Death in a Summer Colony

by Aaron Stander

  “I’m trying to get some focus. I would like to see if we could start dropping some people, at least tentatively. I would like to get them in rank order and start a second round of interviews.” He studied the chart and looked over at Sue. “I had trouble sleeping last night. With all the summer people leaving in the next two weeks, I can just see this case slipping away. By Labor Day we’ll be talking to ourselves.”

  Sue, eyeing the chart, said, “You’ve got another column on the right.”

  “Yes, we’ve discussed this. It would have been difficult for one person to pull off this murder. With some careful planning and execution…unintended pun….”

  “But the perfect word,” agreed Sue.

  “What I’m getting at is another way of looking at suspects. Who is the killer, and who assisted them? It might be easier to identify the person who turned off the power, and then go after the killer.”

  “Agreed, but everyone on your list could have flipped the switch. That’s the painless part of this crime.”

  “I was thinking that the switch puller might be easier to break down than the killer. My theory is that we’re dealing with two personalities.”

  “What did you learn from the fire-safety guy?”

  “Dale Van Beers.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I learned that neither Grubbs nor anyone else could have tampered with the egress lights. Mice and acorns, not humans. Grubbs called him late last week when one of the units was smoldering. Van Beers diagnosed the problem then removed the circuit breaker as a safety precaution. He’s got replacement units going in today.”

  “Good for the mice. Damn convenient of them to lend a helping paw.”

  “This crime had to be weeks in the planning. But with the egress lights being deactivated, the perp must have thought everything was falling their way. Back to the chart, look at Grubbs. If we were doing this just based on ticks on the chart, he’d be the big winner, or loser. Multiple motives perhaps involving his late wife, his estranged daughter, and years of taking abuse from Wudbine. So how does he set up the murder? He invites us to the performance, slips away at the break, and has an accomplice who pulls the switch. Then he calls us to the site of the crime.”

  “That would be quite brilliant,” agreed Sue. “And he is clearly not lacking in intelligence. I’m sure he could envision this crime on all sorts of levels, like one of the multi-tiered chessboards. He knows the place, the people, and all the complex histories. And he’d know where to dump the murder weapon. He could have even done that in stages, maybe get it out of the building on his way to fetching us, and then move it a second time while we were attending to other things.”

  “And who would handle the power?” asked Ray. “Verity?”

  “Possible. They have a long history here. Or how about his daughter?”

  “That would be clever. The kid he’s been estranged from for years helping him pull off a murder. What would be her motive?”

  “Maybe she’s tired of her father-in-law treating her husband poorly. With Malcolm out of the way they could sell off the business, move to Provence, buy a small farm and some goats, and start producing artisanal chévre. That would have to be much more rewarding then peddling stock and bonds or looking after the legal affairs of a cantankerous old fart.”

  “I think the chévre in your sandwich has gone to your head. Or are you telling me about a new pastoral fantasy? Are you and Harry getting ready for a year in Provence?”

  “I don’t think so. I was going to be the consummate tour director this week. Remember, I was going to take the week off. Instead, Harry is spending days looking after Simone and evenings with a slightly grumpy me.”

  “You’re never grumpy.”

  “Yes, but something weird is going on. Maybe I don’t like my space being invaded. He’s been working hard to make really nice meals. I appreciate that. But he leaves the kitchen a mess. In Chicago, someone cleans his apartment every morning. I don’t know if he’s inherently messy, or it’s something he’s learned he can get away with. I mean, he tries to clean up, but it’s just not good enough. I’d be happy with Healthy Choice and no cleanup. And I’m not sure that…. enough of this. Let’s go back to your chart.”

  “Hold that for a minute. Let’s think about the perp. To pull this off they have to be able to isolate Malcolm. That’s not easy to do. Having him alone and in a vulnerable position is most unusual. Whoever did the crime was very familiar with Malcolm’s movements.”

  “Members of the cast would be aware of that.”

  “Yes, and they would know the history of the electrical problems, how to turn the power off, and the possible impediments to achieving success.”

  “Like David Johnson, the lighting guy.”

  “You got it,” said Ray.

  “David seems to have motive, and he was less than honest with us,” said Sue.

  “No one likes being a chump, especially smart people who think they know about money and then lose a pile in a bad investment. You can understand his anger. Much of his retirement went away, and Malcolm seemed unscathed.”

  “But that was just a normal market fluctuation,” countered Sue. “We’ve talked about this before. There’s never been a suggestion that Malcolm was running any kind of scam. The SEC isn’t after him. There are no criminal cases pending. Johnson is a smart man. In spite of his rage, he knows Malcolm wasn’t really responsible.”

  “Shortly before you were hired, we had a case where a man shot his doctor because he was chronically ill and not getting better. The shooter wasn’t dotty, mad, drunk, or on drugs. He seemed to be absolutely all there when I questioned him. He needed someone to blame. He needed a focus for his rage. His anger was really at his body because it was failing him, but he externalized it and went after his physician.”

  Ray paused, “But Johnson is of interest for another reason. He was the one person who had a clear view of most of the backstage area, the exception being the far side of the set. To pull this crime off, the perp had to get him out of his loft. They also had to know that when the lights went out, Johnson would be the one who would go into action. And they timed it, just like we did.”

  “But Johnson could be the perfect accomplice,” said Sue.

  “But he would have to know that we would be looking at him closely. I think he’s too smart for that. As you know, I never claim infallibility, but I don’t think he’s involved.”

  “And then we have Tom Lea’s claim that it was a woman who pulled the switch.”

  “Did he give you anything more?”

  “No, that’s when we were interrupted by the phone call from Garr. How would you like to see Lea on the stand as a witness for the prosecution?”

  “Well, he could never do that, but what if his observation was correct? Not that we can go with it 100%, but the possibility is important. I wonder if you could talk to him again and see if you could get anything more?”

  “Based on my track record from my last interview?”

  “Phone his mother, explain the situation. Ask for her guidance. Let’s see what happens. Essentially, you have one or two questions. Five minutes.”

  “The changes in the chart?” Sue was looking at the whiteboard. “Friends and family, or more correctly, employees and family.”

  “When we’re not moving at warp speed, in a case like this we’d start with the family and close associates. In the beginning we focused on the scene, searching for the weapon, and looking for other physical evidence. It also seemed that someone—cast, crew, ushers, Grubbs—would have seen something that might have led us to the perp. Nada. So let’s really look at the family.”

  “But we haven’t interviewed everyone who was backstage yet.”

  “I know, but we talked to them en masse, gave out cards, and asked for their assistance. And I talked to Grubbs about the folks we haven’t intervie
wed this morning on my way back. We went one by one through the list. They are mostly in their 20s and 30s, with a few teens thrown in. Grubbs doesn’t believe that any of them have a history with Malcolm. So I think we should put them aside for the moment.”

  “Makes sense.” Sue was silent for a long moment, looking at Ray. “You look tired.”

  “I needed to sleep last night, and it didn’t happen. All of these people were floating through my brain. I need to go for a long paddle, a couple of days, where I don’t think about this. But we don’t have that luxury, do we?”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “I wish we had a solid reason to request a search warrant for Gull House and the out buildings.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  Ray chuckled, “That’s why we don’t have a good reason. It would be fishing trip, a chance to snag something that might move the investigation forward.”

  “In the meantime?”

  “I want to talk to Verity again. I want Grubbs to tell me how he found the body. Why was he onstage? Then I would like to chat with Pepper and Alyson, separately. Malcolm surrounded himself with beautiful young women. What was going on there? Did he give these women a motive to off him? Then there’s Elliott, and his wife, the devoted daughter-in-law. I think we’re just starting to understand the complexity of all these relationships.”

  37

  Ray knocked, paused, and then knocked a second time. Just as he was about to leave, the curtain moved. A blurry-eyed Verity peered out at him. “What do you want?”

  “I have a few more questions for you.” He stood and waited, finally the door swung open.

  Verity blocked his entrance. “I have nothing more to tell you. You’re wasting my time and taxpayers’ money,” she argued, her breath reeking of alcohol.

  “I need to clarify a few things.”

  “Alright, alright, come in. Sit there at the table. I’ve just made some coffee. Do you want a mug?

  “Please. Black.”

  Verity placed a mug in front of him and filled it with coffee from a thick glass carafe, spilling some on the table and muttering an obscenity. She came back with a dish towel and clumsily wiped the surface. She dropped into the chair across from him, adding brandy, sugar and cream to her mug, and stirring slowly.

  “I don’t know why you bother with me. Can’t you leave an old woman to her own grieving and sadness?”

  “From our last conversation, I didn’t get the impression that you were going to do much grieving.”

  “I’m not grieving for that bastard, Malcolm. The devil can take him. I’m grieving for all of us. This is our little paradise, and it’s been ruined, at least for this year. And for me, at my stage of life, every summer is magical, a special gift. And it’s been stolen away.

  “And like I said, I don’t know why you are talking to me. You just don’t seem to get it, Sheriff. Malcolm was part of the billionaires’ club. Somewhere across the face of this planet people are celebrating. Maybe they are in Dubai or Abu Dhabi, perhaps Hong Kong or Beijing, or close like New York or Chicago, or somewhere in Europe, Paris, London.

  “What you have to understand is Malcolm was a giant in a very exclusive club. He was smart and very shrewd. But perhaps most importantly, he was a worker. When he was on a project, Malcolm’s focus was there for 12, 14, 16 hours a day. People thought he was a gambler. He never gambled. He carefully calculated every investment and didn’t buy in until he knew that he was going to be successful. If that had been the end of it, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But Malcolm needed more. After he crushed someone in a business deal, he’d go out of his way to humiliate them further if he could.

  “I don’t mean to be disparaging, Sheriff, but you are out of your league. In your wildest imagination you can’t envisage the world I’m talking about. You’re giving those men in far away places a good chuckle. There’s no way in hell that a backwoods sheriff in a one-horse town is ever going to figure this one out. You’d need the FBI and Interpol and scores of lawyers and accountants to discover what Malcolm’s been up to and who he’s screwed. What I’m telling you is that he had a heart of coal, as black as they come. He was a greatly flawed person. He obviously pushed the wrong people too far.

  “And you can’t even begin to fathom the resources that were brought to bear in this assassination. I wonder how many people were on the ground, blending in, casing the place. Look how perfectly everything was done. And then they were gone. And ever since, you’ve been muddling around, looking through people’s trash, making a nuisance of yourself. You can go around and annoy people till hell freezes over, and you’re not going to find anything. There’s nothing here. Nothing.” She took several gulps of coffee and added more brandy. “So why don’t you just leave us alone?”

  “If you’re finished with your rant, I’ve got a few questions for you,” said Ray.

  Verity didn’t respond verbally, she just looked across the table scornfully.

  “You’re telling me that this murder was done by outsiders, hired killers, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But when we last talked, you told me you didn’t remember seeing anyone who looked out of place. Now you’re telling me that a team of assassins, hired by Mr. Wudbine’s enemies, is responsible for the crime.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes. Then Verity responded, “Well, I think I told you that no one in the colony was responsible. Given the way you and your people have been running around here like chickens with their heads cut off, you obviously didn’t get the message. I compliment you on your diligence, and forgive you for your complete naiveté.”

  “My lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

  Verity gave Ray a startled look and chuckled, “So what are you thinking. I’m like one of those plovers on the beach trying to lead you away from my eggs?”

  “I’m just reflecting on what you’ve told me. You’ve been a summer resident all your life. You know everyone connected with this place and their histories. You’ve told me you don’t recall seeing anyone around in recent weeks who shouldn’t have been here. And then you very aggressively contend that the murder was the work of professional killers hired by billionaires from far-off places. It doesn’t add up. And even if you don’t have any knowledge of the crime, you do have people you would probably like to protect: your son, perhaps your daughter-in-law, and Richard Grubbs, among others. And then there are people like Brenda Wudbine. If you thought she helped off your ex, perhaps you would feel you owed her some loyalty.” Ray paused and looked at her. “It would be ever so convenient if we went away. That’s not going to happen.”

  Verity looked across the table, stood, picked up the carafe, and reached over and filled his mug. “It may be a bit tepid. Do you want me to put it in the microwave?”

  “No. Let’s go over the same territory again. The night of the performance and during the weeks leading up to that time, did you see anyone around who didn’t seem to fit here?”

  Verity was not quick to answer. “Like I said, lots of people come through here, visitors and whatnot, but I can’t say I saw anyone suspicious lurking about.”

  “Elliott, your son, how did he and his father get on?”

  “Do I have to answer questions about family members?”

  “No. And if you know anything incriminating, I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me.”

  “I won’t say Elliott adored his father, but they seemed to have a good working relationship. I was almost a bit jealous of how close they were.”

  “And the daughter-in-law, Jill?”

  “She was Malcolm’s right-hand person. He’s been obsessed with his legacy, as if good acts now would compensate for all the crap he’s pulled over the years. Jill has been the key player in his foundation. She’s the person that’s made it all work.”

  “How do you get on with her?�
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  “Like I think I told you in one way or another, we don’t really have a relationship. I don’t understand why. I’ve tried. We’ve never clicked.”

  “You told me you were reviewing your lines before the second scene. Do you remember seeing her about that time?”

  “Yes and no. There was a swirl of activity in the green room. I probably saw everyone unconsciously or…well, you know what I mean. I don’t remember having a conversation with anyone during that time. I can’t say that I saw her or didn’t see her.”

  “How about Pepper Markley?”

  “The same.”

  “How about Alyson Mickels?”

  “You should ask some of the male cast members, she’s a real head turner. Alyson was around a lot. She was just part of the usual scenery. I wouldn’t have especially noticed her.

  “You know…and this just occurred to me, if someone wanted to get close to Malcolm, that would be the way to do it. For decades he’s been surrounding himself with his ‘special’ assistants. And they all come out of the same mold: young, beautiful, and ambitious. And they are smart, I’ve got to give them credit for that.”

  “The tone of your voice, what are you suggesting?”

  “Come on, Sheriff, you weren’t born yesterday. His special assistants…how should I put it? Of course, he was sleeping with them. I have been told that Malcolm bragged about a casting couch. It has also been rumored that he joked about a farm system where he developed new talent. You see, Sheriff, it’s about sex, but also a lot more than sex. It’s about dominance and control. He loved travelling around with a beautiful young woman attending to his every need. He liked to show off for his competitors. I don’t know if they were impressed or just thought he was an old fool.”

  She paused and refilled their cups again. “This is what I’m thinking, Sheriff. If you wanted to get close to Malcolm, buy one of his assistants. Take Pepper, for instance. She handled his daily schedule, made all his travel and hotel reservations. And, of course, she was in the Murder at the Vicarage. Pepper could provide key information for anyone planning an assassination. And I imagine much the same could be said about Alyson. Two beautiful young women, who already have a track record for making their services available to the highest bidder. For a million dollars, maybe less, I’m sure you could buy their services.”