0884880001428587645 murder at the inn

by Marraii. com

  Craig?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "You're not going to find anything," Larry protested. "Such a waste of time." Then he leaned in to shout through the doorway, "And privacy!"

  Wilson searched the suitcase and carefully checked the lining. He looked under the bed. He examined every visible square inch and sat on the bed with a scowl. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

  "Wilson," he answered. "I see." His scowl deepened. "Would you bring the team to the house, then? I'd like the victim's room and another guest's room thoroughly processed. Thank you."

  He hung up and went to the door. "None of the drivers at the golf course tested positive for anything other than bunker sand and sweat." He glared at Craig. "The CSI team will be here shortly to examine the room for any forensic evidence. Please stay with Sergeant Montgomery until you're told otherwise."

  "Am I under arrest, then?" Larry’s anger echoed in his voice.

  "Not yet. Let's just say that you are a person of interest, and we don't want you to wander off."

  "Wait until this story hits my paper," Guilford muttered. "Can I at least go downstairs and get some coffee?"

  "Go ahead, Montgomery."

  Sergeant Montgomery led Larry downstairs.

  Wilson went back into the room and searched through the bathroom again. He looked under the counter and in the trash can, and stuck his finger in the drain in the sink. "Where is the lottery ticket?" he asked his troubled reflection.

  * * *

  "I'm back; did you miss me?" Larry quipped sarcastically as he breezed into the kitchen.

  "Maureen, I was hoping to get some of your excellent coffee for me and my watchdog." He pointed to Montgomery, who stood a few inches away.

  "Of course! That sounds like a wonderful idea." She rose, but Gwyneth waved her back into her chair.

  "Just sit down, there. I'll take care of it, and you relax." Gwyneth went to the cupboard and pulled out an empty coffee can. "Uh-oh, this one's empty. Do you have another?"

  "Is it? Oh dear. That's the second time this month. I'm so sorry, Mr. Craig." Maureen tilted her head and offered a sympathetic look. "Maybe tomorrow?" She looked at Daniel.

  "It's, uh, possible. Maybe. I'm sorry, Mr. Craig. It's just that it's hard to remember or keep up when…" he wrung his hands, "…I'm just really sorry. I'll get some in the morning." Daniel paced to a corner and folded his arms. "I'm truly sorry."

  "It's okay, it's just coffee. Maybe the watchdog and I could drive into town and get some." He looked at Montgomery who shook his head. "Guess not."

  Wilson walked in and stood next to Sergeant Montgomery. "Rooms are being processed now.

  How are things here?"

  Maureen smiled. "I can make us some lemonade. That will be nice and refreshing." She got up to get the lemons from the produce storage. "It is hard around here, sometimes, to keep up, especially when business is slow like it has been."

  Wilson caught on to the conversation and made a notation in his book. As he wrote he glanced up and saw Daniel in the corner, chewing on a fingernail.

  "Excuse me," Wilson said and squeezed past Montgomery and Larry. He kissed his wife Gwyneth on the cheek. "Thank you for coming. How is everyone holding up?"

  "As well as can be expected. I hope the case closes soon, though. It’s closing in on dinner time, and the natives are getting restless."

  "Soon, I hope, too." He gave his wife a light hug. "I've got to go over my notes. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the guest lounge."

  "Jack, would you like some fresh lemonade? It will be ready soon." Maureen paused from cutting her lemons.

  "Sure, that would be great,” replied Wilson, “Excuse me, but I'm going to do some work in the other room. Just let me know when it's ready. Thanks, Maureen."

  * * *

  The growing dusk outside cast long shadows into the room, and Jack hunched over his notes under the light of a single lamp. The occasional voices from the kitchen wafted in, and his desire to close this case soon ballooned into an urgent need. The victim deserved justice, but his friends deserved peace. The sight of Daniel's agitated face troubled him, and he studied his notes with even more attention.

  "Inspector, there you are." A CSI team member joined him at the table. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

  "Buckingham, Sir. And we've got the results from processing the rooms upstairs." "And?"

  "And nothing. There is no gross or trace evidence related to the crime other than the victim's blood on the carpet in her room.

  "No lottery ticket?" "Not even an old one."

  Wilson took a deep breath and held it. He stood up and let it out slowly. "We need a weapon, and we need a motive!" He waved a hand in the air toward the kitchen. "I've got a suspect, but no evidence to connect him."

  "Inspector Wilson!" A voice from the foyer called out. A gentleman in golf clothes and shoes walked in with the rick-rack rattle of the cleats on the hardwood floor.

  Wilson winced at what the repair bill might be. "I'm Inspector Wilson. What can I do for you?"

  "The officer outside said I should give this to you." He held out a golf driver caked with sand. The business end was caked with sand that had a reddish tint.

  Wilson pulled out a handkerchief and gently took the club. "What's your name?"

  "Derryck Morton."

  "Where did you find this, Derryck?" Wilson handed it to officer Buckingham who had already donned protective gloves.

  "Well, I had this bit of trouble on the eighth. The bunker there is quite a challenge to bypass.

  I hate to admit it, but I sort of lost my temper and swung at the sand back and forth. I like to think that I was punishing it," he chuckled. "Ahem," he cleared his throat. "Sorry. So, as I was saying, I was whipping at the sand and I hit the handle end of that club. It was just sticking out of the sand. I thought maybe someone else had lost their temper - the eighth can be a tricky one -

  and buried the club. I came to return it, but when I came toward the main house here, the officers ran up to me and told me to come see you." He shrugged. "And here I am."

  Wilson looked over his shoulder at Buckingham. He gingerly brushed off some of the sand and dusted for prints.

  "Got a partial!" Buckingham looked up at Wilson with a look of triumph.

  Wilson turned to the man in front of him. "Mr. Morton, thank you very, very much. If you would be so kind as to just give your name and contact information to one of the officers outside, we'll contact you if we have any questions. Thank you again." He whirled back to the table.

  "Blood?" He asked.

  "Just a minute," Buckingham said, and sprayed Luminol on the head of the driver. "Here goes. Cross your fingers." He held up a battery-powered black light from his forensics kit and waved it over the club. It glowed like a giant night-light.

  Wilson jumped up. "Yes! There's a ferry in about half an hour. Run this back to your precinct and process the prints. Give the club to Will Moore at the ME's office. Call me immediately with everything you find."

  "I'm already on it." Buckingham carefully bagged the club and his kit and ran out the door.

  Wilson paced and looked at his watch and did some time estimates in his head and out loud.

  "Half- hour, then about forty minutes, I should hear back by eight thirty."

  Chapter 6 - The Truth is Driven Out

  Jack Wilson practically waltzed into the kitchen at The Last Chance Inn. "Maureen, I'd love some of that lemonade."

  Maureen poured a tall glass and handed it to him. "You seem to be in a better mood than the last time you were in here."

  "Oh, it's just the ups and downs of the job."

  "Inspector Wilson?" Larry called up to him from a chair at the kitchen table. "It's getting late, and we're all hungry and tired. Do you have any plans for dinner? Or are we to starve until we confess?"

  "Daniel? Maureen? Do you have anything quick to prepare? Maybe some leftovers or something?" Wilson looked at his watch. "Wow, already eight o'clock.
I apologize for keeping you all cooped up in here for so long, but this ordeal will hopefully soon be over."

  "I do have a breakfast casserole from this morning that we didn't use. I'll put it in the oven; it'll be ready in no time." Maureen and Gwyneth set about the kitchen, getting plates and silverware.

  Wilson's phone vibrated, and he stepped out of the room to answer. "Yeah, I figured, but it's always good to cross the T's and dot the I's. Anything else yet?" Wilson took a step closer to the kitchen and looked through the door at his only suspect now. "No, that's okay, thanks." He hung up and went to the table in the lounge.

  "Cross my T's and dot my I's." He sat down with his notebook and entered his new notes. L.

  Thompson alibi checked out. Sister was at work on a double shift. He reviewed everything and concentrated for a few minutes then stopped.

  "Noises in Agatha's room? Wait, what?"

  His shoulders grew heavy again, and he stood. After being on the force for so long, he understood that a little information could be a dangerous thing; it could often be spun several different ways. The burden of his job involved digging out as much information as possible so that very few gray areas remained.

  He gathered up his notes and went to the kitchen. He leaned just inside the door and called across the room, "Daniel, can we talk a minute?"

  Daniel startled a bit and pointed to himself. "Me? Sure." He looked around at the others watching him go.

  "Come on over here." Jack led Daniel into the guest lounge. "Just one question. "On the night of the murder, you reported to Sergeant Montgomery that you were heading to bed and heard some noises coming from Agatha's room. What did you hear?'

  Daniel blushed. "You know how it is in the hospitality business, Jack." "What did you hear, Daniel?"

  "It sounded like," Daniel leaned in and whispered, "like people making love." "What time was that?"

  "Around nine."

  "Thanks, that's what I needed to know. You can go on back."

  Wilson trailed Daniel by two steps and when he reached the kitchen, he called both the sergeant and

  Larry Craig. "Come on, we've got some more talking to do." They went into the guest lounge and sat at the table.

  "Alan, will you take the notes on this while I talk with Larry here?" "Yes, Sir."

  "Okay, now, Mr. Craig. Here's the thing. We have a statement that last night, before Agatha was murdered, there were, let's say, 'amorous' sounds coming from her room around nine o'clock.

  Tell me what you know about those sounds."

  Larry looked at the table and played with his fingers.

  "The housekeeper may have taken the bed sheets off the bed, but that doesn't mean we can't have them tested," Wilson said with a satisfied smirk.

  "I already told you. Agatha and I were lovers." Larry looked everywhere except at Inspector Wilson. "Mr. Craig. Larry. Did you spend all day with her?"

  "Yes. Well, mostly."

  "Were you in her room yesterday morning?"

  Larry fidgeted in his chair and finally looked up at the Inspector. "Okay, yes. I was with her that morning. And before you ask, yes, I was with her when she screamed. I just hid when Maureen came to the door."

  "Why did she scream?" Wilson grew more frustrated. Getting information from a newspaper reporter was as easy as giving a yeti a manicure.

  "She won the lottery, okay?" Larry threw his hands in the air as if surrendering. "She saw the numbers on the television and they all matched, and she got so excited that she screamed."

  "Where is her ticket?"

  "I don't know."

  "Mr. Craig." Wilson tossed a look of reproach across the table.

  "I don't know!" Larry shouted. He looked around then lowered his voice and leaned in toward his interrogator. "Look, she found out she won the lottery, and we made plans to meet in Bermuda then travel the world after my last assignment down there. That's it. I swear."

  "You were in her room that morning, and you were in her room last night, right before she was killed."

  "No," Larry said. "No and no. I was in her room, but I left her - alive - around nine-thirty and went straight to my own room. There was nobody else around." Larry thought again. "Well, except Mr. Bennett. We passed each other in the hallway and said good night."

  Wilson sat in silence, arguing with his gut feelings. What he wanted and what he felt might as well have been on two different planets.

  "Montgomery, please take Mr. Craig back to the kitchen. Enjoy your meal, Larry." The men rounded the doorway and disappeared.

  "Tricky, this one." He fingered the pages of his notepad, and a shiver of unsettled tension crawled down his spine.

  * * *

  "Ah, there you are, Jack," Maureen said and carried a pitcher to the table. "Thought you might like a refill."

  "Thanks Maureen. You're a good woman and a good hostess." He sipped his drink. "Can I tempt you to sit and talk a minute?"

  "You don't have to ask me twice. Any excuse to get off my feet." She settled into a creaky chair. "One of these days I'll get the joints on these chairs tightened up. A little wood glue should do it, don't you think?"

  "Are you okay, Maureen? I mean, with everything that's happened today, it must be stressful."

  "Every day is stressful; this is just a different kind of stress. We'll make it through okay, though. We always do." She smiled at her old friend.

  Jack shifted and put his elbows on the table and folded his hands. "How is the Last Chance Inn? I noticed a few things that look, well, in a state of disrepair."

  "It's only temporary. We've had a slow season, and we're trying to get the golf course shaped up for tournaments. Sometimes we just run out of hours in the day or money in the month."

  Maureen fidgeted with her fingers and looked at a spot on the table. She wet her thumb and scrubbed at it.

  "I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Maureen.”

  "It's not that. I just see what it's doing to Daniel; he's been so discouraged lately. I know if we can make it through this season, we'll be okay, though. He works so hard."

  "Hey. You look like you could use a dose of your own medicine. Let's take this pitcher into the kitchen and get you a nice, tall glass of ice cold lemonade." He carried the pitcher and took Maureen's arm. "And then you can have some breakfast for dinner."

  They laughed and went to the kitchen.

  * * *

  "Gwyneth, our friend and hostess could use some attention herself. I promised her some lemonade and breakfast." Wilson sat Maureen at the kitchen table. "Hang in there," he said, and patted her shoulder. He gave his wife a peck on the cheek. "Stay close, okay?"

  Gwyneth nodded, her eyes confused and concerned, but she put on a smile and tended to her friend. "Montgomery," Wilson said and nodded his head to the door. "Need you outside."

  Once on the doorstep, Jack felt the chill in the night air. Flying insects orbited the porch light, and in the sky, clouds blanketed the moon. He looked at his watch.

  "I'm expecting a call very soon, Montgomery. I've been focusing on one suspect, but I have to keep an open mind and pursue all leads. I'm still waiting to get final confirmation from some forensic evidence, and CSI lifted a partial print from the murder weapon."

  Montgomery nodded. "I understand, Sir. We are at the point where even one bit of evidence can tip the scales one way or another."

  Wilson looked at the sky and said, "Montgomery, how long have you been a sergeant?"

  "Three years, Sir."

  "Ever think about going for inspector?" "All the time, Sir," Montgomery smiled. "Good,"

  Wilson smiled.

  The phone went off in Wilson's hand and both faces grew serious. "Wilson."

  He listened to the voice on the other end. Like the old television show where the

  investigators asked for 'just the facts, ma'am', he listened to the voice of absolute science on the other end of the call. People can forget what they've seen, or exaggerate things they've done, but no one can alter
the truth when it comes from irrefutable physical evidence.

  "I understand. I'll handle it, but would you send a squad car, too? Thanks." He hung up and looked at the sky. "It's beautiful up there, isn't it? I've looked at that sky all my life, and I never get tired of it."

  Montgomery looked up and nodded.

  "Well, we've got two things to do, and the second thing is to stamp this case as closed. Here's what's up."

  Wilson showed Montgomery his notes and underlined parts and put them together like a puzzle. They fit perfectly, and a picture of a murder appeared in the words. Only one piece was missing.

  "Let's go get it," Wilson said, and walked into the house.

  * * *

  "You all look tired, why don't you come into the lounge and get comfortable?" Wilson waved everyone out of the kitchen.

  "Are we there yet? I'm either going to bed soon or I will confess just to get a cot downtown,"

  Larry said, yawning.

  In the lounge, Sergeant Montgomery stood by the door while everyone else took a seat.

  "Good. Armchairs for everyone. And Larry, I don't need a confession when I've got evidence, but thank you for offering." Wilson sat in the rocker by the fireplace and faced everyone.

  "It's been a long day, but I promise that it's almost over. CSI and I both went through Mrs.

  Thompson's room as well as Mr. Craig's room, but we've not been able to locate a key piece of evidence. Maureen?"

  She looked up and blinked. "Yes, Jack?"

  "May I have your consent to search the premises for evidence relating to the murder of Agatha Thompson?"

  "Oh, Jack, you don't even have to ask." "Well, yes, in this case, I do."

  "Well, my answer is yes, of course," Maureen giggled. "So formal!"

  "Alan?" Wilson nodded to Sergeant Montgomery. "Would you please begin with the Bennett's living quarters?"

  Montgomery nodded and left the room.

  Larry leaned forward with his arms on his knees. "What's this, now? Didn't you find enough of nothing already?"

  Wilson ignored him and locked eyes with Gwyneth. She sat down near Maureen and held her hand. "What are you looking for?" Daniel asked with a fingertip in his mouth again.