THE ELSON LEGACY (Alton Rhode Mysteries Book 6)

by Lawrence de Maria

  After I explained what I was doing in her town, I had taken Deerly-Johnson around the house. We were waiting for some of her forensic people to come by and check for new fingerprints, but we both assumed that whoever had tossed the place probably wore gloves. On some surfaces where the recent intruders had obviously placed their hands on recently polished surfaces, there were no visible finger or palm prints.

  “I wonder if they got what they came for?”

  “What bothers me,” she said, “is the fact that whoever killed Elson did not search the place on the same night. Everything was basically in order when we went through the house after the murder. Left a bit of a mess ourselves, of course, but then we gave Evelyn Rogers permission to get a cleaning service in here and put everything back together.”

  “You don’t think it was a normal burglary, either?”

  “No. With Elson dead, someone wanted to remove something incriminating that was not related to his murder.”

  This was one smart cop.

  “And since your people searched the house and no other shoe dropped, they knew that if there was anything here it must be well hidden.”

  Deerly-Johnson poured us both another cup of coffee.

  “And they wanted to find it before you moved in,” she said. “At least that’s how I figure it.”

  “How many people knew I’d be staying here?”

  “Oh, a couple of million,” she said, smiling. “It’s a small town.”

  “Wonderful.”

  I told her about being tailed when I left town and gave her a description of the pickup.

  “That explains the gun.”

  “You didn’t seem too fazed by it.”

  “Even the squirrels have guns in this county. I don’t suppose you got a license plate.”

  “By the time I knew they were following me, they never got close enough for me to read one. I can’t even be sure there was a front plate. If I had to guess, I’d say there wasn’t one. What’s the law in Virginia?”

  “Vehicles are required to have plates front and back, but not everyone follows the law. And certain vehicles, such as pickup trucks that work farms and don’t travel more than 20 miles from home don’t even need plates, though they must have titles. I’ll check on any around here that fit your description.”

  “Long shot.”

  “Very. And the truck might not be from Virginia. Or they might have removed the front plate just as a precaution.”

  The Chief stood up.

  “Have you checked the grounds?”

  “No.”

  “Come on.”

  ***

  The rear yard included natural stone landscaping, flagstone pool deck with an outdoor cooking area, vine covered trellises, a stone patio and a gazebo. The pool was still full, but I suspected that it would soon be drained for the winter. We walked out to the stable area. Two horses came to the fence. They looked healthy and well-fed, but I still wished I had brought some carrots. We headed to a small hen house. Gunner chased a few chickens but then calmed down when an angry rooster came out to protect his harem.

  “You would think a dog like that would make short work of that rooster,” Deerly-Johnson said.

  “He’s a Byelorussian Ovcharka. Guy who gave him to me says the breed is basically fearless, thus has nothing to prove. I bet Gunner would stand between me and a rhino.”

  “Gunner?”

  “Long story.”

  A path behind the hen house led past a small well into the surrounding woods. It was a beautiful piece of land.

  “Judges must be well paid in these parts,” I said.

  “I believe the Elsons had family money,” the chief said. She hesitated. “To start. The source of all Judge Elson’s more recent money is a bit murky. No one talks about it.”

  “Ever feel tempted to find out?”

  She didn’t take it badly.

  “All the time. And not just his source of money. But the town council keeps us shorthanded and underfunded. I don’t have the resources to stir the pot.”

  “Probably a reason they keep you on a short leash.”

  “Sure. But in case you are wondering, I don’t think it’s a racial thing. My predecessors were white and underfunded. Small towns are small towns. They don’t work if everyone plays by the rules. I keep the streets safe, which is good for the tourists, and business in general.”

  “That’s what Evelyn Rogers said. She thinks highly of you, by the way.”

  “I’m not supposed to like lawyers, so don’t quote me, but Evelyn is one of the good ones.”

  “I bet now that somebody rammed an ice pick in the judge and then tossed his house, maybe you’ll do some pot stirring.”

  She turned to face me. She was an attractive woman, with sharp, intelligent eyes.

  “I was kind of thinking that maybe you can stir things up.”

  “I was wondering why you are being so nice to me, Chief. Usually, the local law hates PI’s and threatens to run them out of town on a rail.”

  “Well, I may have to threaten you with that, just for show. I knew you were coming. Evelyn Rogers told me. So, I did a little research on you before you got here. Made a call or two. Apparently, you are a royal pain in the ass, but somehow gets results. I figure you can do some things that I can’t. Of course, if you get killed, I will pick up the slack.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  I liked Deerly-Johnson. We were standing by an old well at the rear of the property. I felt for a coin in my pocket. I didn’t have one.

  “You don’t have any coins, do you Chief?”

  “Who carries coins? Why?”

  “Seems a waste of a well. I wanted to make a wish.”

  “You are a strange dude, Rhode.”

  We walked back to the house in silence and entered through a door that led to the den where Elson was killed.

  “He was apparently watching that TV when he was attacked,” Deerly-Johnson said. “It was still on when we arrived.”

  “Who found him?”

  “Clyde Spivey, president of the Town Council, one of his golf buddies. He came by in the morning to pick the judge up for a game. It was opening day at Castlereigh.”

  “Castlereigh?”

  “Castlereigh Golf and Country Club. Ground zero for the local gentry. Elson and Spivey were part of a regular foursome, apparently, and Spivey and the others took turns driving the judge, who apparently always had one too many after they played. Anyway, the front door was open and Spivey walked right in, like he usually did. People around here don’t usually lock their doors, although they’ve become more cautious since the murder. Of course, this place has been locked up since it was vacant. Anyway, Clyde called out and got no answer. Heard the TV and came in here. Saw Elson in the chair. Thought he was drunk or asleep, or both, which wouldn’t have been a first. Then he went around to the front of the chair and freaked out. When I got here, Elson was sitting there dead, with the ice pick sticking out of his left eye, up to the hilt. Spivey was inhaling some of the judge’s bourbon. Can’t say I blame him. It was a gruesome sight.”

  I walked over and looked at the chair and surrounding white-plush carpet. The cleaning people had done a good job and I said so.

  “There wasn’t that much blood on the floor. It dripped down the ice pick and onto his lap, mainly. Pooled in the chair around his crotch. Ran all over the handle.”

  “Hard to get prints.”

  “Would have been tough, anyway. The handle was jade and engraved. All ridges and curls.”

  “Killer probably got bloodied.”

  “Yeah. But unfortunately no one walked into the station house all covered in blood and signed a confession.”

  “I hate when that doesn’t happen, don’t you? What was the time of death?”

  “Blaloch, our coroner, put it sometime between midnight and 1 AM.”

  “Spivey a suspect?”

  “I wish. He was home with his wife, asleep. I don’t think she likes him enough to
lie about it.”

  “I take it you are not his biggest fan.”

  “Let’s just say that me and Clyde don’t see eye-to-eye on policing and leave it at that.”

  No wonder she thought I may be useful. She probably has to kowtow to the local politicos all the time. Now I can take some of the heat. Well, it’s worth the trade-off. Sure beats the alternative of having an adversarial relationship with the local cops.

  “Laurene Robillard says you don’t think she is involved.”

  “Makes no sense. She has an airtight alibi and most hit men would use a gun, not an ice pick.”

  “How did the killer get here.”

  “We presume he, or she, drove. But it was raining, which compromised all the tire tracks we found. And those we were able to cast fit many different cars. If we get a suspect we may be able to say he, or she, drove that kind of car, but, so what?”

  “You keep saying ‘she’.”

  “The judge liked the ladies. Can’t rule them out. And an ice pick suggests a crime of passion or opportunity. He was killed sitting in his chair, with his own ice pick. He didn’t put up a struggle.”

  “Maybe he was asleep.”

  “Could be. The ice pick went into an open eye. The eyelid was intact. But that doesn’t prove anything. He might have sensed something and opened his eyes.”

  “You believe that?”

  “No. I think Elson knew his killer. But everybody we even remotely suspected, hell, anyone who even knew him, alibied out. I eliminated so many people that I thought I might have done it.”

  “You didn’t do it, did you?”

  “Almost wish I had, if only to clear the case. But even I had a great alibi.”

  I laughed.

  “If you don’t mind me saying it, Chief, you don’t come across as some hick small-town cop.”

  “I was an MP in the Army and also went to the F.B.I. Academy on an exchange program.” She smiled. “And I watch a lot of C.S.I. and N.C.I.S.”

  “My office manager is a former MP. She sometimes runs rings around me.”

  We heard some cars pull up in front.

  “My forensic team, such as it is,” Deerly-Johnson said.

  “They won’t find anything,” I said.

  “I know. But I want to supervise and tell them what a royal pain in the ass you are and how I reamed you out. Don’t take it personal. I think you should stay out here until they’ve finished. When we leave you probably should call that cleaning service and put this place back together.”

  ***

  After the police forensic team left, I called Laurene and told her about the break-in. I didn’t tell her about the pickup truck that had followed me.

  “And you don’t think it was regular run-of-the-mill burglars, or maybe kids?”

  “Not a chance. They were looking for something. But I don’t think they found it.”

  “Why?”

  “A hunch. They did the whole house. Unless they found it in the last place they looked, that probably means they didn’t get what they were looking for.”

  “Maybe there was more than one thing.”

  “And maybe they had 15 guys looking simultaneously. I like my theory better. Any ideas about what they were after?”

  “I can’t imagine. But on TV the cops always say there are no coincidences. This has to be related to my grandfather’s murder.”

  “The ‘no coincidences’ thing is a cliché, although I don’t like them either.

  “Like cops and donuts are a cliché?”

  “I do like donuts. But, yes. Like that. I don’t think the break-in was a coincidence, But I’m not sure the murder was committed by the same person or persons who broke into the house. It’s just as likely that your grandfather’s death merely precipitated the burglary.”

  “I thought Atlas was a nice, quiet Southern town.”

  “Still waters and all that.”

  There was a long pause.

  “I don’t want you getting hurt. Maybe we should let the police do their job.”

  I was glad I didn’t mention the pickup truck.

  “I haven’t earned my fee yet.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the money! I don’t want a fucking refund. I’m just worried about you.”

  I laughed.

  “Laurene, given our past relationship, I have to say you may be the strangest client I’ve ever had. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I could fire you.”

  “I want two weeks’ notice.”

  Now she was laughing.

  “Please be careful.”

  “It’s my middle name.”

  “I thought it was Bartholomew.”

  I momentarily drew a blank. Then it hit me.

  “You remembered.”

  “Not really. You must have told Ellen the story, later.” She chuckled. “Pillow talk. Before everything went to hell. Anyway, will you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Look in on my Mom in the nursing home. I think she’s getting good care, but the guy who runs the joint gives me the creeps. Besides, this burglary thing is freaking me out.”

  “I’ll go there tomorrow. I want to get some people in here to clean up the place.”

  We rang off, but not until I re-promised to be “extra, extra” careful. As if I wouldn’t be on my guard, living in a recently burgled house where a man was ice-picked to death in a town where I was tailed just as soon as I arrived. Despite what I’d told Laurene, I began to wonder if I was underpaid.

  Next I called Evelyn Rogers, told her about the break-in and asked her to arrange for a cleaning service as soon as possible. She said she’d get right back to me, and she did.

  “They will be there at 9 AM. I’m also sending out a locksmith, to replace all the locks. He’ll give you a new set of keys. Do you think we should get an alarm company in as well?”

  “I think you may be overreacting, Evelyn.”

  “Someone rammed an ice pick in Judge Elson’s eye and just broke into the house, for God’s sake.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for whoever did it.”

  “Not funny, Mr. Rhode.”

  “Listen. Locks and alarm systems won’t keep anyone out. Besides, I don’t think anyone is coming back. And if they do, I have a dog that barks when he hears a leaf fall and I carry a gun. After I leave town you can ring the place with Claymore mines for all I care. Maybe it will help the resale value. But for now, new locks are just fine.”

  ***

  Back home, I have a cleaning lady come in every two weeks. Whenever Alice stays at my house, she bustles about tidying up before the cleaning lady gets there. It drives me crazy.

  “This way, she can concentrate on the really hard stuff,” Alice explained. “Besides, she is a nice old lady and this is a big house.”

  My cleaning lady is indeed long in the tooth, but she has the stamina and health of a Gurkha guide on Mount Everest. I pay her well and she likes to work. She once removed the glass front of my fireplace to clean it, swept out the entire hearth and had a roaring blaze ready for me when I got home. I explained all this to Alice, who listened politely and then put me to work dusting the chandeliers before the cleaning lady arrived.

  Thank God Alice isn’t here yet, I said to myself as I opened the door to Judge Elson’s liquor cabinet in his den and surveyed his stunning bourbon collection. Then I sighed deeply and and closed the door. I changed into some work clothes, opened a beer, made a quick sandwich with cold cuts I’d bought, fed Gunner, and then went about the house doing some pre-cleaning service cleanup.

  Alice had trained me well.

  CHAPTER 11 - BEATRICE

  I was up at first light, roaming the house to see if I could spot any hiding places the intruders might have missed in their search. It was a big house, and a cursory search was thus a waste of time. But I did manage to work up an appetite. So I made a pot of coffee, fried some country ham and scrambled some eggs that I’d collected from the hen house out back, ke
eping an eye out for the feisty rooster. If anything tastes better than fresh farm eggs, I’ve yet to find it. I mixed some of my breakfast in with Gunner’s dog food. He was delighted.

  “Whatever you do, don’t kill those hens,” I said.

  Gunner looked at me, his snout yellow with yolk.

  The cleaning crew arrived punctually at 9 AM. When I let them in, their boss looked at me suspiciously and said, “We were just here last week.”

  “I hope you do a better job,” I said.

  I probably could have been more tactful.

  About two hours later, while I was up in Elson’s office going through some of his papers, I heard Gunner barking wildly. It was his “Alice is here” happy bark. I looked out the window to see him running in circles around her white Volvo. By the time I got downstairs, she was putting some bottles of wine on the island in the kitchen.

  “There is a man changing locks and some people are cleaning the place like an Ebola ward,” Alice said. “Did you invite some dancing girls over for a party or something?”

  “I thought I did a pretty good job of fixing the joint up after the burglary,” I said, wrapping my arms around her. “But I think I may have insulted the cleaners.”

  We kissed long and hard, no mean accomplishment with a big, enthusiastic dog trying to join the act. Finally, we broke apart and she looked at me.

  “Burglary?”

  ***

  The Heartland Nursing Home was on Doswell Road, a short drive from the Elson spread. I pulled Alice’s Volvo into the parking lot in front of the two-story, all-brick facility. I was hopeful that the change of vehicles might fool whoever had tailed me, if they still wanted to do it. I checked the rear-view mirror several times. No one followed us.

  “This is so exciting,” Alice said. “Going out with you on a real case.”

  I’d told Alice everything that had happened.

  “We’re only visiting someone in a nursing home,” I said. “This isn’t part of the case.”

  “Is that why you switched cars?”

  Not too much got past Alice.

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  “Are you sure Gunner will be all right?”