The Arms of Death

by Maggie Foster

  Ginny held her breath.

  “You still there?”

  “Panting.”

  Another chuckle. “Well hold onto your knickers. By the time my grandfather passed, the number of members had begun to shrink alarmingly, but it was unthinkable to rewrite the charter, so no one did. Now, remember that money everyone had to invest to be a member?”

  “Yes.”

  “And remember it had been managed wisely and the fund had continued to grow over the course of more than two hundred years?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, except for pensions for the really old members, and a small annual payout to each of the other members the government requires to keep them honest, the interest had been rolled over into the principal.”

  Ginny watched the door of her room open and Jim enter.

  “As of the last fiscal accounting, the value of the fund is around six billion dollars, that’s with a ‘B’, dear.”

  Ginny gasped. “What?”

  Jim had started at the sound and was staring at her.

  “I thought that would get your attention.”

  “Julius! Wait, stop!”

  “Yes, love?”

  “Julius.” Ginny was gesturing for Jim to come closer. “May I put you on speaker?”

  “Sure. Someone there who might be interested in joining?”

  Ginny punched the button. “He’s not eligible. Okay. Now, please repeat that figure.”

  Julius’ voice could be heard easily. “Six billion dollars.”

  Jim’s eyebrows rose.

  Ginny was looking at him, her own excitement palpable.

  “Okay. We got the figure. What else do we need to know?”

  “Well, do you remember I told you they didn’t want to make changes, even though the membership was dying off because of the restrictions?”

  “Male issue in the direct line only. I heard you.”

  “Right. So the numbers have gotten down to fewer than a dozen, most of them one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. I heard there were a couple of youngsters, neither of them married and one of them died a few years ago. So, not much hope for the Society continuing into the future.”

  “Julius. What is it you haven’t told me yet?” He was milking it, as usual.

  She heard him laugh. “The charter has a clause in it to deal with that situation, if the society ceased to exist for lack of qualified membership.”

  “Yes?”

  “Girl, do you know what a tontine is?”

  “Remind me.”

  “It’s when the last man standing takes all. That charter instructs the trustees to close the account and distribute whatever may be in it to the last surviving member.”

  Ginny heard the blood roaring in her ears. She saw, darkly, Jim’s hands close on the bed rail, his knuckles white.

  “Girl? Ginny? You still there?”

  Ginny swallowed. “Yes. Still here, but just barely.”

  “Well, I’ve got more, if you need it. The original member list, though they didn’t keep good enough records for me to be able to tell you everyone that’s ever been a member. And I’m not sure I have all the names for the current group right. Deep, dark secret, remember?”

  “Yes.” Ginny’s voice sounded faint in her own ears.

  “I’ve got a copy of the original charter. And the legal records.”

  “Legal?”

  “Yes. After the money got big enough for it to be worth suing over, we challenged the male issue only rule. Tried to force them not to discriminate against female heirs, but it didn’t work. The judge said they had a right to do what they wanted to in a private club.”

  Ginny sucked air into her lungs, unaware she had been holding her breath.

  “Julius, you are amazing! May I call you back after I’ve talked to someone about this?”

  “Sure. Always glad to hear from you, darling.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Bye, sweety.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Ginny disconnected the call and put the phone down on the table, watching her hand shake. She looked up and caught Jim’s eye. He stared at her for a minute, then found a chair, set it down where they could see one another and sank into it.

  “Six billion dollars. Now that’s what I call a motive,” he said.

  Ginny nodded. “He told me, when he proposed, that he expected to be very rich in the future. This must be what he meant.”

  “He was killing off the men who stood in his way.”

  “The other young man, the one who might have reproduced.”

  Jim nodded. “That was the second victim. I wonder why he killed off the old man first.”

  “Maybe to test his murder weapon?”

  “That makes sense.”

  “And Professor Craig was going to publish, to prove Hal wasn’t actually descended from the Rev War Williams. That’s why he had to die. To shut him up.”

  Jim nodded. “But he didn’t have to kill off everyone. They were already going to die soon. All he had to do was wait it out.”

  “Oh, Jim!” Ginny’d had a horrible thought.

  “What?”

  “What would have happened if Hal and I had a son? Would Hal have been content to wait and let the boy inherit?”

  Jim shook his head slowly. “I doubt it. The only way to make sure the money was distributed during his lifetime was to make sure the line stopped with him.”

  Ginny felt the room start to spin, black spots appearing before her eyes.

  “Here, lie down. Breathe.” Jim was pushing her back into the pillows, reaching for the oxygen.

  Ginny closed her eyes and did as told. It took a minute, but the nausea subsided. She swallowed hard. Would Hal have murdered his own son? Could anybody do that?

  “It’s okay, Ginny. You’re safe. You stopped him.”

  “He wouldn’t have hurt me.”

  Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “He wouldn’t? What about that skate blade?”

  Ginny started to protest, then let the words die on her lips.

  Jim turned and stalked across the room, frowning hard. “To get paid, every member, except himself, would have to die without male issue, and he would have to prove he couldn’t sire a son.”

  He turned back towards her. “What’s more, I doubt if he would have been willing to wait patiently for that money. Any one of those old men might have decided to marry a young wife, or there might be sperm banked somewhere that would have to be found and destroyed. He would probably have killed again.”

  Ginny put her hand on her forehead, feeling she’d had more than she could bear for one day. She’d certainly had enough of this subject. She needed time to recover.

  “Jim, is there any way you could get me something to drink?” she asked.

  He nodded. “What do you want? Water? Juice?”

  “Any good single malt will do.”

  There was a short pause, then his face split in a wide grin. He took a deep breath, bent down, and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll see what I can find. In the meantime, how about a nice vintage grape juice?”

  * * *

  Chapter 52

  Monday

  Jim finished his lunch then turned his attention to Ginny.

  “The bruises are beginning to fade. You have yellow and green now, instead of purple and red.” His fingers gently explored the edges of the wounds. “The abrasions are healing well, no evidence of infection. The stitches can come out before we discharge you tomorrow. You’ll need your second rabies shot before you go, too.”

  Ginny nodded.

  “You’ll need to continue the breathing treatments at home. I can help with that.”

  Ginny had to hope so. The cracked ribs were still sore enough to interfere with sleeping, not to mention the deep breathing exercises.

  He pulled his gloves off and washed his hands, then came over and brushed a wisp of hair back from her face, smiling. “And sleep, lots of sleep.”<
br />
  They heard a tap on the door.

  “Come in,” Ginny said.

  The visitor turned out to be Detective Tran. She came in and smiled at Jim, then approached Ginny.

  “I have news.”

  “First, the local police report on the rape that took place in Virginia indicates the accused was not Professor Craig. It was another man.”

  Ginny frowned to herself. Hal had made that up, to implicate Jim, and she had believed him.

  “Second, a search of Mr. Williams’ house showed traces of the virus in a freezer kept in a workshop behind the house. The DNA analysis matched the strain used in all three killings, and the lab confirms the same virus was on the lancet you found.”

  Ginny saw Jim nod.

  “Dr. Mackenzie told us where to look,” Detective Tran explained.

  “Ah.”

  “We also found a supply of potassium permanganate and glycerin. I expect we will find he purchased them recently and that the amount missing from those containers will approximate the amount used at the scene.”

  This time it was Ginny who nodded.

  “In addition, we found a recording device disguised as a pen and on it a recording of the Wednesday afternoon lecture he was supposed to be attending at the conference.”

  Ginny blinked. “That’s what you were fishing for last Friday.”

  “Yes. We were pretty sure he left the convention center, but no one seemed to have noticed. I was hoping you had.”

  Ginny shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “We located him on the surveillance cameras both in the basement of the library and on the street, in disguise, pretending to be a vagrant. Mrs. Campbell ran into him in the garage and thought she recognized him. She spoke to him, but he denied the acquaintance and she had to back down. When confronted with the images, however, she identified him without hesitation.”

  “Oh, my!”

  “We believe he made an appointment with Professor Craig using an alias.”

  “To make sure Craig would be in his office that afternoon.”

  Detective Tran nodded. “Using that device on him while they were in the stacks was taking a chance since they might have been seen. Dropping it, of course, was not part of the plan.”

  “Third, the body shop reported they found evidence of someone breaking into the loaned vehicle, presumably to search it.”

  “What kind of evidence?” Jim asked.

  “There were tool marks on the weather stripping around the window.”

  Ginny nodded. “Mark and I noticed that, but the car was still locked so we assumed someone had tried and failed to get in.”

  Detective Tran met her gaze. “What we think happened is the person responsible introduced a long, thin rod and used it to trigger the interior door lock release.”

  The corner of Jim’s mouth twitched. “So all he’d have to do is lock the doors again when he was finished and no one would be the wiser. Clever.”

  Detective Tran raised a sardonic eyebrow. “He was lucky there was no car alarm on that model.” She turned to face Ginny.

  “Fourth, we found a fingerprint inside your skate boot, faint, but useable. We think he may have been wearing gloves. It matched Mr. Williams’ left index finger.”

  Ginny had resigned herself to this, but hearing it confirmed still made her feel cold. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  The detective looked at her in sympathy. “I wanted to tell you myself.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is Mr. Williams still with us?”

  Jim nodded. “But he is no longer able to communicate or take much notice of anything. You can see him, if you want to.”

  The detective nodded. “I will do so before I leave.”

  “We have some news for you, too.”

  “Oh?”

  Ginny outlined what they had learned about the motive.

  “A tontine. How interesting!”

  “I’ll put you in touch with the man I spoke to today. He can give you more information.”

  “Thank you. That will be very helpful.” She made a note in the small diary she carried with her then slipped it into her pocket. “We are investigating Mr. Williams’ movements and financial records. Once we have those, and with this information, we should be able to close the case. There may be further statements for you to sign.”

  Ginny nodded. “Of course.”

  Detective Tran held out her hand, first to Ginny, then to Jim. “I hope you will call upon me should you ever have need of my services again.”

  Ginny smiled at her. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us. I feel very lucky to have fallen into your hands.” Ginny saw the detective’s lips twitch. She glanced over at Jim, then back at Ginny.

  “I believe you are in very good hands,” she said. “Goodbye.”

  When the detective had gone, Ginny turned to Jim.

  “What did she mean by that?”

  He smiled broadly. “She means I made a damned nuisance of myself on Saturday and it was a good thing I did. Otherwise there would have been no one there to Taser Hal.”

  “You Tasered him?” Ginny stared at Jim.

  “I didn’t. The police officer did. To make sure he didn’t spread that virus any farther than he already had.”

  Ginny felt her stomach tighten. “Of course.”

  Jim’s smile faded. “I think I’ll go check on him,” he said. “Do you need anything?”

  Ginny shook her head. Their eyes met, then he turned and left. She watched the door close slowly behind him.

  * * *

  Jim stood just inside the door of Hal’s room and watched the unconscious man struggle to breathe. Life was tenacious, especially in the young.

  He was having trouble sorting out how he felt about this. He was glad he wasn’t going to die and their best guess was his body had cleared the virus completely so he wouldn’t have to live under the threat of its recurrence for the rest of his life. He’d stay up on the rabies vaccinations, though, just in case.

  He was glad Ginny would recover, physically at least. Emotionally? How hard was it going to be for her to trust another man? Hal had been so very plausible. If he’d had a gift, that was it. A consummate salesman.

  And Hal himself? Jim’s mind wandered back to those carefree college days. Well, he’d been swotting, of course, trying to get into medical school, but they’d had some good times too. He remembered how they had all looked out on the water in sailing school. Half the fun had been falling in. They’d been roommates for a year, until Jim decided he needed fewer distractions. But there had been times Jim had envied Hal his zest for life.

  The door opened behind him and Chaplain Wallace slipped in. He nodded to Jim, then moved over to the bedside. He looked for a moment at the mortal remains of a man lost to humanity, then opened his prayer book. Jim listened as he read from the text.

  “We do not know the number of our days. Therefore, man, prepare for death each day, that you may find eternal peace.” There was a pause while the chaplain turned over a page.

  “Heavenly Father, you formed me from the dust in your image and likeness, and redeemed me from sin and death, but I have squandered the inheritance of your saints, and have wandered far in a land that is waste.”

  Jim watched the chaplain slide a finger down the page, looking for another passage. Hal had slipped into unconsciousness without confession or remorse or repentance, except for what he had said to Ginny. The phrases asking for forgiveness did not apply.

  “You, O Lord, you only are immortal, the creator and maker of mankind; and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and to earth shall we return. For so did you ordain when you created me, saying, ‘You are dust, and to dust you shall return.’”

  Two pages this time.

  “Most merciful God, whose wisdom is beyond our understanding, deal graciously with those left behind by this man, whose misuse of thy divine gift of free will has left them in grief. Surround them with your love, that they may n
ot be overwhelmed by their loss, but have confidence in your goodness, and strength to meet the days to come. Amen.”

  Amen. Jim echoed the plea. For Ginny, in particular.

  Chaplain Wallace stood for a moment longer, silent, at the dying man’s side, then turned, nodded to Jim and let himself out of the room.

  Jim watched the monitor above the bed, seeing the electrical signature of the dying nerves that controlled Hal’s heart. He was unconscious already. Was he in pain? Oxygen starvation caused cells to die. Dying cells cried out for life, they sent out chemicals like alarm bells, pain was a signal to do something, anything, to reverse the damage. Jim swallowed hard, then moved out to the nurse’s station. He pulled up the chart and added a potent painkiller to the orders already in place.

  He rose and turned, catching sight of his face reflected in the window behind the desk, his expression hard as stone. He didn’t want Ginny to see that.

  There was a garden on the side of the building. It still held blossoms left over from the summer, and the beginnings of color where the autumn air touched the deciduous trees. Jim sat on a bench and stared at the earth.

  Birth, life, death, then rebirth, the cycle of life. As long as there was earth, life should begin again. But not the same life. New life, different life.

  He wept in silent grief for the lives lost, never to come again; for his parents, killed by another misuse of free will. For the families of the three murdered men, for Ginny, and for himself. For all of the patients he had been unable to save. For the hopeless who killed themselves, for the mentally ill who could not be persuaded to stay off the street, for the spouses and parents and siblings and friends of the dead and dying. So many grieving people in a hospital. So very many.

  Eventually, the pain eased and he sat quietly, no longer thinking, just sitting. The evening fell around him and with it came the night air, cool and sweet. When the gloaming faded and the artificial lights came on, he rose and made his way back inside.

  * * *

  For Ginny, the day wore on into evening, punctuated by breathing treatments, medications, and another hospital food meal, which she left mostly untouched. Her sprained ankle lay elevated on a pillow and she had to move slowly to make sure the broken ribs didn’t poke holes in her side, but her head was better.