P'town Murders: A Bradford Fairfax Murder Mystery

by Jeffrey Round

  "Thank you for coming," she said in a subdued voice. "You didn't know Ruby long, but she liked you both."

  Well, if that isn't downright composed, Brad thought. "I only wish I'd got to know her better," he said.

  "There is still time," said a gentle voice at his side. He turned to find the Rinpoche smiling at him. "Mr. Bradford, so happy to see you again."

  The grip was strong as they shook hands. "I'm sorry the circumstances of our rejoining have to be so sad," Brad said.

  The Rinpoche smiled again. "Not sad. Buddhism teaches that death, like life, only one aspect of things. One path of many that all must walk eventually."

  Was it really so simple for these people? Brad wondered. First you're here, then you take a right turn and you're invisible? How does that make it all right to lose a loved one?

  The Rinpoche seemed to have sensed his doubt. "You are like he began, his hands describing something oval-shaped in the air between them. "Like egg," he concluded. "Need to crack." He smacked his palms together and his face took on an expression of relief, as though showing Bradford what the experience would bring.

  Brad smiled stiffly and introduced Zach to the Rinpoche. They bowed formally to one another.

  "Please to join ceremony," the Rinpoche said. "It help Big Ruby's soul reach its sacred destination." He turned to Halle and took her hand. "In my country, things not so rushed. But here, we adapt. In Tibet, people chant many days for departed soul. Here, chant only few days. Westerners always in big hurry."

  Brad turned and whispered to Zach. "I need to talk to Halle alone. Can you distract his holiness?"

  "Sure thing," Zach said. He turned to the Rinpoche. "I've been looking for a master. Is it true that when the student is ready, the teacher appears?"

  The Rinpoche held up a finger. "To find good teacher very hard, but to find good student even harder."

  Brad took Halle off to the side. He was reluctant to pressure her in her time of grief, but he needed some answers.

  "Let me say again how sorry I am, Halle. I can only guess how much you'll miss Ruby."

  She smiled sadly. "I prefer to think that I'll have one less body to sleep with, but one more spirit looking after me from the other side."

  For a moment, Brad wondered whether Buddhists were really advanced in their thinking or just daft. He didn't have time to follow the thought.

  "Halle, did you know Ruby was coming to meet me the night she died...?"

  Halle looked startled. "No, I didn't."

  "I went to see her that night just after she closed the cafe. I thought I heard the two of you inside, but when she opened the door she was alone."

  Halle shook her head. "I was out late the night Ruby died," she said. "She didn't even tell me you'd been there."

  If you were out late, Brad thought, then you wouldn't have seen Ruby before she died. How could she have told you anything at all?

  "I asked Ruby if she could help identify someone in a videotape implicating Hayden Rosengarten's murderer. At. first she said she didn't know the person on the tape, but later she became disturbed by something she knew or perhaps something she remembered. Not long after I left, she called to say she wanted to see me. I agreed to come right over, but she was afraid to stay at the cafe till I got there. I don't think that's like Ruby..."

  Halle let out a low whistle. "That's not like Ruby at all," she agreed. "Something must've scared her good!"

  "Or someone. And I think that someone also killed her."

  Halle's hand flew to her mouth. She shook her head in disbelief. The reaction seemed entirely genuine. "You mean it wasn't an accident?"

  "I know it wasn't an accident. Someone deliberately ran her down."

  Halle's face contorted with grief. Tears came to her eyes, but she said nothing. Whatever she was turning over in her head, Brad knew she wasn't likely to share with him.

  "That's terrible," she said at last. "I hope you're wrong, but in either case it won't do Ruby any good now."

  "Are you sure?" Brad asked. "It might give her spirit some peace to know her killer has been caught. It might even help her get through the bardo successfully."

  Halle seemed to think this over. "And you think I can help?"

  "There was a gun in your shop the day Zach and I were over. The next day it was gone. Do you know where it ended up?"

  Halle wiped a tear and sniffed. "I didn't know it was missing. I'll check when I get home tonight."

  Brad wasn't buying it. Grieving widow or not, he had to press her. "Ruby said you took it."

  Halle's face went white. "She said that?"

  "She said you hadn't .come home the previous night, and that you took the gun to protect her."

  Halle shook her head. "I didn't take it!"

  Her eyes glazed over. She seemed suddenly withdrawn. Brad recalled her comment about helping a dog but not another human being. With her dissociative, antisocial behavior, he realized, she was a prime candidate for schizophrenia.

  "By the way. Do you know anyone with a snake tattoo on their right shoulder?"

  Halle's eyes flickered back to the here and now, but her voice was oddly distant. "Yeah, now that you mention it. There was a guy who came in once or twice. He had some kind of animal on his shoulder. I never talked to him and Ruby didn't like him much. His name was Johnny K."

  Bingo!thought Bradford.

  "Halle, thank you very much. I think you've told me exactly what I needed to hear."

  She looked relieved. "Ruby was really fond of you. I hope you know that."

  "Thank you. I know."

  Brad watched her turn back to the roomful of chanters. Suddenly something clicked. He recalled Ruby's curious comment at the funeral about Hayden not being able to hurt her loved ones again.

  "Halle!" Brad called out.

  She stopped and turned warily.

  "I was just wondering why you didn't go to Rosengarten's funeral with Ruby the other day."

  Her eyes flashed like a feral cat trapped in a barn. Brad knew he was right. He knew why Ruby had looked so panicked when she realized the gun was missing.

  "Why would I?" she asked.

  "He was your father, wasn't he?"

  Halle's hands curled into fists. Suddenly her defiance crumpled and she ran from the room. Serpent handler's daughter, he thought. If he looked, he knew he'd find the tattoo somewhere on her body. It might not be on her shoulder, but he was willing to bet it would be a snake coiled and ready to strike. A serpent as described in the Bible passage Ruby had quoted. Hayden Rosengarten had liked his kids marked. Suffer the children, indeed.

  Brad turned back to find Zach locking eyes with the handsome Rinpoche. He felt a tingling of jealousy to find his lover so engaged by this other man.

  Whoa! Brad told himself. You've slept with him twice—well, three times, if you count last summer—and you're calling him your lover? Zach was simply the boy he intended to get to know better. OK, so he'd practically fallen for him already. But what word should he use to describe him? Partner? Companion? Boyfriend-in-Training? He couldn't decide.

  In any case, here was a very attractive Asian man locking eyes with Brad's new friend. And he was definitely feeling jealous over it. Zach's eyes disengaged from the Rinpoche's. He came over to Brad.

  "Mission accomplished?" he asked.

  "Yes—and you?" Brad asked, trying not to sound accusatory;

  Zach smiled. "I asked him about the hundred-syllable mantra. He offered to teach me. It's something I've been dying to learn."

  In private, no doubt, Brad thought. He envisioned the two of them sitting cross-legged on the floor in saffron robes, knees touching as they chanted over a stick of incense. Did Rinpoches even wear underwear?

  "We're going to start the day after tomorrow," Zach said. "Hope you don't mind if I abandon you for a few hours."

  "Not at all," Brad said, somehow relieved at being given a choice in the matter of minding or not minding. His jealousy eased a bit. It would also afford him time
to go back to the guesthouse and see what he could see.

  "Thanks. I knew you'd be cool about it."

  34

  Zach stayed with Brad at his guesthouse that night. The next morning as they parted, Brad admonished him to be on his guard at all times. He watched Zach's blue hair turn a corner, and then headed for the police station.

  Nava was off duty till the afternoon. If there was any news about the Ice House's missing houseboy, it would have to wait.

  Returning home, Brad discovered another note pinned to his door. He tore it open to find a few words scrawled in a shaky hand: The gun is in the water off the end of the old town pier. It was unsigned. Tellingly, it had been left in broad daylight sometime after he and Zach went into town. Was someone getting desperate? At least his window had been spared this time.

  Brad immediately relayed the news to Grace, who promised to check out the tip.

  Just before dusk, Brad headed for the Ice House and settled in across the street to watch. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but he hoped it would soon become clear. He didn't have to wait long. Within fifteen minutes, a familiar figure emerged from the front door. It was Perry the bartender!

  He'd been right in thinking Perry's connection with the Ice House had resumed with Hayden's death. But what was he doing there? Did he have anything to do with Hayden's murder, or had his ex-boss's death merely made it possible for him to return to the place where he'd once worked? In either case, it bore investigating.

  Brad watched the barkeep disappear down the hill with a small package tucked under his arm. He'd love to have known what was in it. He was tempted to follow, but he needed to get inside the guest-house. Stealthily, he crossed the street and slipped through the hedge. In his zeal, his arm caught on one of the belladonna branches.

  "Damn!" he said, flinching. He watched carefully to see if it would bleed, but he didn't appear to have broken the skin.

  He crept forward until he crouched beneath the dining room window and peered in. The table had been stripped bare except for a neglected vase of orchids. The thin man's cherished flowers had wilted and drooped. Had Jeremiah fled the Ice House?

  This time the window was locked. Brad took out his Swiss Army knife and jimmied the edge, but the latch held firm. He gave up and went around to the back of the house. Here he had better luck. The lock pulled free of the rotted wood with ease.

  Brad raised the window and peered inside. Someone had been in the house since his last visit. Empty champagne bottles were scattered around the room, while dirty dishes sat on the table and the floor was unswept. It seemed no one cared any longer what the place looked like. Either that or the staff had been let go. It hadn't looked like this the night Hayden was murdered. In fact, this appeared to be the aftermath of a mammoth celebration.

  Brad hauled himself over the sill and into the room, then crept along the hall and up the stairs to Hayden's door. He turned the handle.

  The room was empty. The desktop looked much the same, except for the missing paperweight. The desk drawers, however, were open and their contents scattered on the floor as though someone had gone through them at breakneck speed. Fishing through the filing cabinet, Brad discovered some old phone bills and bank records, along with a property deed. The document itself had no street address. Even to the bank, the estate was known simply as The Ice House.

  Inside a walk-in closet Brad found what he'd been looking for: a bank of video monitors with views of all the different rooms in the house. Obviously, he'd been watched as he stood in front of the mirror practicing his persona of Sebastian O'Shaughnessy on the night he'd visited. While it might have tipped off the staff that he wasn't who he claimed to be, it could never have told them his real name. Someone had known about him beforehand.

  He looked around. Where were the tapes? They'd be somewhere the guests would never go. The Arctic Memorabilia Room? Possibly. Cinder had said there was a camera inside the bear's snout. The secret passages? Not likely. It was too dark and inconvenient to store anything there. Maybe in the cellars, if there were any. Then he snapped his fingers. Of course!

  He raced past the landing, down the hallway and up the ladder. The hatch swung upward. Inside, the cupola was surprisingly large and completely weather-proofed. Along with its view of the harbor and the entire town, it housed a video playback unit, several monitors, and a solid steel cabinet. He broke the lock and wrenched open the door. He'd just hit pay dirt!

  Inside were hundreds of tapes labeled only by date. He inserted one in the machine and watched the monitor. He slipped in a second and then a third. He'd been right! The screen filled with actors, singers, politicians, televangelists, military brass, Mafia dons, and even Salvation Army band leaders. Here were all the favorite stars committing all their favorite sins. Whatever Hayden's purpose in making them—whether to use as blackmail or reality TV with a twist—this went way beyond the high jinks of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie or Sharon Osbourne tossing ham and bagels over the fence at her neighbors.

  It was a cornucopia, a veritable sex-a-thon of the rich and gayly famous engaged in trysts with houseboys, pool boys, altar boys, pizza delivery men, world-class hustlers, and cowboys on crack. Here, at last, was motive! He was witnessing a spectacle for which the price tag would be inestimable to some and simply unimaginable to others.

  Most important, the tapes could probably tell him who'd been at the guesthouse the night of Ross's murder. That was the proof he needed! Brad quickly looked through the entire cabinet, but realized with a jolt that all the tapes from that evening were missing. Someone had removed every single one, along with a number of others at periodic intervals. A very queer fish, indeed, he could hear Hayden say. Who had been there that night?

  He still didn't have the evidence he needed to collar Ross's killer, but it was time to call Tom Nava all the same. His role in the P'Town escapade was nearly done.

  He closed the cabinet and reached for the ladder. Halfway down, he gripped the rungs and paused to rub his forehead. His legs felt weak. His vision was clouded and his heart beat like a tom-tom. Whoa! Too much caffeine, he told himself. He waited till the sensation abated before continuing.

  At the bottom he turned and found himself staring down the barrel of a Colt .45. At the other end stood Johnny K.

  35

  Brad waited, but nothing happened. Either that or death meant you were frozen in time with your mind focused on the last image you saw before you croaked. Slowly, Johnny K. lowered the gun until it no longer pointed at his head. This was no bardo.

  "I guess you're wondering how I got into the house," Brad said.

  "Not really," the muscle stud said in a raspy voice that was the vocal equivalent of a carrot grater. "I just wondered why you came in the window when the front door was unlocked."

  Brad blushed. He hadn't even thought to try it.

  "What I'm really wondering is why you're in the house, but I think I've got that one covered, too."

  Johnny K.'s voice grated harshly in his ear. Brad recognized it. This was the voice that had told him over the phone about Ross's death! It was also the last voice he'd heard -before being hit on the head and dumped on the highway! One mystery solved, Brad thought. But will I live to solve the others?

  Johnny K. tucked the gun in its holster. Clearly, he didn't think he was going to have to use it. Brad started to swoon again, feeling the same dizzy sensation he'd experienced on the ladder as Johnny K. wavered in and out of his field of vision.

  Brad shook his head. "It was you who called me about Ross, wasn't it?"

  Johnny K. smiled. "I knew you'd come to fetch the body when you heard about it. Ross always said you were such a faithful friend."

  Brad sensed an ironic tone he didn't care for.

  "But I never thought you'd be stupid enough to get so involved in things here. You made it very uncomfortable for all of us."

  "So why even call me at all?"

  "I tried Ross's family, but they wanted nothing to do with him
, being good Christians and all. Seems they didn't think he'd gone any place they'd be meeting up with him again soon. But we couldn't have his body traced back here. And the longer it sat, the likelier that would have been. That's where you came in handy."

  A pounding filled Brad's ears. His mouth was dry. "Why did you kill him?"

  Johnny K. laughed. "What makes you think it was me?"

  "Who else could it be? I already know you killed your boss. I have a tape that incriminates you in his shooting."

  Johnny K.'s face clouded. "There's no such tape!" he snarled.

  "There surely is," Bradford said.

  "Prove it!"

  Well, Brad realized, there's only one way to find out if I'm right. "The video shows you with a snake tattoo on your right shoulder blade."

  "Fuck you!" screamed Johnny K. "Who the hell gave you that tape?"

  "You tell me," Brad said. "It came sailing through my window the other night. It must have been a friend of yours. Maybe someone wants to get rid of you."

  "Jeremiah!" Johnny K. sneered. "He thinks he can run this place by himself with me out of the way. And he's counting on those tapes to help. It's called 'blackmail.'"

  Bingo! Brad thought. "Is that why you killed your boss?"

  Johnny K. shook his head. "I didn't kill him. But that won't matter to you soon. You'll be in la-la-land in another minute," he said, flexing his powerful fingers. "And then I'm outta here."

  Stall for time! Brad told himself. He noticed a swelling in the bodyguard's pants. It seemed Johnny K. got a little hot over his killings.

  "I have to say, I'm mighty intrigued by what I've heard about you," Brad said. "Considering that you've been written up as a legend in your own time."

  "What kind of legend is that?" Johnny K. asked, coming closer.

  "A very big one," Brad said, feeling his knees buckle. He reached out to steady himself against a wall.