by Rhys Bowen
“But you don’t think he was the one who showed up at the gate last night asking if Mr. Hannan had arrived?”
Terrence kicked at a pile of leaves with his well-polished shoe. “Frankly I don’t think he’d have the brains to find his way here. He’s probably never been out of the city in his life—certainly never had to change trains. Besides, he wouldn’t have had the money for the train fare—in addition to which it’s already been pointed out that he lives within a block or so of the company office. He could have seen my uncle whenever he wanted. And I know Uncle Brian occasionally could be tapped for money, so why kill the golden goose?”
Why indeed? I thought. That same reasoning would apply to all the family members. They all benefited from his beneficence and if he’d left his fortune to his only daughter, then the rest of them would be worse off now than they had been.
Terrence reached into his pocket and took out a cigarette case and a lighter. “Do you mind if I smoke? Irene makes a frightful fuss if I do it in the house. I don’t suppose you’d like one yourself, would you?”
“Uh, no thank you,” I said. “And I really should be getting back to my husband. He’s not well, so I should be keeping an eye on him.”
“Not another victim of poisoning?” Terrence asked.
“No, just a normal chill,” I replied. “At least I think it’s a little worse than a normal chill. It’s turned into a full-fledged grippe. However, I suspect that it’s partly a case of men making terrible patients. Women just get on with it and know they have to recover quickly or else.”
“That’s us men. Weak and self-centered creatures.” Terrence took a long drag on his cigarette and blew out a perfect smoke ring. “Give my regards to your husband.”
My encounter with Terrence had left me feeling uneasy. I started to walk away quickly and had to resist the urge not to look back over my shoulder to see if he was watching me or following me. I told myself I had no reason to be afraid. He had done nothing to threaten me in any way. In fact he had been open, frank, and chatty with me. What’s more, I liked him. He was witty and charming. He reminded me of my playwright friend Ryan O’Hare. But I knew quite well that criminals and even murderers could be charming. And his story about coming to the gazebo on the possibility that he might be able to help himself to a drink—surely that was a thin excuse, wasn’t it? There would obviously be a drinks cabinet in the house where he could sneak a drink unobserved if he put his mind to it. It seemed more likely to me that he had wanted to come to the gazebo because he wanted to check it out. Perhaps he was concerned that he might have left something there—something that could be used as evidence against him. The truth was that I suspected that Terrence had something to hide.
I emerged into the full force of the wind as I came out onto the lawn and battled my way back to my cottage as quickly as possible.
Sixteen
“Molly, is that you?” Daniel called in a croaking voice as I came in through the front door. I went up and found him lying propped up in bed exactly as I had left him. He looked up at me, hollow-eyed and pathetic as only a man with a minor illness can look.
He held out his hand to me. “I woke up and you were nowhere around. I wondered where you had gone. I was worried about you.”
I look his hand. It felt hot and clammy. “I just went to sit in the fresh air to write a letter, although I didn’t get much of a letter written. Terrence Hannan joined me and wanted to chat.”
“I don’t like the thought of your wandering around out there,” he said. “For all we know a murder was committed here last night.”
“Just because someone wanted to get rid of Brian Hannan doesn’t mean that I’d be in any danger,” I said. “I’ve nothing to do with the Hannan family.”
“No, but your presence could be taken as snooping. You made a couple of astute observations this morning, and it is now known that I’m with the police. You could be seen as posing a threat to a murderer.”
“I think you’re exaggerating, my love.” I patted his hand as I held it. “Besides the house and grounds are full of servants and even the occasional policeman. I’m not stupid, Daniel and I’ve learned not to be reckless either.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “I can think of some fairly recent examples of your recklessness.”
“Nonsense. They were just bad luck not bad judgment,” I said. “And anyway, I’m only prone to recklessness when I’m on a case.”
“Was on a case,” he corrected.
“Yes, dear,” I said dutifully, making him smile. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I think I am,” he said. “I should be all right by morning.”
“Which will be good, because Joseph Hannan has emphasized that he wants us out of here as soon as possible.”
“That’s interesting, isn’t it,” Daniel said. “Is it just because he wants to bring his ladylove back to the guest cottage or does he think we’d be doing some investigating into Brian Hannan’s death?”
“Not the ladylove,” I said. “She caught a train back to New York the next morning.”
“Now how do you know that?” He sat up, staring at me.
“I thought it might useful to find out if she was still staying in town. And I discovered that a Mr. and Mrs. Joseph had stayed one night at an inn quite near the railway station. Arrived very late and left at crack of dawn. The landlady was amazed that they’d gone without the breakfast for which they had paid.”
“Not bad for a lady detective,” he said. Then he ducked. “No, don’t hit me. I’m on my sickbed.”
“I’ll make us both a cup of tea.” I smiled as I went downstairs. It was good to see his energy returning. Maybe he would be well enough to travel in the morning. Frankly I couldn’t wait to get away. The atmosphere of this place was beginning to weigh on me. I had just put on the kettle and was cutting some bread to toast when there was a knock at the front door. I was surprised to see the police chief standing there.
“Mrs. Sullivan, I’m sorry to disturb you. Is your husband at home?” he asked.
“He is.”
“Then if I might have a word?”
“He’s been taking a rest, but if you’ll go into the sitting room, I’ll see if he feels up to receiving a guest.” I ushered him inside. As I went up to the bedroom I found Daniel already struggling into his jacket.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” I asked.
“I want to hear what he has to say,” Daniel said. “He wouldn’t have come back if he hadn’t information on the case.”
“Maybe he’s come to arrest you as prime suspect,” I muttered.
“I think that’s highly unlikely.” He paused to examine his reflection in the dressing table mirror. “God, I look awful,” he said. He ran a comb through his hair before heading downstairs. I didn’t follow him into the sitting room, since the chief had specifically asked to speak to my husband, but I lingered at the doorway.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Chief Prescott?” I asked. “I’ve a kettle about to boil.”
“Thank you. Most kind.”
I went through to the kitchen. At least I’d have an excuse to join them when I brought in the tea tray. The kettle was boiling. I made the tea and got out an extra cup and saucer. Then I carried in the tray.
Chief Prescott looked up as I came in. “I came over because I owed your husband an apology,” he said. “I received a telegram confirming that he is indeed who he claimed to be.”
“Well, that’s nice to know,” I replied.
“And also because the two of you immediately assumed that there was more to Mr. Hannan’s death than a simple accident. It would appear you may be right. A doctor’s initial examination revealed—” He broke off. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sullivan, but this conversation is probably not something for a sensitive lady’s ears.”
Daniel laughed. “I should tell you that my wife has run her own detective business for several years and has seen more blood and gore than most men I know. I don’t think you�
��ll easily turn her stomach.”
“Really? Good gracious.” Chief Prescott looked at me as if I was a strange specimen at a zoo.
“I’ve sat in on an autopsy or two,” I said, not admitting that they had indeed turned my stomach.
“Very well then,” the chief said. “If you wish to stay and hear this, I’ve no objection. A preliminary analysis of the stomach contents and the blood do show the presence of alcohol, but certainly not enough to draw the conclusion that Mr. Hannan was too drunk to know what he was doing. And there is something else—our doctor thinks he detects the presence of some chemical poison in the bloodstream. He’s taken samples to the hospital in Providence where they have better means of testing, but we should know tomorrow.”
“Interesting,” Daniel said. “Poison, you say. It will depend if it turns out to be slow acting or fast acting. If it’s the former then the lethal dose could have been administered even before he left the city. That would make it much harder.”
The chief nodded. “Virtually impossible, I’d say. It could have been dropped into a cup of coffee on the train, for example.”
“Which would bring it down to motive,” Daniel said. “Who had a reason to kill him?”
“That’s why I’ve come back to see you,” Chief Prescott said. “I wondered if you could shed any insights into this matter.” He paused, looking down at the pattern on the carpet.
“You’re asking my assistance with this investigation?” Daniel asked.
“Well, not exactly. I wondered if it was more than coincidence that Mr. Hannan invited you here this weekend. Because everything I’ve heard about Mr. Hannan does not cause me to think that he was a warmhearted and generous soul who would invite a relative stranger to join his family gathering. And the fact that you are a policeman—a senior officer with the New York police—is significant. So can you shed any light on this? Did he suspect he was in danger and want protection?”
“I wish I could shed more light,” Daniel said. “I gathered that I was being asked here for a reason. He said he had something he wanted to show me and then he added that he thought he might have got it wrong.”
“Had got what wrong?”
Daniel shook his head. “He didn’t elucidate and I didn’t see fit to press him at that point. I had the impression that Brian Hannan was the sort of man who would tell you what he wanted to tell you, when he wanted to.”
“So you had no idea what it could have been?”
“No,” Daniel said. “I surmised it might be something to do with finances. I don’t know why I thought that. Maybe something he said about difficulties running a family business.”
He paused, coughing. I remembered that I had brought in the tea tray and poured two cups, handing one to the police chief and one to Daniel. The latter nodded gratefully and took a sip. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said to Chief Prescott. “I’m not at my best today. Nasty chill, I’m afraid.”
“So your wife told me,” Chief Prescott said. “Well, I won’t bother you much longer, but I had to know whether you got the impression that Mr. Hannan knew he’d be in danger here.”
“I did not get that impression,” Daniel said. “Quite the opposite. He waxed eloquent about how delightful it was and what a perfect spot for my delayed honeymoon.”
The chief took a drink of his own tea. “Did he tell you why he’d invited his family this particular weekend? None of them seems to know. Something about his son-in-law taking part in a yacht race, but surely there was more to it than that. It’s quite unheard of for owners of cottages to come here after the season.”
“I realize that now,” Daniel said. “Frankly at the time it never crossed my mind that there was anything unusual about it. I’m not often invited to mix with the Newport elite.”
“It had to have been planned for a purpose,” Chief Prescott said. “I did hear from Mr. Hannan’s family members that they had been issued the royal summons and felt that they had to come. But not one of them had any idea about what it could mean.”
“Maybe he was planning to change his will,” I suggested, making them both look in my direction as if they had forgotten I was in the room.
“Now there’s a thought.” Chief Prescott put down his teacup. “And a good motive, if it turns out to be murder. If one of them was about to be cut out of a fortune…”
“I don’t think that was about to happen,” I said. “One thing I have noticed was that they all speak warmly of him. They were concerned about his recent drinking but that was because they were fond of him.”
“Fondness can change if one discovers one is being cut out of an inheritance,” Prescott said. “Especially among people like this who are used to enjoying the good lifestyle. And that would explain the tray in the gazebo.” He smiled with satisfaction. “He knew he was going to tell them something unpleasant. He wanted to fortify himself before he faced them, so he carried out the decanter and a glass and had a quiet drink.”
“I presume you’ve had the contents of the glass and the decanter tested if you suspect he might have ingested poison?” Daniel asked.
“Again, an initial testing. Frankly our facilities here in a small town like Newport are not the best. We’ve sent them to Providence with the blood sample.”
“And were traces of a poison present?”
“Not that we could detect,” Chief Prescott said. “The glass and decanter seemed to contain nothing but Irish whiskey.”
“What about fingerprints?” I asked.
Again he looked at me in surprise. “Your wife is certainly up-to-date in her methods, isn’t she?” He said with a nervous chuckle. “Yes, we’ll have them tested for fingerprints.”
“I have something else that might be of assistance,” I said. “Wait one minute.” I left the room and went to collect my handkerchief containing the fragments of glass I had picked up on the rocks. I returned and opened it on the table in front of them. “Here,” I said. “I found these earlier today when I was walking on the clifftop above where Mr. Hannan was found. I saw the glint of something shining in the sunlight. I thought it might be important, so I climbed down to retrieve it.”
“Good gracious,” the chief said again.
“And it turned out to be these pieces of glass. At the time I thought they could have lain there any amount of time or even fallen from a passing ship, but now I’m wondering—was there a second glass on that tray? Was Mr. Hannan holding it when he drank and fell?”
They said nothing so I went on. “I picked them up with my handkerchief as carefully as possible, so that I wouldn’t disturb any fingerprints, but I’m afraid the waves will probably have washed away any trace of what the glass contained.”
“Mrs. Sullivan, you astound me,” Chief Prescott said. “You’ve got yourself a clever little woman there, Sullivan. She’ll no doubt be a big help to you in your profession.”
“So I keep telling him,” I remarked dryly.
Daniel wisely said nothing.
With that the interview came to an end. The police chief stood up.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, and wish you a speedy recovery,” he said, shaking Daniel’s hand. “You have been most helpful. A tricky business, Captain Sullivan. A prominent family—lots of money, influential in politics. I’ll have the eyes of the country on me when this gets out. I can’t afford to make a mistake. I keep thinking that maybe we’re reading more into this than actually happened. What if it was an accident?”
“But the poison?”
“What if turns out to be something his pharmacist prescribed that has toxic qualities. Many medicines do, don’t they? There are plenty of tonics containing arsenic or mercury.”
“A competent physician will be able to tell you whether any substance was in his bloodstream in sufficient quantities to kill him,” Daniel said. “And his physician will vouch for what he prescribed. So all we have to do right now is watch and wait.”
“That’s it.” Chief Prescott headed for the door.
“Watch and wait.”
As I opened the door for him he said in a low voice. “And Mrs. Sullivan, your own observations have been most useful, but I have to warn you: Leave this to the police from now on and devote your energies to looking after your husband instead.”
“Go back to my rightful place, you’re saying,” I commented. “And leave the real work to the men?”
“Not at all.” He shook his head. “I’m saying that if what we fear turns out to be true, then someone on this estate killed a man in the proximity of many other people. Such a person is extremely dangerous and would not hesitate to dispatch you, should he consider you a threat.”
He stepped out into the slanted evening sunlight, blinking slightly as it shone into his face. He stared up at the brooding shape of the castle. Then he put on his hat, gave me a curt little bow, and walked over to his automobile.
When I came back into the room Daniel was standing up, one hand on the back of an armchair. “I thought I’d go back to bed, if you don’t mind,” he said. “My head’s still throbbing like the devil.”
“What do you feel like for supper?” I asked, taking his arm to escort him up the stairs. “Anything I can tempt you to?”
He managed the ghost of a smile. “Normally I could answer that in the affirmative. This evening I can’t be tempted by anything except my bed and sleep. Oh, and another of those disgusting aspirin powders.”
“But you must eat something.”
“Just some more of that broth. That’s all.”
“That’s easy then. I don’t need to cook.” I helped him off with his jacket. “Why don’t you get undressed properly and into bed?”
“I should probably stay like this for now, in case somebody comes from the big house. I’ll just lie with a rug over me.” He brought out the words one by one, and with difficulty as if the climb up the stairs had winded him.
I draped the rug over him, then kissed his forehead. “I’ll be up with the aspirin then. And a spoonful of jam this time. That’s what the chemist said. It makes the bitter taste go away.”
