The Death of Alan Chandler (The Red Lake Series Book 1)

by Rich Foster

  “I will check to see if he is available.” Obviously, Blains hired help was not in the habit of lying. Pointing to his right, the man said, “I will meet you at the service entrance, opposite the garage.” Then he closed the door abruptly.

  . Maddox looked at Lane and raised his eyebrows; he was amused as he said with a grin, “I believe we have just been snubbed!” Lane mumbled something about the man’s parentage, but said nothing more. They turned and trudged around to the side of the house. Passing the garage Maddox paused and looked in the window. What he saw caused the smile to return to his lips. But then he had to hurry off to catch Lane whose forefinger was already leaning on the service bell.

  The houseman opened the door immediately; obviously he had been waiting for them. There had not been sufficient time for him to have gone and checked whether Blain could or could not see them. The two officers followed the butler down a narrow corridor past a large airy kitchen, a morning room and then out into the main hallway opposite the door they had first rung. The valet opened the door to a large pleasant library that had beautiful shelves but was devoid of books. Charles Blain was ensconced behind a broad mahogany desk. He rose and with a gracious sweep of his hand pointed at two tarp-covered chairs. “Felix would you mind? Please be seated, officers.” The valet hurried over and lifted the lightweight canvass from the chairs. “How may I help you?”

  Maddox remained standing. He was in no hurry. Questioning people was a game and each interrogation was different. He had learned to let the conversation evolve at it’s own pace. He glanced casually around the room. The service door was ajar, perhaps intentionally. “Are you thinking of joining the Book of the Month Club Mr. Blain?”

  Amusement crossed Charles’ face

  “My library is in storage. I’m in the middle of renovations here.”

  “I find books often reveal much about the man. What do you like to read, sir? Or don’t you? Perhaps you just collect!”

  “Oh, I can assure you that I am literate, but I doubt you came here to discuss my reading habits. How may I help you?”

  Maddox took the empty seat. He shifted around getting comfortable. “Home alone, Sir?”

  “Well, there is always Felix who showed you in here.”

  Maddox dropped the question and pursued a new tack. “Let’s talk about your renovation project, specifically your designer Mrs. Chandler. How well do you know her?”

  Charles paused as though considering the question. Maddox was certain it was posturing. He felt himself to be an actor, on Charles Blain’s stage and at this point he did not have the script. At last Charles mused, “Well enough, I suppose.”

  “And how well is that?” interjected Lane.

  “Do you mean by that, officer, do I have carnal knowledge of her?” Charles smiled as he rephrased the question.

  “Yes!”

  “Well, I think you should ask the lady. You may not know this officer, but a true gentleman would never tell.”

  Maddox saw Lane bristle at the implication and took over the questioning.

  “I’m certain you are aware, Sir, of Mrs. Chandler’s husband who has disappeared.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware of it, I posted her bail.”

  “And why did you do that, Sir?”

  “Because, I needed Mrs. Chandler in order to move forward with our project.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “Of what other reasons are you thinking, officer?”

  Maddox paused. This was a cat and mouse game. He wasn’t sure why Blain was so obviously evasive. Did he think himself too clever to be caught? Was he simply being obstreperous? Perhaps he just disliked cops! “Do you make a habit of bailing your women friends out of jail?”

  “This is only the second time. The first was a friend who made the mistake of drinking and driving. As for Lilly, she’s a business associate, officer.”

  “How long have you known Mrs. Chandler?”

  “I met her three months ago.”

  “No previous contact? Say in Denver?”

  “My congratulations, officer! I see you have been doing your homework. Yes we both come from Denver. I became acquainted with her work through friends in Denver. It was purely a coincidence we both ended up here. I’m only here because my mother had an estate here. When I decided to keep the house and renovate it, I consulted the yellow pages and recognized her name. But Lilly and I never met in Denver.

  Maddox noted how easily Blain shifted from Mrs. Chandler to Lilly. But was it revealing or intentional? “Do many of your business associates shower at your house, wear your robe, and lounge on your patio deck?”

  “So you have been watching me!” said Blain with obvious delight. “I thought I noticed the glint of a lens across the river. I hope I came out well in your photographs.” he paused, but received no response so he continued, “Of course, I have my own pictures. The security camera at the front gate picked your car up on tape. Isn’t illegal to make a u-turn officer?”

  Maddox let the question pass. “Where were you the Sunday night that Mr. Chandler disappeared?”

  “I’m not really sure, officer. I’d have to check. Am I suspected of something?”

  Maddox tried a bluff. “Suppose I said I had a witness that placed you at a gas station on the road to Red Bluff?”

  “I would say he is completely mistaken.”

  Silence settled on the room. Maddox noted that Charles did not say the witness was a liar, only mistaken. Blain was a man who chose his words carefully. They both seemed content to muse silently, only Lane stirred in his chair.

  “Should I be contacting my attorney, Sergeant?”

  “I don’t know. Is he a criminal attorney?”

  “No. He’s my business attorney.”

  “Well then I’d say no, Mr. Blain, unless you wish to call him for a referral. After all, you did receive a speeding ticket on the highway near Red Lake the night Chandler went missing!” Maddox saw his barb had found its mark. For the first time during the interview, the smug glimmer in Charles Blain’s eyes was replaced by concern. He was about to speak when Maddox interrupted, “Don’t get up sir, we’ll see ourselves out.”

  With that he terminated the interview and quickly rose. He moved to the door and upon opening it, he found Felix waiting. Felix nodded at them and gesturing he moved off toward the back hall, but Maddox turned the other way and opened the front door himself. At the door he glanced back. The draft of air caused Felix to turn around, surprised to find himself alone. Maddox smiled and with a wave of his hand said, “You may get the door Felix!” Then he turned and walked down the steps to the motor court, leaving the front door gaping behind them.

  As Maddox and Lane drove down the long drive Maddox asked for Lane’s thoughts on the interview.

  “I’d like to stop Felix for a traffic violation and show him the service entrance over at County!”

  “Don’t take it so personally, Lane. I’m sure Felix was told to do that, its just part of Blain’s game. Though, I’m not certain what his game is. Besides his invitation to use the servant’s entrance allowed me to look in his garage.”

  Lane looked over questioningly.

  “The garage contains a red Miata!” said Maddox with a note of triumph.

  “I missed that. Do you think it’s hers?”

  “Yes! As we left I saw someone behind the curtains at an upstairs window. I assume it was Lilly Chandler. Certainly it wasn’t Blain, unless he sprinted for the stairs and Felix was watching us from the front door. I suspect Mr. Blain was not being completely open with us.”

  Lane gave out a small whistle. “He sure is a smug bastard!”

  “I’d say, confident! Either he had nothing to do with it or he planned the whole thing, in which case all the evidence against Lilly was probably intended for us to find. Everything, except perhaps for the ticket.”

  “I didn’t know about the speeding ticket. That gives him opportunity.”

  “Yep! I ran his license again a
nd the ticket came up. It hadn’t been posted the first time you ran his license. Perhaps it was a mistake, but then again maybe it’s part of his alibi.”

  “So, you’re sure it’s a murder case?”

  “Possibly. We still have two main options, either Chandler wanted to disappear and leave his wife holding the bag or something happened to him. Suppose our two lovebirds are having an affair and Chandler found out? Maybe his first instinct was to kill them. But then he thought, why not frame them for murder? So he arranges to disappear, but in a manner where he can seem to leave all his cash and passport behind.”

  “But what about his house?”

  “He’s upside down in his mortgage. He’d be walking away from debt!”

  As they pulled up and waited for the estate’s iron gates to swing open, he looked around for the security camera but wherever it was, it was well hidden. He made a mental note to include the security tapes if they ever pulled a warrant for the Blain house.

  As they swung out onto the road he continued. “Option two is broader. Maybe he left on his own but misfortune befell him, like a carjacking or an accident. However, it would seem logical that if that had happened either he or the car would have turned up by now. Carjackers usually just dump the car when they’re through.”

  “But why did she report him missing and then lie to us?”

  “I don’t know the reason. But I don’t buy her excuse that she was covering for him with his boss. I think she hoped to distance herself from Chandler’s disappearance. Or perhaps she just made a mistake, they all do sooner or later you know. But they have both been lying to us. And, they both have motive and opportunity!”

  “Maybe he has amnesia?” said Lane dryly.

  “Sure Lane, and maybe he was abducted by little green aliens! We have to deal with probabilities, not infinite possibilities! And probability says that Alan Chandler is dead!”

  *

  At the Blain estate, Charles mounted the stairs to Lilly’s room. He knocked lightly and opened the door to find Lilly in a panic. She sat on the edge of the bed holding herself and rocking.

  “What did they want?” she blurted out trembling, with doe in the headlight eyes.

  Seeing her agitation, Charles strode over to the liquor cabinet and poured her a stiff brandy. He placed the drink in her hands. “Drink this, it will steady your nerves.”

  Lilly grasped the drink and gulped it down as though she were gasping for air. “But what did they want?” she pleaded.

  “Just questions, Lilly. The usual petty routine questions of a police drama.”

  “I thought they had come to pick me up again!” Lilly muttered through trembling lips and swelling tears. “I couldn’t stand that!”

  Charles took her empty glass and refilled it. Though she now might not be characterized as hysterical, she was certainly vulnerable in a manner he had not seen would before. He guided the glass back to her lips and tilted it back. Lilly gulped it eagerly down. The brandy hit her quickly and started to blunt the edge of her panic.

  “They don’t even know you are here,” he assured her. Then he casually sat down beside her and gave her a hug. He felt her huddle up against him and then cling close. He could hear her soft crying. He felt the moisture of her tears through his shirt. For several minutes they sat embraced. Charles was keenly aware of her scent and the curve of her body against his. He caressed her hair with his hand. If danger provokes desire, then that may be why Charles suddenly found her more desirable than any woman he had known.

  “I’m just so scared!” Lilly murmured.

  Charles pulled back slightly, put his hand under her chin and tipped her face up toward him. “Don’t worry Lilly, everything will be alright” And then he kissed her.

  It would be easy to blame her response on the brandy but it was more than that. Lilly was pushed by fear, a fear that things could not be ignored and made right. Fear of not knowing what happened the night Alan disappeared; fear of being alone. And if the truth were completely told, by desire! She wanted to be taken by this rich confident man who promised her that everything would be all right. Lilly eagerly kissed back.

  Lilly was a woman who had spent her life holding her passions in check. She had learned to hide her feelings. To keep her feelings in check she learned it was wise not to drink. Emotions were dangerous and she tried to avoid them. She always needed control. So as not to lose control, she had learned to fake orgasm. Now assailed by the uncontrolled events of the past few weeks, her fears had swollen out of control. The alcohol weakened her defenses. The floodgates of her carefully crafted facade of peaceful control burst open. Lilly was swept away into the little death of carnal desire. A previously unknown hunger seized her and she took Charles as much as he took her. And so they spent the greater part of the afternoon, and for a while her fears melted away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Alan opened his eyes to a frog’s eye view of his fire. If he had fallen forward he would have been in the fire itself. Pain still racked his stomach but at least his heart seemed to beat firmly, but his breathing was labored. He felt too weak to move. When he did try to move, consciousness faded away again.

  During the night the wind built in intensity. Lightening filled the sky. Chill raindrops mixed with hail hit his face and Alan stirred with life. A bolt of lightening descended from the sky striking the other side of the valley. The bolt decimated the top of a tree. An explosive crack of thunder echoed from the hills. Alan jerked fully awake. He saw flames across the valley floor. He was astonished that he had missed the campfire before. However, another flash of lightening revealed the silhouette of a tall pine, ablaze at the top where the lightening had struck it. As he watched the flames rapidly died out on the tree. A rush of cold air hit his face and the sheet of rain that had doused the fire reached him. The rain fell in torrents. It came down with such intensity that when the lightening permitted him to see, the valley had become a blur. He tossed more sticks on the fire, desperately trying to preserve the flames. But the rain quickly doused the flames and then the coals. Alan scurried over to the protection of a rock face, yet the rain blew in and continued to soak him.

  The temperature continued to fall, as did the rain. It abated in intensity but continued throughout the night. At first light, Alan dumped the remaining onion soup from his thermos. The onions must have been toxic, he thought. He found, this morning, his muscles obeyed his will, albeit reluctantly. Whether this was due to the toxin or due to the cold, he was not sure. Clumsily he gathered up his pack and teetering on numb legs he stumbled downhill toward the hot springs. He was shivered and shook like a spastic. Throwing up again, seemed a distinct possibility and his teeth chattered so violently that he felt a small chip come off a tooth. He staggered like a drunk into the glen. Large vaporous clouds were rising from the hot springs. Dropping his pack he struggled at the zipper of his jacket. Unsuccessful he allowed himself to tumble fully clothed into the pool. Despite the hot water, shivers still racked his body. It was only with time that he gradually warmed and began to think more clearly and realized that he had been suffering from severe hypothermia. Were it not for the hot springs he would not have survived.

  Alan remained seated in the water and peeled off his clothes. He dropped them in a sodden heap on the bank. With wet clothes, cold air, and no sunlight to start a fire, he had no choice but to sit in the pool to stay warm. When he became too hot he climbed out into the cold air to cool off. There was nothing to do but switch back and forth from the hot water to the cold air.

  Despite the warmth of the water, the cold rain was akin to Chinese water torture. He had read that ice water dripping on a restrained prisoners head could drive any man insane in twenty-four hours! He was inclined to believe such reports.

  At long last the rain weakened, faded, and stopped completely. The sun broke through the clouds. When Alan climbed out of the pool his skin was puckered from the soaking. The air remained chilly but in the sunlight it was tolerable. He twisted the
water from his poly-fill coat and slipped it on. It was damp and cold against his skin but soon it became warm on the inside. Silently he blessed the sporting goods salesman who praised the advantages of synthetics over down, saying once a down jacket or sleeping bag was wet, it was useless.

  To move on he had to have dry clothes. In that wet cotton steals heat faster than bare skin, he hustled around wearing just his jacket and sneakers while searching for kindling. Despite the rain, twigs on dead brush snapped off firmly. He soon had a pile of dry kindling and once again he set about the ritual of starting a fire. Sometimes it had been easy, at others it was so difficult he had despaired of having a fire. But soon he had a glimmer of smoke and then a slight flame. He gathered wood and quite quickly built a roaring blaze. Such was the heat that sweat beaded up on his face as he held his clothes out to dry.

  Alan unfortunately concluded that his poisoning came from the roots he had mistaken for onions, unsuspecting its true source, he now consumed more berries and the pine nuts. As he dressed, he encouraged himself with thoughts that perhaps later he might find a stream with fresh fish. Or better yet, perhaps he would discover a cabin just over the next ridge. Thus, stoking his hopes with pleasing imaginations he set off through the woods.

  As he trudged along he found his body disobeying in small ways. His feet seemed weakened, his leg were shaky. They didn’t always go where he thought they should. His stomach was knotted up. He dismissed the symptoms as lingering effects from the night before. However, his confusion increased. Soon he was crashing blindly through the brush. He would fall and stagger to his feet. Branches seemed to reach out to jab and slash at him. Nature became an enemy he was in mortal combat with. The world became confused and Alan could no longer order his thoughts.

  A stomach pain struck him with the force of a prizefighter’s undercut to his soft belly. It folded him neatly in half and he went down on his knees. He emptied his stomach on himself and the ground. His mouth burned with thirst from the bile and the poison in the berries, but Alan was past noticing. Driven blindly by an instinct to move he stumbled on. He fell in mud and slogged through puddles from the night before. Mud and blood clotted on his face and beard. His hands were covered by small cuts and abrasions, which flowed freely.