Rina screamed. Norbert and Lyon ran toward the milling group as the athletic woman, a handcuff dangling from one wrist, climbed to the top of an exercise machine. ‘Everyone freeze!’ Norbert yelled. The two corporals stepped back in embarrassment while Jamie Martin averted his eyes. ‘What is this, funny-farm time? Get that woman down from there,’ the state police captain demanded.
‘These pigs were copping a feel,’ Rina yelled as Lyon picked up her robe from the floor.
‘We were cuffing her when—’ the first corporal began.
‘For God’s sake, will someone call a woman cop?’ Norbert said in exasperation. ‘And arrest that woman for interfering with a police officer, public nudity, lewd conduct, and soliciting.’
Rina leapt to the floor with an agile jump and made a dash for the exit. She had almost pushed through the front doors before she was caught and restrained by the troopers. She directed her high-pitched screech at Captain Norbert. ‘I know your type! I’ve been arrested at rock concerts by pigs like you!’
Norbert glared back. ‘Well, that’s good, lady. There won’t be any surprises for you. Get her out of here,’ he snapped. ‘This is a crime scene. You, Martin, go interview the store clerk.’
Lyon slipped the robe over Rina’s shoulders and gently pulled her against his shoulder. She made tiny chirping noises that were soon broken up by sniffles which turned into a quiet, nearly soundless cry. He kept his arm around her as they walked back to the apartment followed at a discreet distance by the two trooper corporals. ‘They will take you to the barracks to be booked. While you get dressed, I can phone an attorney for you.’
‘Yes, call Willey P. Lynch. He’s in Hartford and—’
‘I know how to reach him.’
The state police corporals warily watched Rina as Lyon returned to the gym. Doctor Lars Postman, an assistant medical examiner, had arrived with a photographer and a dour-faced duo from the state forensics lab. The technicians scurried around the gym collecting and labeling. Postman was a notoriously cheerful man who affected either a Groucho Marx walk or a James Cagney strut. It was his constant smile, bad jokes, and intrinsic good spirits under the most dire medical circumstances of death that earned him the label of Doctor Laughing Lars.
‘He wasn’t in that location when we found him,’ Lyon said.
Lars Postman widened his eyes and mimed a long cigar puff. ‘Oh, really. You going to the hot-air balloon meet in Farmington on the nineteenth, Lyon?’
‘I don’t know, Lars. I’m just getting acquainted with my cloudhopper and I’m not quite comfortable enough with it for any public flights. We found the body supine on that bench at the end of this aisle in front of the mirrors.’ Lyon walked toward the far end of the room with the doctor following. He pointed at the weights resting on their support rack. ‘The barbell was across his neck.’
Lars laughed again. ‘I never could figure out why you bought that damn cloudhopper balloon. The thing’s an accident waiting to happen. If the rats haven’t eaten holes in the envelope, why don’t you break the old Wobbly II out of mothballs? It’s still stored in your barn, isn’t it?’
‘The body had a barbell on its neck, Lars,’ Lyon said in an attempt to get back to the crime.
‘That would be consistent with the injuries I have externally observed at this point.’ He laughed. ‘Hey, if you don’t want to fly yourself, how about driving chase car for me? If I can’t get you, I’ll end up with Grumpy and Sneezy over there,’ he said with a wave at the two busy lab techs.
Lyon wished that Dr Postman were more interested in the deceased than balloon meets. ‘How long has he been dead, Lars?’
‘Who?’
‘The corpse that you are presently standing next to.’
Lars laughed and continued his examination. ‘Did I tell you that I’m thinking of going wicker on my balloon gondola for the Autopsy III? It’s the only way to go.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘Sure, I like wicker because it’s traditional,’ the doctor responded as he bent to peer into the dead eyes of the body on the floor.
‘I meant time of death,’ Lyon said.
The doctor reluctantly looked at his thermometer. ‘Dropped a degree. We’re talking an hour, two at tops. The stomach contents might reveal more when I get into that.’ He straightened up and gestured to the waiting ambulance attendants. ‘Come on guys, your turn.’ The first attendant pushed a gurney down the aisle while the second shook open a body bag.
Dr Postman shook his head as he gathered his instruments. ‘I don’t know why you want to talk about bodies rather than ballooning, Lyon. You want dead? Come down to my office. We got dozens.’ He waved as he followed the body out the door. ‘See you at Farmington.’
Lyon returned to the owner’s apartment and was relieved to see that Rina was fully dressed in a prim skirt and conservative blouse. She sat defiantly at the small desk. The troopers sat stiffly on the couch. She seemed relieved to see Lyon return.
‘I haven’t been busted since my groupie days,’ Rina said, ‘but the pigs don’t seem to change. They’re the same now as they were then.’
‘Who had a key to the gym?’ Lyon asked.
‘Who gives a damn?’ was her answer.
‘I do. Keys, Rina. Who?’
‘Naturally Skee and I each had a set. Let’s see, the guy who does housekeeping and maintenance had another set. The store manager has them too, and there’s an extra set around somewhere.’
‘Who else was in the building early this morning?’
‘No one. The store clerk comes in at nine thirty, as does the receptionist. Before nine it’s just Skee and me. Is it gone yet? Is his body gone? I have this thing about dead people.’
‘The medical examiner just finished and they’re taking the body to the ambulance. Who’d want to kill him, Rina?’
‘Why are you going on about keys and killing? Skee had an accident. The barbell strangled him. That’s all there is to it.’
Lyon was not a weight lifter, but the elementary physics of Skee’s last lift seemed obvious. If he couldn’t make the lift and realized he was in danger, simply tilting the barbell to one side or the other would carry it away from his neck and crash it to the floor. A safe way out, unless someone was standing behind him pressing down on the bar to prevent it from tilting. ‘I don’t think it was an accident.’
‘Then it was a burglar. Skee caught someone breaking into the building and they killed him.’
‘Rob a health-food store early in the morning and murder a man by forcing him to lie on a bench and then putting a barbell across him? I don’t think so, Rina. Any other ideas?’
‘How the hell should I know?’ she said brusquely, with the return of her usual volatility. The state police corporals sitting on the couch were visibly startled. ‘What different does it make to you? You were no friend of Skee’s. You’re not a cop.’
Lyon didn’t pursue the matter. A violent argument had erupted in the corridor. Rocco and his brother-in-law seemed constitutionally unable to carry out a conversation in normal tones.
‘What in hell are you doing here, Norbie! This is Murphysville! This is my town, not some state satellite where a resident trooper runs things.’
‘These cases are obviously interrelated and therefore state business.’
‘Related! How the hell would you know? You don’t know who’s dead here.’
‘We monitor your radio, big man.’
‘Who the hell talked in the clear?’ Rocco bellowed at his officers. ‘Who the hell didn’t use land lines for sensitive information? Heads will roll!’ Rocco nearly screamed.
The argument moved into the room, but both men, sensing the presence of civilian personnel, lowered their voices.
Captain Norbert pointed a short blunt finger at Rina. ‘Book her,’ he ordered the corporals.
‘Murder two, Captain?’ the first one asked.
‘Did I order that? Did I even hint at a capital charge? I want her booked for screwin
g around with a crime scene and resisting. Got that?’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Rina said. ‘And the first guy that lays a finger on me gets a knee in the family jewels.’
‘Oh, Jesus, we got one of those,’ Norbert said in exasperation. ‘Cool it, lady. This isn’t a protest rally. There’s no one to see you, so why are you putting up a fuss?’
‘I’m not going and that’s all there is to it.’
‘We can take her,’ a corporal said as he pulled a sap from his rear pocket and slapped it into the palm of his hand.
‘Rina, please,’ Lyon said. ‘Go on and get it over with.’
‘A good lawyer will make a great violation of civil rights case on this bust.’
‘You think so?’ Rina was beginning to look interested.
‘Know so,’ Rocco said as he casually scanned the room. ‘You’ll clear a bundle.’
‘Thank you, Chief Herbert,’ Norbert said. ‘Gentlemen, escort the lady to the car.’
‘Why didn’t you book her for murder?’ Rocco asked after the two troopers took Rina from the building. ‘She probably killed Morgan for the trust money and Skee was her accomplice. The boyfriend tried a little extortion, which pissed her off, so that’s why she knocked him off. You can build one hell of a circumstantial case around that scenario.’
‘Except for this little detail,’ Norbert said as he pulled a fax from his inside pocket. ‘A copy of this came to the barracks this morning and another went to the governor’s office. It was sent from the Murphysville public library.’
‘The where?’ Rocco asked in astonishment.
‘Aren’t you listening, Herbert? I said it was faxed from the Murphysville library.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Norbert, that was a rhetorical what,’ Rocco said as he snatched the paper and read it aloud. ‘The perjurer Morgan was first. His whore the Boston Bimbo was second. Others may also die by the avenging sword of the Brotherhood of Beelzebub.’
Norbert smirked in satisfaction. ‘This second message proves we have a terrorist here. I’ve already called the local FBI field office and asked them to come in on it. Let the Feds handle this baby and we’ll both be off the hook. We get to close our files and the Feds take the heat. Neat, huh?’
‘You’re telling me that some hate group is knocking off people in Murphysville?’ Rocco asked.
‘Jesus, Rocco. Avenging swords and whores. That kind of crap smacks of terrorist agents.’
‘The fax mentioned a Boston bimbo,’ Lyon said. ‘Is that a loose translation or is a Boston bimbo related to the whore of Babylon?’
‘Don’t be a wiseguy, Wentworth. They’re accepting responsibility. I take that as involvement. Ten to one we get a letter tomorrow concerning the muscleman killed here this morning.’
Over the years, the town of Murphysville experienced periodic coup d’états in its unsuccessful attempt to overthrow the town librarian, Miss Emily Southgate. The participants in these insurrections were usually dedicated genre readers who objected to Miss Southgate’s benign, but authoritarian censorship. Romance novels, westerns, and hardboiled detective mysteries were never purchased or ever catalogued if donated. Miss Southgate, backed by an equally conservative library board, defeated all objections handily.
Emily Southgate squinted over half glasses at Rocco and Lyon as they entered the library. She spoke in the half whisper that through years of use had become her natural voice. ‘Those Wobblies of yours are still not acceptable, Mr Wentworth. They are a transparent disguise for the radical IWW. The International Workers of the World were socialists, and you know we do not tolerate that in Murphysville.’
Lyon sighed in resignation over their ancient argument. ‘Miss Southgate, can’t we just pretend my monsters are benign little guys telling a child’s story?’
‘I know a parable when I read one. Good day, gentlemen.’
‘Ms Southgate,’ Rocco said. ‘Someone sent a fax from here this morning. Do you know who used the machine today?’
‘Two impudent young men from the state police were here earlier asking the same questions. I will give you the same answer that I gave them. No one used that machine this morning, or yesterday morning. Not only have I been at this desk since we opened both days, but there is no notation in the fax log. You gentlemen and the men from the state police were the only people to come in the library today. And that is a sad commentary on the literacy of this town.’
‘Where’s the machine?’ Rocco asked.
‘Through that archway. In the reference room by the encyclopedias. As you can plainly see, no one can get to it without passing by my desk.’
Rocco and Lyon entered the small reference room and found the machine. High shelves hid it from the main desk.
‘She’s right,’ Rocco said. ‘It’s impossible to get to the machine without crossing by her desk. She said no one came in, and I believe that.’
‘And yet we know the message came from this machine, but I doubt that our neighborhood terrorist would make a log entry. What’s this door?’ Lyon asked as he stepped between two shelves. ‘It’s unlocked.’
Rocco arched an eyebrow. ‘That’s interesting. Where does it go?’
Lyon eased the door open and fumbled along the inside wall until he found a light switch. A single bulb halfway down the stairs illuminated a narrow stairwell leading to a basement door. Rocco put a restraining hand on Lyon’s shoulder, drew his revolver, and led the way. They opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell and entered a dim room illuminated only by light from narrow windows high on the walls. Clusters of tiny tables surrounded by low shelves holding outsize picture books indicated that they were in the children’s room.
The windows in the air-conditioned room were sealed shut. The other door in the room led outside and was securely locked. They returned to Miss Southgate at the front desk.
‘Where’s the children’s librarian?’ Rocco asked.
‘Phyllis Baxter only works in the afternoons and on Saturdays when school’s in session. Obviously the children are not allowed here when they should be in school. She will open at three.’
‘But she came in this morning?’ Rocco pressed.
‘Of course not. Why should she?’
Rocco hung up the phone at Sarge’s Bar and returned to the booth shaking his head. ‘My guys checked it out. The children’s librarian, Phyllis Baxter, definitely did not come into work early today. She has a pretty good alibi.’
‘Which is?’ Lyon asked.
‘She was setting up bingo boards for tonight’s game at St Margaret and was seen by Father Leonard, five other women, and a visiting nun.’
‘That visiting nun alibi will do it every time,’ Lyon said.
‘I’m really wondering if Norbie was right to close everything down in favor of some religious fanatical college dropouts.’
‘Of course Norbie could be right,’ Lyon said. ‘But there’s also some other strong alternatives. Rina has a unique turn of mind, and under certain circumstances might be capable of killing her half-brother.’
‘With Skee’s help. Then when he became a problem, she did away with him.’
‘Morgan might have let them in the RV later that night and they used his sword to kill him,’ Lyon said.
‘The same sequence can be applied to Clay and his topless dancer friend. Of all the people we know who were around the RV that night, Bambi probably had the best opportunity to talk Morgan into opening the door. Once inside the RV they disposed of Morgan and attempted to hang it on you. Bambi proceeds to get greedy and Clay does her in. But in that scenario I don’t see why Skee would be killed.’
‘To make Bambi’s death logical,’ Lyon said. ‘Remember the so-called letter from the Beelzebubs? Death to the bimbo or whatever. Ten to one there will be another letter acknowledging Skee’s death.’
‘As a further cover-up.’
Lyon nodded. ‘All this conjecture doesn’t exclude Ernest or Garth, both of whom had more than enough reason to kill
Morgan.’
‘Morgan had confidential information on both of them,’ Rocco said. ‘Did you ever consider the possibility that they protest their hostility too much? Is it possible their mutual antagonism may not be as real as it appears? They could have joined forces to do Morgan in and are using the other two murders as decoys.’
‘We did seem to disarm them rather easily. A case could be made that Garth’s attempt to shoot Ernest was staged. To make matters more complicated, no one in the whole damn group seems to have a good alibi, and everyone has a motive,’ Lyon said.
Rocco began to laugh. ‘God, the combinations are endless. How about the killer twins, Rina and Clay, operating without their lovers?’
The black humor was infectious and Lyon laughed. ‘Or Bambi and Skee doing the dirty work for payment by the twins? Oh, Lord help us. There are suspects everywhere and what in the hell are we laughing at?’
Rocco kept chuckling until it was time to order another drink.
‘Do you have a death wish? Or are you just out to lunch?’ Bea asked. ‘That thing is not a full-fledged balloon. It is the top half of a hot-air balloon. I would like to point out that it does not have a basket to ride in.’
‘Gondola,’ Lyon replied.
‘Whatever. At least in a regular balloon I have the faint illusion that there’s something substantial underneath. In that thing there is nothing at all beneath you.’
Lyon stopped adjusting the flame on the propane burner of the cloudhopper balloon and looked across the yard at his alarmed wife. She seemed more frightened of his impending balloon flight than when she had relieved Garth of his .45 caliber pistol.
He looked up at the thirty-foot-wide 21,000-cubic-foot balloon. It was bobbing a few feet above his head, straining against its tether, which was fastened to a stake in the ground. ‘It’s perfectly safe, you know. I’ve been hot-air ballooning for years and this one is just a slightly different version.’
Death at King Arthur's Court Page 13
