Spilled Blood

by Michael R. Davidson

  “I think so,” replied Strachey. “Would you mind if I asked a colleague to sit in on this meeting?”

  Nessmith shrugged and looked down at the floor.

  Strachey called Ruth and told her to ask Krystal to join them. The ex-cop no longer favored her trademark jeans and polo shirt as she had in Arlington. He had been pleased to see her in a designer pant suit that flattered her figure and a creamy silk blouse. Her shoulder length auburn mane was stylishly coiffed, parted in the middle, and swept back from her forehead.

  The men stood when she entered, and Strachey introduced her to Nessmith who reluctantly took her hand and shot a malevolent look at Strachey. “A woman? Why do we need her here?”

  Obviously, Padruig Nessmith had little use for courtesy and maybe even less for women.

  There was a slight but clear edge to Strachey’s voice when he answered. “Miss Murphy is my trusted partner. She is a decorated former police detective lieutenant, and she will play a prominent role in your case, providing we agree to help you.”

  Nessmith grimaced and turned his attention to Krystal. His eyes did not stray over her body or linger on her breasts. Instead they bored into her as if he wanted to excavate her soul and examine it. With an effort, she did not avert her eyes and held his until he turned back to Strachey. “If you insist.” He sat back down.

  Strachey gestured for Krystal to take the chair beside his across from Nessmith. “Krystal,” he said, “we were about to discuss the reason for Mr. Nessmith’s visit.” To Nessmith, “Please go, on.”

  The strange man’s words were uttered in a low monotone without a trace of emotion. “As you undoubtedly know from the press, my younger brother and his wife were murdered last weekend. The ill feeling that has existed for years between my brother and myself is well known, as is the fact that I wanted to buy his half of the business, which he refused to consider. With his death, his shares come to me. Unfortunately, it seems this somehow makes me the prime suspect in the crime, both in the minds of the police and the eyes of the public, thanks to disgraceful and baseless media speculation. I may be arrested at any moment, and my attorney says there is nothing to be done to prevent it.”

  “You don’t have an alibi for the time of the murders?” asked Strachey.

  Krystal maintained an unaccustomed silence. Padruig Nessmith was the most unattractive and disagreeable man she had ever encountered, a fact which could not help but engender prejudice against him. He made the perfect villain. The dark little man raised her hackles, and she hoped Strachey did not take the case.

  “I was at home alone,” replied Nessmith with a trace of defiance. “I seldom leave the house on weekends.”

  Nothing in the man’s demeanor or words encouraged the idea that he might be innocent. There was not a trace to be seen of sorrow about the murder of his younger brother and his wife, nor concern for the fate of their daughter.

  “Thank you, Mr. Nessmith,” said Strachey. “Give us a day or so to review your case. We’ll be wanting a more in-depth interview with you, by the way. We’ll need elaboration on some details. So, if you don’t mind, we’ll stop by your house in the morning.”

  “Why do you need to interview me?” asked Nessmith. “I don’t like the idea. What I want you to do is find the real killer so everybody will leave me alone.”

  “Mr. Nessmith, if we are to help you, we must know everything and anything that might impinge on the case. If we are to prove your innocence, we need to know who you are and all the circumstances of your relationship with your brother.”

  This was something Nessmith obviously found distasteful. For an instant Krystal thought/hoped he would refuse, and that would be the end of it. But after a moment’s hesitation, he relented. “All right,” he muttered, “I’ll expect you at ten in the morning.” He stood and walked out of the office without another word.

  When he was gone Krystal said, “You’re not going to take his case, are you? What a weird bird.”

  “It could be interesting, Krystal, and worthwhile. The Nessmiths can afford to pay a lot.”

  “We don’t have any financial problems, do we? We can’t be that desperate.”

  “We’re running a business here, and we can’t afford to turn away clients. And there’s something else. This is a big case. It’s all over the news. If we can squeeze a success out of it, it will mean good publicity for the firm.”

  “And if we can’t, it’ll mean the opposite.”

  “Well, it’s going to be up to you.”

  “What?”

  “This is going to be your case. You like a challenge, and I think the Nessmith matter has Krystal Murphy written all over it. You’ll have fun.”

  “Fun? Working with that little creep?”

  “I want you to interview him tomorrow, and then we’ll try to find a useful contact in the police. Now, go to your office and read everything you can find on the murders. The press is calling them ‘the picnic murders.’ After you’ve finished interviewing Padruig, I want you to go talk to my aunt Sadie. There’s nothing about people in Charlotte and the gossip about them she doesn’t know, and I’m sure old Padruig is a hot topic these days. You might find out something interesting. In the meantime, I’ll set something up with the police.

  CHAPTER 5

  Padruig Nessmith lived with his sister, Gavenia, in one of the older houses in Myers Park. It was smaller than its newer neighbors but retained an air of faded gentility with its large portico supported by four round white columns. The house was of wooden construction, which lent it even more of an antique air.

  Krystal rang the bell, and the door was opened by a thin, dark woman of around sixty wearing a severe black dress. Given the physical resemblance to Padruig, Krystal assumed this was Gavenia, but the woman did not introduce herself. After confirming Krystal’s identity, she wordlessly led the way to a large living room just off the entrance foyer. None of the furnishings looked less than a hundred years old. The curtains were drawn blocking the morning’s bright sunlight in favor of gloom.

  Padruig stood in the middle of the room looking as malevolent as ever. Krystal imagined him hanging from the ceiling like a bat. He greeted her entry with a curt nod before inviting her to sit on a settee covered in patterned silk. “I hope this won’t take long,” he said without a trace of apology. “I have business to attend to.”

  “You asked us to help you, Mr. Nessmith. That’s what we’re trying to do and why I’m here, but you’re going to have to cooperate.” If he could be obstinate, so could she.

  “Cooperate! It’s foolish,” he growled. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I had nothing to do with the murder of my brother and that woman. The only reason I went to you is because my attorney said I should find someone, and Lyle Strachey recommended his nephew.”

  Why did he refer to his sister-in-law as ‘that woman?’ “You obviously heeded your lawyer’s advice. So, why don’t you sit down and answer some questions?”

  “Oh, very well. But it won’t change anything.” He perched on the edge of an upholstered chair, reminding her of a crow on a power line.

  “You told us you were here in the house all weekend but that no one saw you. Where was your sister? You do share this house.”

  “Gavenia spent the weekend at our house in Asheville. She has, er, friends there.”

  And she was probably glad to get away from you. The thought sprang up unbidden.

  “Did you go outside? Is it possible a neighbor saw you here?”

  “Young lady, this house sits in the middle of a wooded acre of land and is well-screened, thank God, from neighborhood prying. Regardless, I did not leave the house.”

  “Did you receive any phone calls, or was there a delivery of some sort during that time?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Nessmith, can you think of anything, anything at all that might confirm your alibi? Did you make any phone calls, for example?”

  “No.”

  As the desultory interview continued Krystal f
ought to control her temper. What sort of creature was this Padruig Nessmith? He was the strangest character she had ever met, and that included a lot of very strange individuals, including Iranian assassins, Russian spies, and crazy CIA guys. The man seemed not to belong to this world nor wish to. What had happened to him to cause him to retreat from the human race? Was he capable of murder? She had no clue. Her gut was usually reliable and although Nessmith was unlikeable, he also gave off no vibes. It was like trying to relate to a tree stump.

  *****

  When the inquisitive woman left, Padruig Nessmith did not move. He stood in the center of the darkened room with his head bowed in thought. The situation was intolerable. It was intolerable that the police and press should invade his privacy and matters that should remain within the family, what was left of it. He was still uncertain of the wisdom of hiring a private detective, even though his attorney had strongly recommended it. There could be no evidence that he had committed a crime, and he was determined to provide no information that might point to the contrary. It was impossible that he could be arrested and dragged before the public, everything exposed. It was a long time since he had felt vulnerable, a long time, and he had vowed never to permit it again.

  He didn’t notice when Gavenia entered the room and was startled when she spoke. “You should tell them,” she said.

  Was there a tinge of fear or apprehension in her voice? Could she be trusted to follow his course.

  He turned to face her. “There is no need. It would only complicate things.”

  “But you were not here all weekend.” Gavenia wrung her hands and a crease appeared between her eyes. “You drove to Asheville to pick me up.”

  “No one saw me but you, sister,” he said. “It would be foolish to admit I was out of the house when the murders took place. It would only complicate the situation.” He turned toward her, and his hard stare made her feel like a butterfly pinned to a sheet of paper.

  She returned his stare uncertainly, and Padruig read doubt in her eyes. He softened his tone. “Don’t worry, sister. Everything will be all right. Nothing will happen.”

  After she left the room Nessmith sank heavily into a chair and leaned his head back and closed his eyes. But his mind conjured up that horrible scene in the church so many years ago, and it caused him almost physical pain. It would all be dredged up again, he knew, and his humiliation would be revisited. Alive or dead, his brother and sister-in-law brought him nothing but anguish.

  *****

  Next stop was Strachey’s aunt Sadie, and Krystal did not have to travel far. Lyle and Sadie Strachey also lived in Myers Park, one of the moneyed enclaves of Charlotte and perhaps the most traditional one. The tree-lined boulevard was lined with multi-million-dollar mansions on large lots. Strachey’s uncle Lyle and his wife occupied a white stone home of gargantuan proportions. Krystal often wondered how people could possibly require so much space. To someone who had grown up on a farm in southern Indiana where every inch had a purpose, the fact that Lyle and Sadie Strachey who had no children made their home in a five-bedroom behemoth was nearly incomprehensible and roused in her a slight contempt rather than envy.

  Sadie Strachey opened the door and greeted Krystal with a bright smile. She was petite, and at somewhere over sixty, still vivacious. She wore a white sleeveless dress and a pink scarf around her neck. “Bobby said you would be stopping by. Come on in. I have coffee and sweet rolls waiting.” Her accent was syrupy sweet. It took Krystal a moment to realize that ‘Bobby’ was Robert Strachey. She had vaguely prepared herself to dislike Strachey’s aunt, but the warm greeting and the woman’s bubbly demeanor immediately disarmed her.

  Sadie led her through the house to a flag-stoned patio in the back that overlooked a manicured half acre which boasted two large magnolia trees, an abundance of flowering azaleas, and a kidney-shaped swimming pool. A silver coffee service and a plate of sweets awaited them on a table beneath a colorful umbrella. Sadie carefully poured the coffee into porcelain cups and used tongs to set a strawberry tart on Krystal’s plate. “If it were afternoon,” said Sadie with a twinkle in her eye, “we would be having mai-tais or sangria.” She waved Krystal to one of the cushioned chairs around the table. “Now that we’re all comfy, Bobby said you wanted to talk about Padruig Nessmith. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” nodded Krystal. “Anything you can tell me about him would be useful.”

  “Well, dear, there’s this awful murder thing, and everyone is certain he must have done it. Poor Padruig doesn’t have many admirers.”

  “So I gathered. He’s not a very likable person, is he? Why do you say ‘poor Padruig’?”

  Sadie took a dainty bite of her pastry and sipped her coffee before answering. “What do you know about his family?”

  “I’m new to Charlotte, but I gather he is quite wealthy.”

  “That’s true. His father immigrated from Scotland in the fifties and opened a little hardware shop here in town. Charlotte was a much smaller and quieter place in those days. Some of our folks were pioneers and trailblazers in the banking sector for the entire Piedmont, and by the seventies things really started to happen. By the end of the nineties Charlotte was headquarters to the first nationwide bank, the Bank of America, and we just continued to grow. Padruig’s father, also named Padruig, grew with the city’s prosperity. He was a wily old coot and soon branched out with a string of hardware stores in town and kept growing until he controlled a retail empire throughout the state and down into South Carolina. He made a fortune. His three children, Padruig, Gavenia, and the youngest brother, Jaidon led privileged lives. Padruig was the eldest sibling and was soon helping his father run the business. In those days he was considered quite a catch by the young ladies. He was a good athlete and had the kind of dark good looks women go for. He was quite popular. I remember him well from those days.”

  Krystal nearly choked on her coffee. “Padruig Nessmith was popular and sought after by women? What the … what happened? He’s one of the least attractive men I’ve ever met.”

  Sadie shook her head sadly and clicked her tongue. “And that’s a tragedy. It’s an old, old story, my dear. As usual, there was a woman involved. Her name was Tennant, Christanna Tennant, and she was an empty-headed southern belle but very beautiful. Padruig fell madly in love with her despite the huge difference in their ages and proposed marriage, which she accepted. But she jilted him in the worst possible way. She left Padruig standing at the altar and ran away with his much younger brother, Jaidon, who was almost as empty-headed as she. They made a fine pair.” Sadness mingled with indignation colored her words. “Padruig was never the same afterwards. It was as though his soul had curdled and could never be restored. He disappeared from society and spent all his energies on the business, seldom appearing in public. At first, his old friends were sorry for him, but he could not be drawn out, and eventually they lost interest. In the end, he became an object of ridicule, poor thing. Of course, the brothers became estranged. I doubt they have spoken to one another since.

  “But when their father died, he bequeathed the business to both boys, giving them equal shares. There were two conditions to the will: first, the boys were to take care of their sister, Gavenia, ensuring that she would never want for anything. Old man Nessmith didn’t believe in permitting women in business, but he did care for his daughter, and poor Gavenia never married. The other condition was that the business could never be sold or broken up unless Padruig and Jaidon agreed. Of course, Padruig continued to run the business and Jaidon, who had never shown an interest, lived off the dividends. Their father obviously hoped the boys eventually would reconcile.”

  Nessmith’s reference to his deceased sister-in-law as ‘that woman’ was explained, and Krystal wondered how deeply the vein of hatred ran in Padruig Nessmith. “Do you think he killed his brother?” asked Krystal.

  “It’s been such a long time … I wouldn’t blame him. Would you?” Sadie cocked her head and shot her a questioning look u
nder an arched and well plucked eyebrow.

  “He definitely had motive, didn’t he?”

  “Well,” said Sadie with a tight smile. “Don’t you think that if he had murderous intent against Jaidon he would have done something immediately rather than waiting for over twenty years?”

  “Not necessarily,” replied Krystal. “Hatred can grow and fester over time until it overpowers a person’s better instincts. Grudges, especially those that rise out of a deep wound, only become bigger.”

  Sadie sighed, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. What Jaidon and Christanna did to him was unforgivable. It certainly wounded him and changed him completely. I’ve always suspected that the young Padruig had a gentle, trusting nature. When betrayed such people have a hard time recovering, and I think Padruig’s heart must have been broken right in two.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Strachey. You’ve been very helpful. It makes it a little easier to understand Padruig.” Krystal was surprised to find herself for the first time feeling some sympathy for their strange, uncommunicative client. But the undeniable takeaway was that she had discovered a strong motive for murder. There was a lot to think about.

  CHAPTER 6

  Strachey had arranged a meeting early in the afternoon at Charlotte Mecklenburg Police headquarters on East Trade Street. Krystal joined him for lunch at Fitzgerald’s, a place on East 5th that despite pretensions to be an Irish bar lacked the cozy intimacy of the real thing. But there was Guinness on tap and the food was acceptable. Strachey ordered a beer and burger while Krystal had a Cobb salad and a coke. She was trying to cut down on alcohol, especially Scotch. Avoiding beer was at least a start.