A Will To Murder

by Hilary Thomson

  “Dereliction of duty?”

  “Yeah,” said Wendy dryly. “Then Lance was shot, and Linzy realized he had to start investigating fast or there wasn’t going to be any congressman from Vermont by the name of Fowler. I’ll tell you something else, though. The other day I ran across Bob Webster, Linzy’s old law partner, and he hinted ‘an obstruction might occur’--his words--in the case. Webster added ‘this case might never be fully investigated.’”

  “What?!”

  “Webster wouldn’t give me details. He’s not supposed to know anything about the case, but old law partners sometimes learn these things anyway. He said some Boyle family member had a tie to someone who ‘ain’t gonna get investigated.’ Then he insinuated that this might be why Linzy hadn’t gone into the case earlier. I was furious. I don’t doubt him at all. Bob’s known Linzy a long time.”

  “So your boss might not be very--accommodating?”

  “We’ll see,” Wendy replied darkly. “Even if we don’t go to trial, I’ll make sure this case becomes well-known. I take back what I said about your usefulness, Mr. Reporter.”

  That afternoon workmen came to Rollingwood to repair the hole in the roof. Armagnac guided them up to the observation deck, and they said it was a fine view and it was obvious the entire roof needed replacing as well. With a sigh, Armagnac told them to go ahead. The cost would come out of James’ estate somehow, Boyle was sure.

  Cummings was glad to hear this. A few hours later he was even more cheerful, because after the workmen pulled all the old shingles off, the hammering of the new shingles began. Soon, Armagnac was whimpering from a migraine.

  “This is impossible to endure!” Boyle shrilled from the living room. His glasses were pushed up and he was rubbing his eyes. “They're charging me for giving me this ghastly pain, and it's not even legally my house to boot!”

  “Go to a hotel, Army,” Jac said irritably.

  “Ahem.”

  “What?” Jac crossed her arms.

  “There is a certain matter of funds,” puffed Armagnac, lowering his hands from his eyes. “All my cash was used to pay for that hotel room the other day.”

  His sister yanked open her purse and pulled out some bills. “Here. And take Mrs. Marshpool with you. I don't care anymore.”

  Boyle's eyebrows rose in surprise.

  The doorbell rang, and Kyle Walker entered. Quickly, people gathered to hear him. Arthur hid behind an urn, afraid they would eject him if they found him. Earlier, Jac had taken Richie back to the Bed and Breakfast, to Arthur’s relief. He never wanted to see his monstrous cousin again.

  “I have some more news,” the lawyer said.

  Jac was watching Walker intently. “Is it about Phil?” she asked.

  “I will tell you something about him in a moment, Ma'am, but first--I need to say that Mr. Heydrick has confessed to killing Woofie.”

  Rose gasped.

  “That's not a surprise,” Jac said harshly. “Why did he do it? And why did he confess?”

  “I must admit I'm taken aback,” said Boyle. “Heydrick’s not the coziest sort, but I wouldn’t have thought he’d kill Woofie.”

  “He didn't!” Rose protested. “I'm sure he didn't. Heydrick could never be that brutal.”

  Jac snorted. Eric and Bradley met each other's eyes. Both were thinking, ‘scythe’?

  “Mr. Heydrick confessed,” the lawyer repeated. “He did so in Mr. Hamilton’s presence, making a formal statement to the police. The physical evidence also supports his confession. The police removed a pair of items from your shed out back, a shed that only Mr. Heydrick could open, since he purchased a lock for it last week. These items were a scythe and an altered gardener’s handfork. Both had blood on them, and the stains are consistent with ostrich blood.”

  Eric and Bradley exchanged wide-eyed expressions.

  “I was right!” Arthur sang out.

  “Pipe down, kid,” said Bert, batting a hand at the urn. “What’s this handfork you mentioned?”

  “A gardener’s handfork. Heydrick had removed the three tines and reattached them very close together, with a slight staggering to give them the appearance of an animal’s claw. I believe Dr. Anderson said the wounds looked like they had been made by a wolf.”

  “Oh, Heydrick’s handy, all right,” said Jac coldly.

  “Mr. Heydrick said that when he appeared next to the ostrich’s pen, Woofie approached, thinking it was feeding time, and the gardener reached over the chicken wire with the scythe and chopped at the animal’s neck. Woofie was badly hurt. Heydrick waited until the ostrich was too weak to retaliate, then entered the pen, slashed Woofie a few more times at a distance with the scythe, then used the handfork to simulate a wolf attack.”

  “But why?” Rose asked in dismay. Armagnac’s cheeks were blown out in a puffed-rabbit expression, and his eyes were flitting over the listeners.

  “He gave his motive as revenge, Mrs. Cummings. He was angry with Lance for plowing up a flowerbed in an accident, and he decided to ensure that Mr. Wiley would not inherit.”

  “But didn’t he understand,” said Rose, “that by killing Woofie, he would be robbing Colette of her inheritance, too?”

  “Rosey,” said Jac emphatically, “Heydrick’s never given a damn about other people.”

  “But he wouldn’t--”

  “Rosey! He confessed! He didn’t care about Colette!” Jac shouted. “Will you believe the evidence for once?”

  Defeated, Rose fell silent. Walker continued. “James Boyle told Mr. Hamilton he was uncertain if Lance and Colette deserved to inherit anything. Your father wanted to see if the Wileys could behave responsibly, which is why he arranged for them to care for Woofie. After meeting your cousins, Mr. Heydrick thought them unworthy of any inheritance.”

  “Sorry, honey,” Bert said to his wife. Rose was gazing at the carpet.

  “Did the police find anything else inside the shed?” Eric asked.

  Arthur tensed, waiting for the answer.

  “I’m not allowed to say if they did,” replied Walker. Arthur sagged against the couch.

  “I understand he denies shooting Lance,” Eric added.

  “That is true. The evidence supports this, also. I have some bad news, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, Mrs. Salisbury, but your husband is under arrest at the sheriff’s.”

  Jac covered her face awkwardly with a hand, then began pacing so no one could see her expression.

  “I’m sorry,” Rose said to her sister. Jac only shook her head silently.

  “The family could provide a lawyer, if he needs one,” Armagnac said. Boyle looked uncertainly from Walker to his sister.

  “Mr. Salisbury has already retained Mr. Hamilton,” Walker replied. “Currently, my colleague is trying to make bail for your husband, Ma’am. Unfortunately, the bail is set very high, and it seems that it might not be met.”

  “Wh--what was the charge?” Jac asked, turning to face the lawyer.

  “The murder of Lance Wiley. I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Rose shouted. “Phil’s innocent.”

  “Ma’am, I have more bad news,” Walker continued. “The police have witnesses who saw Mr. Salisbury purchasing a handgun at the Chichiteaux Guns-A-Million Outlet Store, just a short time before Lance was killed. The weapon your son Arthur found in the attic,” Walker nodded at Arthur, who was hanging over the back of the sofa like Kilroy, “was traced to this shop and discovered to be the same one Mr. Salisbury bought. His fingerprints are on the gun and no one else’s. Also,” he added reluctantly, “the ballistics lab has just reported that the bullet that killed Mr. Wiley had indeed come from Mr. Salisbury’s gun.”

  “I need to talk to the police, then. Will you accompany me?”

  Everyone looked at the speaker. It was Jac.

  “Do you have anything that might be useful for your husband’s defense?” Walker asked carefully.

  “I don’t know if it will help, but it will explain things,” said Jac
soberly. “I slept with Lance, and Phil found out.”

  Chapter 16

  The next morning the phone rang in the Cummingses’ room at the Chichiteaux Motor Inn. Bert was in the shower, so Rose answered it. Arthur was still asleep.

  It was Jac. “Could you take Army and Marshpool out to breakfast? I’d promised that I’d treat them, but I need to buy some supplies since I’m stuck here at this Bed and Breakfast, and frankly, I don’t feel like facing either of them this morning--especially Marshpool.”

  Rose’s face was stony, but she kept her tone civil. None of the family had been pleased to hear Jac protest, ‘I was just trying to take his mind off his sister’s death, okay?’

  “Why don't you tell them you can’t make it and let them eat by themselves?”

  “Army’s broke, as usual. They need someone to pay for them.”

  Rose sighed. “All right, we’ll do it. Where are they staying?”

  “Room one-eleven at the Holiday Inn. Also, I need to stop at home and feed Barksdale. I think everyone’s forgotten him.”

  “Oh my God! He must be suffering unspeakably. First Woofie and now Barksdale!”

  “Will you stop that!? He was fine yesterday. He has a water bowl out and you forget Sheila’s always slipped him plenty of leftovers. He’s not starving or dying of thirst. I’ll call you after I’m done.”

  “Who was that?” Bert asked.

  “My sister,” said Rose with disgust. “We’re taking Army and Mrs. Marshpool out to breakfast. Jac says Army is broke, and she doesn’t want to face Mrs. Marshpool.”

  “I don’t want to face her either!” Arthur grumped from the bed.

  “Tough, honey; we have to do it,” his mother replied curtly.

  Bert gave his son an evil, sympathetic, grin.

  “Noooooo!” the boy wailed. “Noooooo! You don’t understand! Mrs. Marshpool hates me. Can’t you just leave me here?”

  The phone rang again, and Rose answered it. “Oh, hello, Eric. No, I haven’t heard anything new.”

  Arthur seized the receiver and drew it towards his mouth.

  “Honey!” scolded Rose, struggling for the telephone.

  “Can you and cousin Bradley take me out to breakfast?” Arthur yelled desperately into the phone.

  “I suppose we can,” Eric replied. “Let me speak to your mother.”

  “Arthur!” Rose wrestled the phone away from her son. The boy looked pleadingly at her.

  “Well, all right,” Rose said after listening for a moment. “We’ll drop him by, then.”

  After leaving Arthur, the Cummingses met Armagnac and the housekeeper at the Holiday Inn and drove them to a restaurant. While they studied their menus, Rose announced, “I refuse to believe Phil shot Lance.”

  Armagnac rubbed his red-rimmed eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “I can’t believe it either. Jac’s not worth killing anyone for, and Phil knows it.”

  “But all the evidence points to him,” Bert objected. “Fingerprints, ballistics, buying the gun. Why buy the gun if he didn’t intend to shoot somebody with it?”

  “Maybe he bought it for protection,” said Rose. “The house--wasn’t exactly safe.”

  “Could he have put that CD player in your Dad’s car?” asked Bert.

  “He never would have done that to father,” Rose insisted.

  As a son-in-law of the old man, Cummings thought otherwise. Phil had probably endured more than he could stand of James, and if Jac had been the only child to inherit from her father, it would have been in Phil’s financial interest. Yet the Salisburys were already wealthy, and even Bert couldn’t imagine Phil killing Katherine. Nor was there any reason for his brother-in-law to have killed Colette, if Colette hadn’t died of natural causes.

  Rose stood. “I’m calling the house to check on Barksdale. Maybe Willowby remembered to feed him.”

  After his wife left, Bert said to the others, “Well, what do you think?”

  Armagnac grimaced. “I’d think Heydrick was guilty of all of it, except Aunt Katherine. Heydrick detested father, and we know he took a dislike to both Lance and Colette. He’s already confessed to Woofie. But my aunt? Never. Maybe she actually did die of a heart attack.”

  Mrs. Marshpool was eyeing Bert, and her expression made Bert wary.

  “Mr. Cummings,” the housekeeper asked. “What did you do with my house keys after you took them that day?”

  Bert glowered at her. “I don’t think you need to know, Letitia.”

  “You realize,” said the housekeeper coldly, “that although we have several keys to the front door and gates, the only keys that exist to the individual bedrooms are on that ring.”

  Armagnac was giving them a confused look when Rose returned. “Willowby says Barksdale’s okay, but he sounded rather strange on the phone.”

  “Why shouldn’t he?” Boyle commented. “It’s been that sort of week.”

  After breakfast, the Cummingses dropped Armagnac and the housekeeper back at their hotel, but when Rose and Bert were about to say goodbye, the phone rang. Rose, who was nearest, answered it.

  “Oh thank God,” Jac gasped at the other end. “I’ve gotten hold of you. I’ve been calling everybody. I can’t find either Richie or Willowby at the house.”

  “What!”

  “I can’t find them! I took Richie to the house to feed Barksdale, and Richie said he didn’t want to accompany me while I went shopping. So I asked Willowby, who was working on a car, to keep an eye on Richie until I returned. I came back about an hour later and can’t find either of them!”

  “Maybe Willowby just took him somewhere.”

  “Willowby’s jeep is still here! Rosey, I’m scared to death.”

  “Think for a moment. They could have taken a walk on the grounds. That’s what I would do if I had a rambunctious boy with me.”

  “You think so?” Jac’s tone was shaky.

  “What is it, honey?” Bert asked.

  Rose told the others.

  “Then we need to call the police,” Mrs. Marshpool said firmly. “Get them on the phone, Ms. Cummings.”

  Rose added a few comforting words to Jac, then hung up. A moment later she was connected to Detective Escott. After she explained her sister’s worry, the detective did not reply for a moment. “Detective Escott?” Rose prompted.

  “Ma’am, I wish you had something else to tell us. We’ve just received a report from our fingerprint lab. We have that Jazzy F*KU case from your gardener’s shed, and your gardener’s fingerprints are on it. Heydrick claims he rescued the case and its paper inserts from a burn pile set alight by your chauffeur, Willowby. Normally we would be skeptical, but the lab says that Willowby’s prints are on the case as well. We were just getting ready to send an officer out to Rollingwood to ask your chauffeur some questions.”

  Rose lowered the receiver.

  “What’s wrong?” Bert said.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am?” the receiver squawked.

  “They found the CD case and Willowby’s prints are on it,” Rose said weakly.

  Her husband took the phone away from her. “This is Bert Cummings here, Escott.”

  “Mr. Cummings, will you call your sister-in-law? We’re sending officers out to the house right now.”

  When Bert did, and Jac heard about Willowby’s prints, she screamed.

  A string of police cars reached Rollingwood some minutes later, with Bert’s Camry soon after.

  They found Richie, though not Willowby. Richie was lying dead on the ground by the disused arch. Jac had discovered her son just a few moments before the police arrived, attracted by Barksdale’s interest in the rose bushes. The dog had already eaten part of Richie’s arm.

  In his motel room, Eric hung up the phone. Bert had just told him about Richie and Willowby. Since Arthur was watching TV with Frederick and the cats, Eric jerked a thumb towards the door, a gesture only Bradley could see. “Arthur, we’re stepping out to get a map from the motel office. We’ll be back in a moment, okay?”
<
br />   “Okay,” the boy replied.

  “Let’s talk inside the car,” Eric said after the two men left the room. Once seated, he told Bradley the news.

  “Jesus. Why would anyone want to murder a little kid?” Smith said.

  “Bert says Jac was having hysterics. Her husband’s been arrested and now her son’s dead.”

  “This is unbelievable. What about Briarly?”

  “The police have brought her to the station, but no one’s told her anything yet. She doesn’t even know about her father’s arrest. You realize one of us is going to have to tell Arthur about his cousin.” The two gazed at the motel room door unhappily.

  “What happened to Richie?”

  “A blow to the head. He was found lying with his head on top of a rock, and the rock’s got blood on it. The police are considering a fall from the roof, but they haven’t ruled out murder. Some toy soldiers were found on the roof that Jac said belonged to her son, and they were right above the spot where the police discovered the body.”

  An odd look crossed Bradley’s face. “I caught him fighting with Arthur on the roof the other day. You know, he really might have fallen off the roof by accident, if he had decided to go up there again.”

  “I doubt it,” said Eric firmly.

  “Yeah, you’re right. All those deaths. Someone’s friggin’ clever.”

  “And it looks like Willowby. He was the obvious choice, living in the carriage house and working on the cars. And he was in the right place to start the player with the remote.”

  “But why did he kill all those people? Hey, wait a minute! He wasn’t even in the house when Lance died. We saw that. He couldn’t have killed Lance. Maybe the others, but not Lance.”

  “Bert said the police can’t guess at a motive. I’m beginning to think we must have some natural deaths here.”

  “Not Lance’s.”

  “You know, Wendy may be right. Maybe the killer has an accomplice.”

  “Could we have a serial killer here?”