already gone. The gate had been secured. There had been no hint that Eli was working with someone else.
“Drat,” Theo said to himself, permitting a euphemism for a more volatile word. The situation warranted as much. He spent a few minutes cleaning up the kitchen, then went upstairs and knocked on Dorrie’s door. He flinched only a bit when she opened the door, her hair hidden under a terrycloth turban and her face smeared with a pea green paste the precise shade of the foliage of the Carolina allspice (Calycanthus floridus). Although he was unsure of the chemical basis of the substance, he had encountered it in the past and been informed it did something quite astounding to her complexion. Of that, he had no doubt.
“I wondered if I might interrupt you long enough to engage in a small experiment,” he said. He entered the room and carefully closed the door. “I’m still pondering the mystery of the film.”
A slit formed in the pea green mask. “It’s not in here, Uncle Theo. Those beastly policemen searched every nook and cranny, not to mention every cosmetic bag, beach bag, suitcase, lingerie drawer, and bottle of shampoo. Bitsy was an absolute basket case by the time they were finished. It was almost—but not quite—worth it.”
“I presume the police would have found it if it were in the villa. What has been bothering me is that set of prints. I cannot believe Eli would be murdered over such photographs.”
“Yeah,” she said, smoothing the paste along her nose with a practiced swoop of her index finger. “Mary Margaret’s not all that hot. So what’s this experiment? In six minutes I have to scrub this off and move on to the moisturizing base. If I’m delayed, the consequences may be devastating.”
“It will take only a second. I was wondering about the camera angle from the balcony.” He went across the room and out onto the balcony. Shading his eyes with a hand, he looked down at the terrace immediately below and the pool beyond it. Bitsy was seated in the chair he’d taken that first afternoon, when Mary Margaret had caught him by surprise. Although he had a clear view, the angle was clearly wrong. He then glanced at the side of the pool where Mary Margaret had retreated to continue her sunbathing. The edge of the terrace extended into his view, blocking off most of that area of the deck.
Dorrie tapped him on the shoulder. “Four minutes and counting. What’s the conclusion, Uncle Sherlock? Did Eli shoot that roll of film from my balcony?”
“No, he did not,” Theo said pensively. “Sergeant Stahl was behaving in such an adolescent manner that he would not listen when I tried to make the point that Eli could not have been on the balcony at that time. I certainly would have seen him. Bitsy was upstairs changing and would hardly fail to remark on the intrusion. And in any case, the angle is wrong.” He swiveled his head to look over the fence at D’Orsini’s pool and patio. The area around the bar was visible, as was the grouping of rattan furniture and most of the pool. “This does offer a reasonable view, however. Under cover of darkness, one easily could creep out here, set up a tripod, and take all the photographs one wished of activities next door.”
“Three minutes and counting. Maybe Mary Margaret went over there to sunbathe. She seemed terribly possessive about dear Uncle Billy’s old school chum—and he is male, over fifteen, titled, and wealthy. Any one of those qualifications could have sucked Magsy over the fence like a two-ton magnet.”
“But I was on our deck,” Theo reminded her. “And although D’Orsini is indeed male and over fifteen, I’m not at all sure his title is credible. I doubt he’s wealthy.”
“Poor Mary Margaret’s in for a shockeroo, then. First believing Sitermann was a hotshot Hollywood producer, and then salivating all over Count D’Orsini and his yacht. Did he rent it from Hertz for the day?”
“He’s tending it for friends, along with the villa. And he is involved in the transportation of cocaine, although he claims only in a small fashion. He admitted it to me early this afternoon.”
“Two and one-half minutes. Then did he murder Eli when he learned he was a narc?”
Theo related the highlights of the blackmail attempt and the reasons why he felt fairly certain D’Orsini had not poisoned Eli. He was in the midst of stressing the necessity of finding the notorious roll of film when Dorrie glanced at her watch, shrieked, and ran toward the bathroom. The slam of the door was followed by the splash of water in the sink. The conversation, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be at an end.
Theo went out to the landing and started toward his room. But after a single step in that direction, he turned on his heel, marched the few feet down the hall, and rapped on Biff and Sandy’s door. Biff, dressed in boxer shorts and socks, opened the door. “Yes, sir?”
“We need to talk, my boy,” Theo said. “I think we will realize more enlightenment if we do so in private.”
“Sure, sir. Sandy’s in the shower, and I was waiting my turn. I don’t understand why there’s this urgent need for privacy.” When Theo continued to regard him through unblinking eyes, he stepped back and held open the door. “I am totally in the dark, Mr. Bloomer, but, sure, come on in. Sandy won’t be able to hear anything while the water’s running. He takes incredibly long showers, because he’s only allowed a minute or two at the academy and he swears hot water is almost as nifty as cold beer. Would you like to sit down, sir? We have some ice if you’d like a drink. The potato chips are stale, but—”
“I would like to look out your window,” Theo said firmly. “I am interested in the potential camera angles.”
“Wow, sure, help yourself.” Biff’s face turned scarlet as he busied himself with the ice bucket and glasses. “Ah, does this have anything to do with Dorrie, Mr. Bloomer? I mean, you’re her uncle and I know she really dotes on you, but you don’t have to get involved—”
“A charming view, charming. Why, you can see the Caribbean, the tops of the villas below us, the street, the yard—and the patio around the pool. The view is amazing, if somewhat unexciting at the moment. A nude sunbather would add an element of interest, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, the view’s super.” He gave Theo a glass of Perrier, then sat down on the bed and sighed noisily. “You’re not going to tell Dorrie, are you? She’ll work herself up to such a snit that she won’t speak to me for a month. I’ll have to send flowers, buy presents, call her ten times a day so that she can hang up on me, and literally crawl around on my knees until they bleed. We have a really good
shot for the mixed doubles title in the Labor Day tournament at the club. God, I’d hate to let Akinson and his sister win it for the third straight year. Akinson is such a prick.”
“It may occur to her without any assistance on my part. However, I won’t say anything, in that I am also aware of her probable reaction to the news that you took a series of photographs of another woman. The additional fact that your subject lacked clothing will not help you plead your case. But how did your roll of film end up in Eli’s room below the pool?”
“Beats me, Mr. Bloomer. Dorrie always insists I take the film to one of those one-hour places so that she can see the results as soon as possible. Somehow, I figured it might be smarter to wait until we got home to take that roll to some little hole of a place where they don’t know me. I just stuck the film in my camera case and started a new roll. Until I realized what those prints were, I had no idea it wasn’t in my case.”
“Have you examined the case? It’s possible someone exchanged the two rolls, thinking it would be a safe hiding place. Poe did that sort of thing with a letter once, and it worked well.”
“I was here when the police searched the room. I was floored when they found no used film in the camera case, since I was preparing to explain why they didn’t want to confiscate that roll. You know,” he said, bristling a bit, “someone must have taken that film.”
“Very good, Biff. The most obvious suspect is Eli, who did prowl in the villa when we were gone, but I cannot imagine why he would take a roll of film from your room. Although in reality the subject matter was less than ordinary, he would have anticipated nothing more interesting than palm trees and beaches, with Dorrie smiling in the center.”
