“Oh, my God,” I whispered. I bent further to reaffirm the identity of the body, and almost lost my balance in the process. The hand, the face, the lifeless body belonged to Walter Marschalk. And then I saw the gaping, oozing gash across his throat that reached from ear to ear.
I straightened up and jammed my fist against my mouth to stifle a scream that threatened to come out. It took me a few moments to gather enough composure to leave the beach in search of someone to tell. I no longer felt childlike. I felt disgustingly grown-up.
Yes, Walter, I would take any death threat seriously.
Chapter 7
“Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher. Sorry to be calling so early.” It was six-fifteen. Another morning of beating the birds out of bed. “This is Detective Calid. We talked last night.”
“Last night” was only a few hours ago. I’d given a brief statement to the detective after having reported Walter’s murder, and asked if I might get a few hours’ sleep before undergoing any questioning. He readily agreed, and as traumatic as my discovery had been, I was asleep in minutes.
“I need to talk to you, Mrs. Fletcher. May we come to your room?”
What I wanted to do was pull the sheets over my head and suggest we get together twelve hours from now. But that was obviously out of the question. I sat up in bed, rubbed my eyes, and prepared to begin another vacation day. “Can you give me fifteen minutes?” I asked. “Enough time for a fast shower and to get dressed?”
“Of course. I appreciate your cooperation.”
I stood under the shower and tried to pull together my thoughts, especially the sequence of events from the time I’d found Walter’s body. I’d awoken the inn’s assistant manager and asked him to call the police. They seemed to take forever to arrive, although I suppose it always seems that way when you desperately want them to be there. Eventually, two vehicles pulled up in the driveway, one a marked patrol car, the other without any official indications. There were four policemen, including Detective Calid.
Calid had been extremely courteous and sensitive. He realized how shaken I was and didn’t probe for, nor give any gruesome descriptions. I waited in the dining room while he and his colleagues went down to Lover’s Lagoon to examine the body. Calid returned a half hour later, confirmed that Walter was, indeed, dead, and commented that it was his guess that the weapon had been a straight razor. “Could be something else I suppose,” he’d added, “but it was a very sharp instrument.”
The wait in the dining room gave me a chance to clear my mind and to get over the physical tremors I’d been experiencing. “Any idea how long he’s been dead?” I asked, not certain whether it was my place to ask such a question.
Calid scrutinized me. “I know you are a famous author of murder mysteries, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said. “I imagine you have a lot of questions to ask me.”
“Oh, no, not at all. And if I’m out of line, just say so.”
He nodded, said, “The coroner will have to determine the time of death. If you are wondering about a motive, it wasn’t robbery. The deceased had more than two hundred dollars in his pockets.”
Remarkably, no one at the inn knew how to reach Laurie. She’d left no hotel name, no number. All they knew was that she’d gone to Miami, and was due back the next day.
“I thought Walter was going with her,” I said to the assistant manager.
“So did I,” he replied.
When I’d returned to my villa for a few hours’ rest, they still hadn’t been able to contact her.
I’d just emerged from the shower and was drying off when the phone rang. Conveniently, there was an extension on the wall next to the sink.
“Hello, Jessica.” It was Laurie.
“Oh, Laurie. I’m so sorry.” It dawned on me, too late, that she might not be aware of Walter’s death. But that wasn’t the case.
“The police told me last night. They got hold of my attorney in Miami. He knew how to reach me. I’m back in St. Thomas. I chartered a plane as soon as I received the news.”
“I’m glad they found you.”
“Jessica, I understand that you were the one who found Walter’s body. Would you tell me about it? Please. I feel so guilty not having been there.”
“Being here wouldn’t have helped anything,” I said, not sure I meant it. If she had been, it might have altered Walter’s schedule, kept him away from the lagoon. Providing, of course, that he was murdered there. He could have been killed elsewhere, his body brought to the lagoon.
No, he was killed there. I didn’t have any doubts about that.
I was tempted to ask why Walter hadn’t accompanied her to Miami, but decided it wasn’t the time or circumstance to begin probing. There would be plenty of time for such questions when we were together.
I started to fill Laurie in on how I happened upon Walter’s body when there was a loud knock on my door. “Laurie, please hold on. The police are here to question me.”
“I know. They just left me. I’ll see you later?”
“Of course. If you need any help with anything, Laurie, funeral arrangements, contacting people back home, just yell.” Laurie and Walter never had children, and I knew that both sets of parents were deceased.
“Thanks, Jessica. You’re a real friend. I’m just sorry this happened while you were here. That you had to discover the body is—”
“Enough of that, Laurie.”
There was another knock on the door, this time louder. “Just know I’m here for you, Laurie. And again, I’m so very sorry.”
She was openly crying now. “What kind of vicious animal could have done this to my husband?” she managed between sobs. “I need answers.”
“I’m sure you’ll have them,” I said.
“Mrs. Fletcher, please open the door!” an impatient voice shouted. I could envision them kicking in the door any second. “Hold on, Laurie, while I answer the door.”
“No. I’ll let you go, Jess. Talk to you later.”
“Coming,” I yelled as I threw on the clothes I’d worn the previous night, which conveniently hung on a chair next to my bed. I opened the door for Detective Calid, and another plainclothes detective who’d not been present last night. Calid, who’d been up all night, didn’t seem any worse for wear. His beige silk suit looked as though it had just come from the cleaners. I noted he’d changed his shirt. It was now pale blue. Last night it was white.
He was not a handsome man by most definitions, but his pleasantness added a physical attractiveness that could not be measured. He was heavyset bordering on portly, with wide shoulders and an expansive chest. He’d lost his hair on top, and what was left on his temples was close-cropped and flecked with gray. I was certain of one thing. Despite his amiable facade, he was a man to be reckoned with. Fools and liars need not apply.
While Calid and I went to the terrace and sat at the table, the other detective, who’d been introduced as Detective Moss, prowled the living room, his eyes darting in every direction as though expecting to find a bloody razor and written confession on top of the TV. What he did find, to my embarrassment, was a disheveled room. By the time I’d returned to it last night, I simply flung my clothing on the nearest piece of furniture. Moss was considerably younger than Calid, which I suppose explained his aggressive behavior.
“Mrs. Fletcher, you were most gracious last night, considering the awful scene you discovered. I know that Walter Marschalk was a good friend.”
“Yes, he was. His wife, too. We were neighbors in my hometown of Cabot Cove. That’s in Maine.”
A broad smile crossed his face. “I know it well,” he said.
“You do?”
“Because of you. You might say you’ve put Cabot Cove on the map.”
“I’m flattered.”
“I’m sorry to have to subject you to questioning this morning, but I must.”
“I understand.”
“Moss! Out here.” His young assistant came to the terrace, joined us at the table, and pulled out a
stenographer’s pad and a pen.
“You discovered the body at approximately midnight,” Calid said. “Is that correct?”
“Yes. Approximately. I know I left my villa a few minutes before midnight. It took me a few minutes to walk down to the lagoon. I strolled the beach for, say, ten minutes. That’s when I found Walter. Yes, a little after midnight.”
“Fine. Prior to going to Lover’s Lagoon, you were—?”
“I was—let’s see. I’d spent the day sightseeing in Charlotte Amalie. I napped late in the afternoon, then went next door to Diamond Reef where I had an eight-o’clock dinner reservation.”
“You arrived at eight?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly. I was a few minutes late. I was wearing—it’s irrelevant.”
“I’m afraid nothing is irrelevant where murder is concerned.”
“I suppose not.” I recounted the tale of my lost button and of sewing it back on my blazer. Moss wrote as I spoke.
“You met people there?” Calid asked. “Friends?”
“No. I was dining alone. But when I got there I discovered that—a silly thing.” He cocked his head. “I know,” I said. “Nothing is irrelevant.” I told him of the mix-up in names and how I’d ended up joining Jennifer Fletcher.
“Quite a coincidence,” he said.
“Yes, it was. As Ms. Fletcher said, she expected us to be on Candid Camera any moment.”
He chuckled. “One of my favorite shows.”
“Mine, too, although I go back to when it was Candid Microphone.”
He grunted, consulted a yellow legal pad on which he’d made a series of notes, and looked up at me with an expression that said he was waiting. I didn’t know what else to offer, so I said nothing.
“You had dinner with this Jennifer Fletcher,” he said.
“Yes. Not exactly. You see—someone joined us before we got to have dinner.”
“Her name?”
“It was a he. Name was Fred Capehart, as I recall. Our introduction was cursory at best.”
“And so you had dinner with Ms. Fletcher and this Fred Capehart.”
“No. I decided to come back here and have dinner in my room. »
“And?”
“And that’s what I did.”
Moss continued to write down what I said.
“It sounds as though you left dinner rather abruptly,” Calid said.
“That’s true.”
“Why?”
“I felt that Ms. Fletcher and Mr. Capehart wished to have dinner together, and alone.”
“What made you think that?”
“They’re young—relatively—and—”
“Yes?”
“There seemed to be some tension between them. I felt it was prudent to leave.”
“What sort of tension?”
“I really don’t know.”
But I did know. Should I tell him I suspected there was a conflict between them over Walter Marschalk? I’d only surmised it. Capehart hadn’t used the name. But he had indicated it had to do with “next door,” which I translated into Lover’s Lagoon Inn. The “him” to whom he referred could have been Walter. Jennifer had been discussing him when the sullen Capehart joined us.
“No idea what caused this ‘tension?’ ”
I shook my head. It was something I’d pursue the next time I made contact with Jennifer.
“What time did you leave the table at Diamond Reef?”
“Nine. No later than that. Service was very slow. We hadn’t even been served a drink or appetizer.”
“I’ve heard service is slow there,” Calid said. “You came directly back here?”
“Yes.”
“And intended to go to Lover’s Lagoon?”
“No. I intended to have a light dinner, read a book, and get to bed early. But I was restless after eating and decided to visit the lagoon. I hadn’t been down there since arriving on Sunday.”
“Did you know Walter Marschalk would be there?” Detective Moss asked.
“Of course not,” I said. “It was my understanding that he’d flown to Miami with his wife and would be gone overnight.”
Moss’s sour expression proclaimed that he was skeptical of my answer. I looked to Calid, who smiled and resumed the questioning after thrusting Moss with a sharp glare. “Had you spent much time with the deceased since arriving on Sunday?” he asked.
“No, unfortunately. He was very busy. Distracted with business. We had dinner together Sunday night.”
“With Mr. and Mrs. Marschalk?”
“No. She was having dinner in Charlotte Amalie. A business dinner I believe.”
“So you and the deceased dined together, alone.”
“That’s right.”
“Did he seem unduly upset about anything?”
“No.”
“That would be most unusual,” Calid said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Considering the trouble he’s in of late.”
“He did mention that,” I said. “But he didn’t seem overly upset about it. The newspaper story hadn’t appeared yet.”
“He made many enemies,” Calid said matter-of-factly.
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Did you meet his partner, Mr. Webb?”
“Yes, I did. He joined us at dinner.”
“It was a pleasant threesome?”
“Yes. Until—”
Again, that look that asked for more. “They got into an argument—no, more of a mild disagreement over promoting the inn.”
“A mild disagreement,” Moss said slowly as he wrote.
“They fought,” Calid said.
“That’s your choice of words.”
“They resolved their differences over dinner?”
“No. As a matter of fact, they left the table.”
“Not a terribly gracious way to treat a guest—as well as a good friend.”
“I didn’t mind. As I said, Walter had a lot of business details on his mind.”
“Where did they go?” Calid asked. “Mr. Marschalk and Mr. Webb.”
“I don’t know. I saw them walking together outside and—”
“In the direction of the lagoon.” He said it, didn’t ask it.
“That’s correct.”
“Did you see them again after that?”
“Yes. I mean I saw Walter Marschalk again. He returned, and we continued our dinner together.”
“Mr. Webb?”
“No. I did not see him again.”
“Mr. Webb has left the island,” said Calid. “He flew to Miami on the early flight this morning.”
“I’m sure he’ll return when he hears about the murder.”
“I assume he will. Anything else you have to offer, Mrs. Fletcher? You’ve been very kind to allow us to question you after so little sleep.”
“I can’t think of anything else to tell you.”
Calid stood, which prompted Moss to do the same. Calid twisted his spine against a pain in his lower back. “Not as young as I used to be,” he said, laughing that warm, gentle, guttural laugh of his.
“If you manage to go back in time, Detective Calid, I’d appreciate hearing how you did it.”
“You’ll be the first to know,” he said. To Moss: “Come on. It’s time we left this lovely lady alone.”
When they reached the door, Calid turned and said, “You’ll be staying with us a bit longer I assume.”
“Yes. Mrs. Marschalk will need a friend.”
“Good. I would like the option of speaking with you again, Mrs. Fletcher.”
Somehow, it came out as more of an order than a request. I said, “I’ll be here for as long as Mrs. Marschalk needs me.”
“Fine. In the meantime, try to relax and enjoy our island. It’s a shame this incident intrudes upon your vacation. If I can be of any service, please don’t hesitate to call upon me.” He dropped his card on a small table next to the door and left, his assistant close behind.
Chapte
r 8
I’d been strangely calm during my questioning by Detective Calid and his young associate. But now that they were gone, I suffered a case of nerves. My hand trembled as I poured a glass of bottled water from the villa’s mini-bar, and my heart’s tempo increased to a spirited march beat. I went to the terrace, leaned on the railing, and looked down on Lover’s Lagoon, where policeman raked and sifted sand through screening held taut by a wooden frame.
It was real. It had happened. Walter Marschalk had been murdered, his throat slit, his dream of owning a Caribbean inn pilfered from him with one swift movement of a sharp instrument. The manner in which he’d been killed made it all the more horrific. What fiend would do such a thing to another human being? Too many people was the depressing answer I gave to my rhetorical question.
I was about to go inside to change into something fresh when Thomas appeared. “Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said.
“Good morning,” I said. Strange how we automatically say “good morning” no matter what mayhem goes on about us.
“Might I get you something for breakfast?” he asked.
“Thank you, no. I—well, I suppose I should eat something. The usual? Croissant and coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and could I please have the newspapers?” The inn had stateside papers flown in each day. You didn’t always get them the day they were published, but it was nice to have the news even twenty-four hours late.
“Of course,” he said in his sweet way.
I’d changed by the time he returned, pulling white slacks, scoop-neck red cotton shirt, and sandals from the closet without much thought or conviction. Wardrobe had been rendered irrelevant by the grisly event of the previous evening. Thomas set the table on the terrace. I waited for him to mention Walter’s death. That he didn’t was no surprise. Thomas was a man who knew his place, as it were. His purpose was to serve, not to raise an unpleasant issue. So I raised it. “Terrible what happened last night to Mr. Marschalk,” I said.
Rum and Razors Page 7
