A Will To Murder

by Hilary Thomson

  “Oh great,” said Armagnac. “Now we have to remember where old Herbert came from. Does anybody know?”

  “Your father told me Herbert was actually one of Hiram Boyle’s old business partners, that the elder Mr. Boyle had ordered to be boiled and flensed. I hope that was a joke,” said Mrs. Marshpool.

  “Let me look at the family records,” Armagnac groaned. “Maybe there’s an old receipt for him somewhere.”

  “You’re lucky Tig and Mary were buried before this,” said Bert to his wife. “They would have been hard to explain, too.”

  Rose saw her son listening. “Arthur, go play somewhere out of the way. We don’t want to be bothered right now.”

  A little irritably, the boy went upstairs. Mrs. Marshpool seemed to be everywhere, prowling into all the rooms, so he went up to the attic. Once there, he saw his father out the window, standing by the Camry.

  Arthur glanced at the cardboard box where he had seen the CD case. It wasn’t there, but a gun was resting in its place.

  Chapter 15

  It looked like a real gun. Carefully, Arthur picked it up. He couldn't tell whether it was loaded or not, and he tried to peer down the dark barrel, but saw nothing. Then a thought came to him.

  A few minutes later, Bert heard the scrape of a window opening and his name being called. Arthur's face was mashed against the attic screen. “Dad?! Could you come up here?”

  Bert grimaced. That was Arthur's, ‘Uh-oh, I've really done it now and had better call Dad,’ tone. When Cummings made his way into the attic, he saw Arthur by the window, gulping. Bert was about to bluster that this had better not be about that damned CD again, when his son held up a hand. A gun was dangling from the pinky finger, the digit wedged firmly down the barrel.

  “Fuck,” said Bert.

  “How?” he added after a moment.

  “Well, I remembered that there was something called ‘rifling’ inside gun barrels and was trying to see if this gun had any when my finger got stuck,” said Arthur in a rush.

  “Just hold still,” said his father. Grimly, he stepped forward and studied the problem. “Is it loaded?”

  “I don't know.”

  Bert's jaw worked. “All right. Now stay absolutely still.” Keeping an eye on the trigger, he held the gun barrel with his right hand, and grabbed Arthur's cold little hand with his left. Then he tugged. The finger wouldn't budge.

  “Jesus kid, you got it down there tight.” Bert yanked harder, and Arthur yelped with pain.

  “Just bear with it, kid. You can't have pushed your finger in there harder than I can pull it out. Just hang on.” Cummings eyed the trigger. He seemed to have broken out into a sweat all of a sudden and was afraid his hands would grow slippery. Then he yanked hard.

  Arthur screamed. There was a loud pop and a deafening boom. Bert swore and dropped the gun. Arthur burst into tears. “Did you shoot your finger off?” the boy asked interestedly.

  “No!” his father yelled. “No, thanks to you! I just burnt my fingers on the goddamned barrel when the goddamned gun went off, God damn it!”

  Bits of dust and wood were fluttering down from the rafters. “Christ,” Bert groaned. “I just shot a hole in the roof. And that swine Armagnac will probably make me pay for it.” He gave his son a murderous look. Arthur eyed him apprehensively.

  By the time everyone had rushed into the attic, Arthur was emitting the wail of a spanked child and Bert was yelling, “The next time you find anything dangerous like this, you tell me immediately! You don't stop to play with it! Do you understand me!? Do you understand!?”

  “Bert!” Rose gasped.

  Her husband ignored her. “Do you understand!?”

  “Yes,” whimpered the boy. He shoved past the grownups and leapt down the attic stairs, passing Eric and Bradley on the way up.

  “Bert! Did you spank him?” Rose exclaimed.

  “Damn right.”

  “Why!? You know we always try to punish him some other way!”

  Her husband was unmoved. “He'll remember he loves me when he wants his allowance. I caught him playing with this.” Everyone ogled the gun.

  “Is that what went off?” Eric gasped. “We heard a shot when we were driving up and thought there'd been another . . . .” He fell silent.

  “We're fine,” said Cummings dryly. “I think Arthur found the gun that killed Lance. What's the number for that detective?”

  “It’s written down by the telephone. Letitia, will you make the call? I think the rest of us are rather frayed right now.” The housekeeper hurried away. “And what’s this blasted light that's shining in my eye?” Boyle flapped a hand as if to swat the beam away. Bert winced. Armagnac stared blankly at the hole in the roof.

  “Fuck,” said Armagnac.

  “How?” he added after a moment.

  “The gun was stuck on the kid's finger and it went off while I was removing it,” said Bert quickly, wanting to get this over with. Rose whitened.

  “Spank him! Spank him!” Arthur chanted at his uncle. The boy had snuck back into the attic, unable to stay away. He was thrilled to find his father in trouble.

  “Kid!” Bert threatened, shaking his fist.

  “I think everyone should go downstairs to wait for the police,” said Eric gingerly, trying not to make tempers worse. “We shouldn't disturb this room if the murderer's been here.”

  “I forgot about that,” Armagnac sighed. “We've probably spoiled the evidence already.” After a queasy look at the hole, Boyle led them back down.

  The police arrived, questioned people again, searched the attic, and bagged the gun. Arthur answered their questions sullenly. He had, after all, found this vitally important gun and if his father hated him for it, Arthur was going to sulk for the rest of his life. Then he thought about the bullet hole in the roof. If it rained really hard, would it flood the house and destroy everything? He began to worry about the hole.

  Directly after the police left, a woman by the name of Mrs. Higgins arrived from the State Social Services Department, Child Protection Division. She was here to see Bert. Mrs. Higgins questioned Cummings closely about this gun that had gone off in the presence of a child. Bert was startled to hear her say the words, ‘child endangerment,’ and to discover Mrs. Higgins hinting that he was unfit to be a parent.

  “He spanked me,” Arthur told her helpfully.

  “Shut up, kid,” said Bert, glowering at his son. “I was trying to get the gun off his finger! I wasn’t shooting at him or anything like that, tempted though I was.”

  “Yet you are involved in this peculiar multiple murder case,” replied Mrs. Higgins with a sneer. “I’m seriously inclined to take this child away for his own safety.”

  “Hey!” said Bert.

  “But he wasn’t trying to kill me,” Arthur said with sudden anxiety at the thought of spending the rest of his childhood in an institution with Mrs. Higgins.

  It was some time before Bert could get rid of her. Armagnac gloated the whole time, which did not improve Cummings’ mood.

  Jac and Richie arrived in a taxi soon after the social worker left. “Has anyone heard from Phil?” Jac asked wearily when she entered.

  Richie's face wore a fearful expression. “Richie,” said his mother briskly. “Go find Arthur and play. We don't want to be disturbed right now.”

  Obediently, the boy ran out of the room, yelling, “Hey, Arthur! C'mere!”

  After he left, Jac said, “I called the Sheriff’s Department for news, but they wouldn't tell me anything. Is it true you found a gun in the attic?”

  Rose nodded. “Have you told your kids about Phil?”

  Jac's eyes flared for a second. “I've told Richie, but not Briarly. That's why I left her back at the B & B. Richie's older and can handle the news better. Could you tell Briarly for me? I can’t do it.”

  Rose, though surprised, nodded.

  “Good,” said Jac. “Tell me about this gun.”

  Arthur was climbing over the iron railing of the
observation tower with a roll of scotch tape in his hand. He was planning to cover the bullet hole so the house wouldn’t flood. The thought had been bothering him endlessly.

  He began to make his way quietly down the roof. Fortunately the shingled roof was convoluted and had many curious dips that hid him from sight. He searched timidly awhile, but couldn’t locate the hole. Finally he sat down, pressing his soles hard against the shingles, and tried to think.

  Someone yelled, “Hey, Arthur! Where are you?”

  It was Richie’s voice. His cousin was climbing up to the observation tower, the metal risers ringing with his footfalls.

  Uh-oh, thought Arthur. He was about to be caught. The boy lay flat, hoping this would hide him. It didn’t. He heard a noise of harsh breathing as his cousin reached the tower, then a cry. Grimly, Arthur sat up and climbed towards the tower.

  His cousin’s face was oddly serious for once. As Arthur approached, this expression molted off and became one of pure, hate-filled threat. “I hear you have a penny from Grandad that’s worth a lot of money.”

  Uh-oh, thought Arthur again. He looked out over the grounds, hoping someone could see him, then began to ease sideways. “Yeah,” he replied nonchalantly. He couldn’t deny he had the penny, since Aunt Jac and Briarly already knew about it.

  “Let’s see it.”

  “My father has it,” Arthur lied. “I gave it to him earlier today.”

  “Then you go get it from him,” said Richie, climbing over the railing of the tower.

  Arthur tried to circle to the other side. “He won’t give it back. He says it’s too valuable for me to carry around.”

  “I think you’re lying.” His cousin was circling also, his back towards the tower. “You haven’t told your parents at all. Let me see it or I’ll shove you off the fucking roof.”

  “If you shove me off, you’ll never get to see it and you’ll go to jail!” Arthur yelled, bolting towards the tower. He didn’t doubt his cousin’s threat.

  Richie grabbed for him, and Arthur scrambled sideways. He couldn’t run very fast on this uneven surface, so he made his way downwards and heard Richie thudding after him. From somewhere he could hear Barksdale yapping frantically, but no one was in sight on the grounds.

  Arthur tried to circle back up. Then Richie jumped on him, face crazy with rage. Both boys slid towards the gutter, and Arthur screamed, thinking they would go over the edge. He pressed on the wooden shingles with his hands and feet, trying to stop their slide. Richie was punching him, snarling, “He should have given it to me! He should have given it to me!”

  His cousin didn’t seem to care if they fell off the roof or not. “Let go!” Arthur howled. Their struggle was jouncing them closer and closer to the edge. Frantically, Arthur tried to kick him off.

  Then Richie was jerked backwards by the collar, and Bradley was standing behind him, hanging onto the struggling boy’s shirt. Weirdly, Smith was also holding some roses.

  “What are you two doing? Don’t you know it’s dangerous to play on the roof?” Smith asked guilelessly.

  This, thought Arthur, was one stupid adult remark too many. “He was trying to kill me! He wanted my penny!”

  “Oh, for God’s sakes, what a stupid thing to do, fighting over a penny. “Here,” Bradley said to Arthur, “hold this.”

  “Ouch,” said the boy, taking the thorny bouquet in bewilderment.

  His hands free, Bradley lugged the thrashing Richie back up to the tower. Arthur followed, roses trembling. With a grunt, Smith hoisted Richie up to the top of the railing, but Richie locked onto the metal supports, his back curved in refusal. The boy was screeching and contorting. “You’re as bad as a cat trying to stay out of a flea bath,” Bradley scolded. Smith chopped him hard on each wrist and shoved him over.

  “Here,” Bradley said. “Now you don’t have any reason to fight.” With a generous air, he held out something to Richie, and the boy took it in surprise. Then Richie saw what it was. A penny.

  The boy screamed and threw the coin at Bradley. It missed, and Richie clanged down the metal stairs, cursing them. Arthur watched the coin bounce off the wooden shingles, then fly over the edge. He shuddered.

  “You know,” said Bradley, retrieving his roses from Arthur, “there’s something wrong with that boy. It’s not just his father being on the lam, either.”

  “He’s evil,” said Arthur.

  “I don’t know what his problem is,” Smith continued, inspecting his flowers to see if they had been damaged. “If someone had given me a penny I’d be pleased with the gesture, though it’s not much money. That boy’s been spoiled. It’s a good thing I was outside picking some flowers to spruce up my cruddy motel room. Barksdale was throwing a fit about something on the roof and I heard you two yelling. He’s a pretty good animal, even if he is a dog. Was Richie really trying to swipe a penny from you?”

  “Yes,” Arthur said, still shaking. “I need to talk to my Dad.”

  Bert was sitting in the living room when his son launched himself at his father, holding the penny case out. Smith had left to gather a few more roses. “Richie and Briarly are trying to steal my penny!” Arthur bawled.

  His father winced. “Kid, don't pile into people like that. And c'mon, who'd want a penny?”

  Arthur held the case up. Slowly, Bert took it. “This is a collector's coin, isn't it?” he asked after a moment.

  “Mr. Hamilton said it could be worth tens of thousands of dollars.”

  “Oh nowhere near that much, I'll bet. Where’d you get this?”

  “Grandfather Boyle left it to me in the will, remember? He gave me a penny.”

  “And this was it? Well, you made out better than I thought.”

  “It's worth thousands and thousands of dollars!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes, kid, it is not. No lawyer would have let you run around with something that valuable. He would have told your mom and me about it, first.”

  The boy was disappointed. His father was probably right. “But when he gave it to me, he said to show it to you and Mom. I tried and you wouldn't look at it. Nobody would.”

  Bert stared at his son. “I'd better see Hamilton about this. Now what was that fuss going on with your cousins?”

  “Richie and Briarly were trying to steal it!”

  “You ought to know better. If you show anything interesting to a boy like Richie, of course he'd try to take it. Let's go talk to the lawyer.”

  They wound up speaking to Walker instead, because Hamilton was still busy at the sheriff’s. Walker was startled to hear that Bert hadn’t known about the coin. He confirmed its monetary value, and Bert gagged. Apologetically, the lawyer suggested placing the coin in a safe deposit box until the family left, and Bert and Arthur drove off to the First National Bank of Chichiteaux, Cummings fuming about the lawyer’s incompetence all the way.

  After the police left, Eric made another phone call to Wendy to tell her about the gun. Fortunately, she was at her desk this time.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Nevertheless, I’m glad you’re at a motel. It’s not safe for either of you at that house. Your usefulness has to end.”

  “Oh, c’mon, I doubt I’m a target. And none of these people really know Bradley.”

  “You’re not at Rollingwood right now, are you?”

  “Sure.”

  “You pair of blockheads! Someone just got murdered there and we don’t know who pulled the trigger!”

  “Hey, we’re reporters, remember. By the way, is your boss pursuing this case at all?”

  “Just a second.” Wendy looked out her office door. Both Linzy and Dex were still at the sheriff’s. “He’s working on the case pretty hard right now, but he wasn’t earlier. Remember that re-enactor’s society James belonged to?”

  “Yeah. You said your boss was a member of the same group.”

  “It’s the thing to do around here if you’re a history buff, and Linzy also wants to make new connections--he plans to run for Congress some d
ay. Anyway, he joined up, all ready to spend the day shooting blanks and recreating the Battle of Fort Chichiteaux. There’s a replica of the fort just outside of town--the original fort was captured and burned down by the British--and the Americans were determined that this time the British wouldn’t succeed. Well, James Boyle was an officer, and Linzy was a private.”

  “Oh no,” said Eric, beginning to understand.

  “Linzy was supposed to guard some door, but he didn’t take his role very seriously. The British broke into the fort through that door, and the Americans had to surrender. James was furious. Colonel Boyle decided to have an impromptu trial for dereliction of duty. He formed the men up into a hollow square and called Linzy into the middle. Then he proclaimed Fowler’s crime, said he’d lived up to his name--Fouler--and sentenced him to be bucked and gagged. I don’t think any of the troops realized how long James intended to leave my boss tied up. After James pronounced sentence, Linzy asked, ‘Are you serious?’ My boss was thinking, ‘Well hey, I’m the new guy here, this must be a sort of fraternity-initiation type thing.’

  “So they bucked and gagged him and went off to have some drinks, and forgot about him. It was hours later before James released him. I don’t know what Linzy said to him, but it must have been scorching. I’m surprised he didn’t sue. I’ve often thought it was that little event that made him give up his regular job as a lawyer to run for district attorney. Of course, he didn’t tell me this story--I’m repeating the office gossip. So when James died from that CD, Linzy just laughed like a maniac. Felt James got what he deserved, and Linzy was damned if he was going to investigate. That’s why I was interested when Bradley said James was his grandfather.”

  “When did your boss change his mind?”

  “Not until Lance. He thought Katherine died of old age and stress--Linzy said anyone would have a heart attack if they lived with James, but Colette bothered him. Unfortunately, Douthit’s report made him hold back. She clearly had a fatal medical condition. And if Colette had been murdered, then so had James and Katherine. It would have looked like--”