‘A few. This case is a real bastard, isn’t it?’
‘I find it odd that Bambi never came back by my house yesterday or today.’
‘The logical answer is that she heard about the murder on TV and went home. It’s doubtful she’d come to visit a corpse.’
‘A possibility, but she might have stayed around. I think we should find out.’
‘It’s a big state and she could be anywhere,’ Rocco said.
‘It’s a small state and she could be someplace nearby,’ Lyon countered.
‘Check out the motels,’ Rocco said.
‘That’s a police function, Chief. You have the staff and contacts to do it faster than I can.’
‘Topless with Morgan, it boggles the mind,’ Rocco said as he shook his head and slipped from the booth to go to the bar, where he reached under the counter and pulled out a touch-tone phone. He sat on a stool near the beer spigots and punched in numbers.
‘Helen, it’s the chief. I want you and whoever’s holding down communications to do a motel check for me. Lyon Wentworth is with me and will give you the description of the female Caucasian we’re looking for. Call me back at Sarge’s when you’ve made the survey.’ He handed the phone to Lyon.
‘Hi, Helen … I’m just fine, and Bea’s well. How’s Henry? I missed you when I was by the station recently. Right, the description. Her name is Bambi Dolores but that’s an alias and she might register under a different name. She’s a tall woman with a very full figure. Her age is mid-thirties and she has a distinctive pile of red hair.’
Sarge Renfroe looked up from a sink of soaking glasses. ‘I saw her.’ He dried his hands on a suspicious-looking bar rag. ‘I had to fill in for the evening barman and saw her come in,’ he said in his whiskey baritone. ‘Ol’ Red sidled right up to Clay Dickensen. They seemed to know each other.’
‘Oh?’ Rocco said. His interest was piqued immediately. ‘Tell us more, Sarge.’
‘Not much to tell, Captain. Clay was in here drinking a diet coke. You know he don’t touch hard stuff. And Red waltzes in here with long legs into next week and hair shaped like a pyramid. She’s got front works big enough to pierce a Bradley fighting vehicle. The night manager is having a fit, since he thinks she’s imported business wanting to score. But in ten seconds she and Clay are huddled in the corner talking. She knocks down a couple doubles before they leave together.’
‘Did they drive off in her truck or Clay’s car?’ Lyon asked.
‘Don’t know which one,’ Sarge answered, ‘but two people left here in one vehicle.’
‘What was in the lot when you opened the next morning?’ Lyon asked.
The retired master sergeant with the pocked face and bulbous nose thought a moment as he dried his hands again. ‘Nuthin’. I remember the lot being empty as Jody’s locker.’
‘Which means they went off together and someone came back later to pick up a vehicle,’ Rocco said.
‘Which one?’ Lyon wondered.
To get to Clay Dickensen’s condominium from Sarge’s they had to pass Murphysville Green and go out toward Route 155. Two blocks beyond the center of town they passed a low office building that housed the Clay Dickensen Group, specializing in accounting services and computer technology for small businesses.
Lyon wondered why Clay still retained him as a personal client. The young CPA’s firm seemed successful enough that its proprietor did not have to handle individual accounts as unimportant as the Wentworths’. He’d add that question to the lengthening list of items to ask Clay.
The accountant’s town house condo was located in a cluster development designed and priced for upscale professionals more concerned over their personal health than propagating the species. Heritage Acres offered every possible recreational facility this section of the country could provide. Grouped around a man-made lake with a small island in the center that housed the kayak house, the project boasted a full-service clubhouse with indoor pool. A complete gym and jogging track were built next to a nine-hole golf course. The open land between building clusters was crisscrossed with landscaped walks, cross-country ski trails, outdoor jogging trails, and interspersed with various types of courts where games with various small rubber balls were played. The area was immaculately maintained through immense monthly charges.
He wondered if there was a pattern between this construction and the condo-monstrosity going up next to Nutmeg Hill. The days when homes were built around schools and playgrounds seemed past. Perhaps the affluent portion of the human race would eventually perish due to the lack of living quarters that permitted children.
Lyon added another mental note to his ever-expanding list of Clay queries. Why was the young CPA so obsessed with the distribution of the trust money when his present income was obviously more than adequate?
‘We have a fat list of things to ask Clay about,’ Lyon said.
‘Uh huh,’ the chief replied as he drove through the security gate leading into the project. The irate guard was obviously perplexed when the police cruiser swept past. ‘Which of these miniature mansions is his?’ Rocco asked.
‘Follow this road to the end and turn down the cul-de-sac to the right and he’s the last unit nearest the lake.’
‘How can a CPA who does your taxes afford to live out here with all these yuppies?’ Rocco asked as his internal police alarm clicked in.
‘Like I said,’ Lyon answered. ‘We have a book of questions for Clay.’
They wondered if any answers were to be provided after Rocco’s persistent ringing went unanswered. Clay’s metallic voice finally blurted from a small unit on the wall. ‘I’m too upset over my brother’s death to talk with anyone today.’
Lyon nudged Rocco and pointed to Bambi’s pickup parked in the drive. ‘Hers,’ he mouthed.
‘You want I should get a warrant, Mr Dickensen?’ Rocco said without a hint of warmth.
The front door jerked open as far as its chain allowed. Clay peered anxiously through the narrow opening. ‘Do I need a lawyer?’
‘Not if you answer a few questions.’ Rocco automatically put the tip of a size-fourteen brogan into the door’s aperture.
Clay looked down at the invading foot. ‘I assume this is about Morgan?’
‘Yep.’
‘I’m really tied up right now,’ Clay said. ‘If you need a statement of some sort, I can meet you down at your office in an hour. OK?’ He tried to shut the door without waiting for an answer.
‘This will only take a few minutes,’ Rocco said as he pushed the door with enough pressure to snap the chain from its mounting and slam it back against the wall. ‘Oh, sorry. Don’t know my own strength.’
‘Hey!’ Clay protested. ‘You can’t do that! You can’t come in here unless I invite you.’
‘Lyon has an income-tax question, and that’s our reason for entry,’ Rocco said.
Lyon followed Rocco inside as Clay continued protesting their entrance.
A woman’s clothing trail led through the living room and out the sliding glass doors to a rear deck. The path was well marked, beginning with a blouse strewn haphazardly on the floor near the couch. A very large red bra was draped across an armchair, followed by a puddle of jeans that Lyon recognized. The path culminated with red bikini panties drooped across the metal door sill.
Clay’s protest stopped abruptly as he watched them follow the clothing trail through the room and out the open doors. A nude Bambi Dolores reclined on a chaise lounge in the sun. Her head was turned to the side, with a folded towel covering her eyes.
‘Our creature of the woods?’ Rocco asked.
‘Bambi Dolores,’ Lyon answered. ‘Morgan’s late-night visitor.’
‘Miss Dolores had a trying time,’ Clay said. ‘She’s exhausted and really needs her rest.’ He softly closed the sliding glass doors. He looked at their skeptical faces. ‘She is forced to sunbathe without clothing because of her stage career. She cannot have panty and bra lines on her body that will show while she dan
ces.’
‘You just happened to run into her at Sarge’s place? Over a drink, she just happened to ask if you knew a good spot for nude sunbathing?’ Rocco asked as he reunited the red panties and bra.
‘So, OK, I knew her from last year and we’ve met a few times since. One night when I was in Boston on business, Morgan called my hotel and asked me over to the Combat Zone for what he said would be a couple of laughs.’ He gestured with his shoulder toward the naked woman on the deck. ‘Bambi was on the runway of the White Pussy Cat doing her thing. Morgan tried to convince me that her act was a humorous and awkward example of our decadent culture, completely devoid of aesthetics. He called it a genuine piece of prurient Americana conceived and dedicated to the birthplace of puritanism, Massachusetts. I saw through his scholarly observations the instant he stuffed the first twenty in her G-string.’
‘Did you do any G-string stuffing?’ Rocco asked.
‘Bambi is a very loving and generous person,’ Clay answered. ‘And that sums it up. All right, fellows, you forced your way in here, so what is it that can’t wait?’
‘It’s about Morgan,’ Lyon said.
‘His murder was on the TV,’ Clay said. ‘I assume those Satan nuts got him.’
‘We see that you are overwhelmed with grief,’ Rocco observed. ‘And sleeping beauty on the sun deck is exhausted from her mourning.’
‘It would be hypocritical for me to pretend,’ Clay said. ‘Lyon and others know how I felt about Morgan. As for Bambi, I have been able to make arrangements for her child, and she is most appreciative.’
‘Like how appreciative for what?’ Rocco asked.
‘As soon as I heard about the murder, I worked out a solution with Bambi over any claims she might have against the estate.’
‘Then the baby was Morgan’s,’ Lyon said.
‘Of course. I’ve made arrangements with Bambi for Barney to get two hundred and fifty thousand dollars from the estate if she signs off without further legal hassles. That seems to be satisfactory with her.’
Rocco nodded. He stepped through the glass door and walked over to the nude woman. ‘I’m glad she’s happy with that arrangement, Clay.’ He lifted the portion of the folded towel that lay over her upper face. ‘Yep, real glad she’s happy over that settlement, because this woman is dead.’
Eight
‘What in the hell are you talking about?’ Clay took three running steps toward the deck before he stopped at Rocco’s raised-hand command. Rocco lifted the woman’s limp wrist and let it fall. The hand fell back against her body without resistance. ‘This is crazy. Ten minutes ago she was waltzing around the room peeling off her clothes in a sexy little dance.’ He moved closer to the chaise lounge as Rocco stepped aside. ‘Come on, Bambi, quit the … Oh, my God!’ Clay turned away and grabbed the deck rail with both hands.
‘I told you she was dead,’ Rocco said, without taking his eyes from the stricken accountant. Clay nodded agreement.
Lyon found the grief-stricken man’s body language very convincing. It either signified complete shock, or indicated that Clay was a consummate actor, or perhaps a complete sociopath. He knew that the amoral could don any emotional pose they desired in a manner so convincing that they could pass a lie-detector test given by the most experienced operator.
‘She must have had a massive heart attack,’ Clay said. He ventured another quick look at the corpse. ‘Look, her body isn’t disturbed and I didn’t hear a sound.’
Rocco stooped by the chaise lounge and began to examine the area as much as he could without touching the body again. ‘You must have heard something, Clay?’ he asked.
‘I swear, I didn’t hear a sound. After she went out on the deck, I read the paper for a few minutes and then called my office. I told my secretary that I had to make arrangements for Morgan’s funeral and wouldn’t be in today. After the call, I returned to the living room and it was about then that you guys arrived … Don’t you think we had better call nine-one-one or something?’
‘You had no intention of opening the front door until we forced our way in,’ Rocco pressed.
Clay shrugged toward the intimate clothing strewn around the room. ‘Jesus, give me a break. It looks like we just had an orgy in here and you expected to find me in mourning.’
Rocco knelt by the body and gestured to Lyon. ‘Look at the back of the head,’ he said.
Lyon’s combat experience may have been limited, but he had seen gunshot wounds before. In fact, he had seen more torn and mutilated bodies than he cared to remember or could ever forget.
He theorized that the narrow entrance wound near the center of Bambi’s head was made by a steel-jacketed round traveling at a high muzzle velocity. The lack of powder residue or burn marks on the scalp seemed to indicate that the shot was fired from a distance. Since Clay’s unit abutted the project’s artificial pond, it was probable that it was fired from the other side of the lake. A small amount of blood seeped from the entrance wound. The exit wound was revealed when the towel was completely removed from her face. A mixture of bone fragments, brain matter, and congealing blood were splattered on the wall. The bullet had spent itself against the deck flooring near the glass doors.
Lyon couldn’t help but reflect on this feisty woman’s death. The flamboyant exotic dancer, who boasted lustily of her relationship with Morgan with a twinkle in her eye, was now devoid of all animation. Her body, the voluptuousness of which was an enticement to eroticism, had been instantly rendered into useless inert matter. Her last theatrical display would be on an autopsy table. The little boy named after a dinosaur would be raised by others. It was an unfair event that had deprived this zesty woman of over half of her life.
Rocco examined the corner where the spent bullet was embedded. ‘We could dig this out, but I’ll leave that up to the lab guys.’
‘Which way are you going to take this?’ Lyon asked.
‘I’ve got no choice but to call in the state and let their boy scouts run it around. We have to assume that this woman’s death is tied to Morgan’s. That means that the whole damn case is getting too complicated, with a hell of a lot of lab work involved. We’ve got to have this bullet tested, and I want some ballistics on the shot’s trajectory. And that doesn’t begin to include the huge crew of investigators that should be working this.’
Lyon looked across the deck toward the lake punctuated with its small island. The island was to their right, which put it out of the line of fire for Bambi’s entrance wound. On the far side of the water were a cluster of condominiums under construction. The structures had been framed, but their outer walls and interiors were still unfinished. He drew an imaginary line from the partially completed buildings to the gunshot wound.
Rocco searched for the phone and found a cordless unit in a book-lined room off the hall. He called the local assistant medical examiner and the state police barracks. He returned to the dining area to straddle a straight chair and wait.
Clay came out of the lav drying his face with a small monogrammed towel.
‘A woman had her head practically blown off twelve feet from where you were sitting,’ Rocco said, ‘and you claim you didn’t hear a thing?’
‘I did not hear a shot. What more can I say?’
‘It was very generous of you to offer her two hundred and fifty thousand dollars knowing it would never have to be paid,’ Rocco said.
‘That’s not the way it was, Chief.’ Clay went to the kitchen, where he jerked open the refrigerator and twisted a can of diet soda off a six pack. He slumped into a chair across from Rocco and snapped the tab off the can.
‘Bambi was with you the night that Morgan was killed?’
‘Yes. We spent that night and last night together.’
‘Did she help you kill Morgan?’
‘No. After I made our deal concerning her baby, there would be no reason for her to kill Morgan.’
Rocco and Lyon exchanged quick glances. ‘Interesting,’ Rocco said. ‘You made your financ
ial arrangements with Bambi before Morgan died?’
‘No, of course not. But I intended to go to Morgan for it.’
‘A slip of the tongue?’ Lyon suggested.
‘Yes, of course,’ Clay said.
Rocco laced his hands behind his head and intently examined the ceiling. ‘Let’s look at a possible scenario. You two returned to the Wentworth house and Morgan’s RV. Between one and three a.m., you talked to Morgan through the door, or maybe Bambi whispered sexy nothings through a vent. Did she give him the sex talk? Did she offer Morgan a private showing of her special dance with a finale that he could really appreciate? Or did you offer to forget the trust argument? Something was said that convinced him to drop the gate. It’s my gut feeling it was her talking dirty, because Morgan wouldn’t believe a word you said. Once that door opened, you forced your way in, grabbed the sword, and suddenly it was French Revolution time.’
Two police sirens could be heard in the distance.
‘You know, Chief, you’ve really been lapping at the sauce one time too many. I think our conversation is ended until I have advice of counsel.’
A trio of state police cruisers halted in front of the condominium with a screech of tires and the despairing wail of dying sirens. Car doors slammed in alternating bursts as large troopers quickly exited and fanned around the building. A cautious pair donned wide-brimmed hats with one hand while the other gripped holstered pistol butts as they moved carefully toward the front door.
The approach of additional sirens infuriated Rocco Herbert. He rushed past the startled troopers to stand in the center of the cul-de-sac with hands on hips. Two town of Murphysville patrol cars hastily braked before they slammed into him.
‘I did not call you guys!’ Rocco yelled. ‘Why in the hell would I want the town’s entire day shift out here when I have enough smokies to begin World War Three?’
‘Dispatcher caught the call on the network,’ Officer Brumby said, ‘and we thought …’
‘You thought wrong. Go on now. Brumby, you got school-crossing duty in ten minutes.’
Death at King Arthur's Court Page 8
