“What is it?” Julie asked. “Did it come off a dress?”
“At first I thought it was from an earring,” Vanessa explained. “Rather exotic, I thought. I assumed it belonged to Margarita, and then I saw she was wearing amber stones.” She looked at the woman’s ears to make sure. The señora averted her dark eyes. “I suppose I thought it was hers because it matches her black sequined bag with the tassels, but I never got the opportunity to give it to her. Now I’m not so sure it is an earring.”
She held it out at arm’s length to the oil lamp and peered at the small tuft of shiny black feathers. “I need my reading glasses. Ace, love?” When she saw her non-responsive husband was dozing, she muttered, “Oh, never mind. We share a pair,” she explained. “He keeps them on him so I don’t lose them, which I’m prone to do.”
“Let me see,” said Zoe leaning in beside her. “Oh, look. It’s got some yucky stuff on the tip. What is it?” she asked, drawing back her hand in disgust.
Rex reached over. “May I?” he asked, taking the object from Vanessa. “Hm. Looks like a small dart with the feathers forming the fletch.”
“A dart,” Alistair repeated.
“Wait a minute …” John said, without finishing his sentence, his face expressing a sudden revelation.
“It’s tiny,” Julie said. “Are you sure it’s a dart?”
Rex held it back to the light. “But still potentially lethal if poisoned. That might account for the dark sticky residue on its point, similar to that found in the wounds.” He showed the object to John, who nodded.
Everyone reacted with shock to the idea of poison.
“I may have touched it!” Vanessa cried.
“Could be poison,” Professor Cleverly agreed, craning his neck to better see the item in question. “But,” he added, dismissing Mrs. Weaver’s fears with a wave of his long tapered fingers, “if it’s curare, as it might be, judging by the colour and consistency, it’s not harmful if you touch it, unless you have a cut or abrasion.”
A cut or abrasion, Rex repeated to himself.
“What is curare?” John asked.
“An arrow poison made from tree bark and sometimes mixed with venom,” Cleverly told him. “Used by tribes in tropical South America to hunt monkeys and other small game, and known as ‘flying death’.”
“They eat monkeys?” Jason exclaimed. “I’ve never tried monkey meat.”
“Come off it, everybody,” Drew objected, throwing up his hands. “Who would bring a poison dart to a party?”
The murderer, Rex thought. And where was the other dart? One for each victim, presumably. Were there others? His blood ran cold at the thought.
“Are you sure that’s what was used on the Frasers?” Flora asked, straining to take a closer look at the exhibit.
“The point is the right size for the wounds we found,” Rex said. “What do you think, John?”
“Aye, and the brownish substance matches.”
“It’s diabolical,” Helen exclaimed. “Who would want to murder such a nice couple?”
“Perhaps it has something to do with the gold they were boasting about.” Margarita Delacruz shook her head back in a haughty manner. “Very foolish of them, I think.”
Vanessa Weaver concurred. “Oh, I know! Especially as it’s just lying up there in the castle. And from what I understood earlier, the gold’s been cursed since the beginning and has destroyed the family down through generations. And now this.” She looked pointedly at Rex, as though to remind him of her warnings.
Flora turned to her boyfriend. “I think you should get rid of that coin, Jason. Just turn it in to wherever Drew said.”
“You’ll have to tell the police now,” the house agent told him. “If they ever get here,” he added, glancing at the mantelpiece clock which was about to chime two in the morning.
Jason put his hands to his face and nodded. “Bloody hell. I can’t believe this. It’s like a bad dream.”
“I know, lad,” Rex said. “But don’t blame yourself. You didn’t know the story when you found that gold piece.”
“I should have known it might be part of the Arkaig Treasure. I did some research when I found it, to determine its value. I thought it might be a stray coin from those times, not part of something bigger.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Alistair said. “There may be nothing buried at the castle.”
“Let’s forget the gold for now and find out who shot that thing.” Zoe pointed at the dart in Rex’s palm, as her mother put a consoling arm around her.
“Wouldn’t the dart need a bow or something?” Flora asked. “Or are those only for arrows?”
“Perhaps we should do just that,” Rex agreed with Zoe. “And that’s a very good point, Flora. There may well be another part to this missile. Humphrey, what was used to launch these darts in the tropics?”
“Blowpipes. They’re still in use by the indigenous peoples of South East Asia and South and Central America. They literally blow these darts through pipes. The longer the pipe, the greater the force and subsequent distance.”
“Are they accurate?” Rex asked.
“I expect so, since their survival can depend on them. And they’re virtually soundless. Have you ever come upon these darts on your travels?” Cleverly asked his female companion.
Everyone listened attentively for the answer, trying not to look too obvious.
“I have not,” Margarita stated.
“What are the pipes made of ?” Rex inquired of the professor.
“Bamboo, I believe.”
“But you could use any material, right?” Jason queried. “A metal tube, or hollowed-out anything.”
“I remember a murder mystery film where a clay pipe was featured,” Helen said. “At least, I think it was clay. It wasn’t very long. About five inches or so, and it had colourful designs on it.”
“That seems a bit short,” the professor contended. “The blowpipes used in Borneo are about two metres, longer than the shooter.”
“In primary school we used straws to blow spit wads at our teachers,” Jason said. “Same principle as peashooters.”
“I bet you were the worst offender,” Flora remarked.
“What do you mean? I was the best!”
“I don’t think we have any straws here,” Rex said.
“Wouldn’t it depend on the distance required for the target?” John asked no one in particular. “Blowpipes are used to shoot tranquillizer darts into dangerous animals from a safe distance. I saw that on a television documentary.”
“Where on the floor did you find this?” Rex asked Vanessa.
“By Catriona’s chair when you and John were examining her. I had dropped my cracker and stooped to pick it up, thinking the cream cheese might make a mess on your rug. The olive had rolled under the chair behind the claw foot. That’s where I found that—that thing! I cleaned up the cheese with my paper napkin,” she hastened to add, although Rex barely heard her apology, so engrossed was he in the find, inspecting it from every angle. It was a highly curious object, the like of which he had never seen.
“Well done, Vanessa,” he said. “We might never have found it so soon otherwise. It’s too dark.”
“What now?” Alistair inquired. “If we don’t believe Vanessa shot the dart …”
“Oh course I didn’t!” she remonstrated. “I didn’t even know what it was.”
“It may have fallen after it pierced Catriona’s thumb,” John said. “Perhaps it got kicked under the chair, accidentally or otherwise. It was pitch black in the middle of the room when she collapsed, remember. Perhaps the person who shot her couldn’t find the object. I don’t see how it could have been shot into her, though. For one thing, the plaster over the point of entry is intact.”
“It must have been removed and replaced,” Alistair said
. “The dart might not have been shot at all, just stabbed into her at close range.”
Vanessa let out a small scream and Margarita kissed the silver cross at her throat. Rex apologized for upsetting them and decided to pursue the investigation more privately. The last thing he needed was hysteria. In any case, no one seemed able or willing to shed further light on the blow-dart or the circumstances under which it might have been used. Perhaps he might be lucky enough to find the dart that killed Ken Fraser as well, if, in fact, there were two.
To that end, he undertook a careful search of the hall and broom closet with the aid of Alistair’s powerful flashlight. His colleague conducted a broader search. Both men came up empty-handed.
“Back to searching the guests’ coats and bags?” Alistair asked.
“I need to reflect a little first based on what we’ve discovered.”
Rex returned to the living room and told his guests he would prepare some coffee and to sit tight until the police arrived. None of them, however, appeared to wish to stray away from the light.
_____
“Curare wasn’t the poison used in the film Death in the Clouds,” Helen told him when they had closed themselves in the kitchen. “I saw it quite recently. I’m sure I’d have remembered that name.”
Rex filled the kettle and put it on the red-enameled AGA, which was still warm from the soup Helen had reheated and which kept the room at a tolerable temperature.
“Margarita’s from South America, isn’t she?” Helen went on. “She said she liked traveling and sight-seeing. You should ask her about the dart in private. I know she denied knowing anything about them, but she may be hiding something.”
“Right. Obviously, we need to discover who brought the dart to the party and why. Looks like this was pre-meditated, but we need a motive.”
“The blackout provided the opportunity.”
“True. And we also need to find out the means. How were the darts administered?” Rex rummaged in the pantry. “Is there more instant coffee?” Helen opened a cabinet and pulled out a large canister of coffee granules. “Good, I feel it’s going to be a long night. How are you holding up, lass?”
“Okay. I’m glad I was able to take a nap this afternoon.” Helen prepared the coffee in a large pot. “I still can’t believe it. Why at your party? And on New Year’s Eve of all nights!”
“Safety in numbers? Inebriation and distraction? I wish I knew.”
“Can we rule out John as a suspect?” Helen asked.
“Possibly. But for a medical professional, he did seem a bit slow to respond to the Frasers.”
“He probably thought, like the rest of us, that they’d drunk too much and passed out. But he was quick to respond when Drew choked on that chocolate. After that, he probably didn’t expect another mishap.”
“Mishap?”
“Well, okay, murder. Murders,” she corrected herself. “Why do so many happen when you’re around? I have often asked myself that question.”
“They might go undetected otherwise,” Rex replied with an impudent grin. “You’d be surprised how many murders go undetected or unproved.”
“Forget I asked.”
“He also didn’t appear to be well up on poisons,” Rex continued on the topic of John.
“He’s an ambulance man, Rex. He’s not a toxicology expert.”
Rex conceded with a grudging nod. “Had Humphrey not been here, we wouldn’t know it was curare, if that’s what it is.”
“I hope it is, for Vanessa’s sake. He said it wasn’t fatal if it didn’t get in your bloodstream. Lucky he knows his anthropology.”
“It’d be luckier if none of this had happened at all,” Rex remarked.
At that moment, Alistair knocked and entered the kitchen. “Any progress with your deductions, Sherlock?”
“Not really. We were saying earlier that, as one of the nonsuspects, you should keep an eye on the others.”
“In case anyone tries to get rid of the device that launched the dart,” Helen explained.
“Or the other dart,” Rex added.
“What should I be looking for? A long pipe would be easily spotted.”
Rex shrugged, at a loss. “I imagine it could be any length.”
“If we found it, we might be able to judge the distance from which the dart was shot,” Alistair suggested. “Or else an expert could. That might help a great deal.”
“Aye, it would, if we could remember who was standing where. Many of the guests’ memories will be blurred by booze.”
“Mine being no exception. Could I get some of that coffee?” Rex’s colleague asked. “I’m beginning to feel a bit sluggish. I wish now I hadn’t drunk so much whisky.”
“You and me both. Aspirin?”
“Whatever’s going,” Alistair said gratefully, accepting a mug of coffee from Helen, who always seemed to remember how much cream and sugar everyone took. He palmed the aspirin Rex offered. “Thanks. Hopefully, this will prevent a hangover headache. Look, you don’t suspect John, do you?” he asked standing awkwardly by the kitchen table.
“No particular reason to at this point,” Rex hedged.
“Right. Because he could never do anything like this. For goodness sake, he’s in the business of saving lives, not taking them.”
This was not a convincing argument in Rex’s book, since he had prosecuted several cases in his career where doctors, nurses, and hospital orderlies had finished off a patient for a variety of reasons. In many instances, it wasn’t even personal. They had believed they were pursuing a sacred mission, or else had a God complex, or suffered from Munchausen by Proxy. A sad case, which Rex had tried with ambivalence, involved a medical practitioner who had performed euthanasia on a cancer-ridden patient in the last throes of agony. Rex rubbed his tired eyes to dispel the memory of the dignified and unrepentant doctor.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Helen asked, rubbing his shoulder blades.
“Aye, I was just having morbid thoughts. Look, Alistair, in the interest of diligence and impartiality, we need to suspect everyone equally for the time being.”
“Even Julie?” Alistair demanded, clearly upset that John was not being removed from the suspects list.
“Even Julie,” Rex said before Helen could comment. “Fair’s fair. However, it’s highly unlikely Julie is involved. She doesn’t have any connection to these people, except Drew Harper. This is only her second visit to Scotland in recent years. Plus, her attention has been focused all night on Drew that I can see. On that point, I don’t see how he could have made a move without her noticing.”
“Unless they were in on the murders together … Look, would she even say anything if she saw Drew up to no good?” Alistair asked tellingly. It was clear he had noticed her infatuation with the house agent. “Aside from overreacting when he went over to chat with Zoe?”
“Alistair,” Helen exclaimed in a chiding voice. “Please. If Julie saw Drew blow a dart into one or other of the Frasers, or both, I do believe she would have said something! She may be besotted but she’s not a fool. I’ve known her for six years and we’re very close,” she finished off firmly.
“I take your point, Helen. I’m just saying that suggesting John is capable of murder is as ludicrous as accusing your friend Julie.”
“Nobody’s suggesting anything of the sort,” Rex placated his friend. “And you haven’t known John as long as Helen has known Julie.”
Alistair stood cradling his mug of coffee, staring into it. “Aye, but I know him in every sense. When you’re that close to someone, you learn what they’re capable of. And of murder, he isn’t.”
Well, they did say love was blind, Rex reflected. Was it worth reminding his legal colleague of family witnesses who had sworn on the bible that the defendant couldn’t have committed whatever gruesome crime he or she was accused of, only for
a guilty verdict to be returned? Probably not. “Be that as it may, let’s assume, for the sake of thoroughness, that John and Julie are as potentially guilty as anyone else.”
“Fine,” Alistair said curtly.
Helen kept her mouth firmly shut.
“Now, one of us needs to be in there keeping watch. In fact, you both go and find out from Julie and John, respectively, if anyone left the room in our absence.”
“What are you going to do, Rex?” Helen asked on her way out of the kitchen with a tray laden with cups, sugar and cream, having refused his help. Alistair followed with the coffee pot.
“Make a call.”
Rex dialed the number of Chief Inspector Dalgerry at Fort William Police Station and, eventually getting him on the line, after waiting for him to call back, explained the situation at Gleneagle Lodge and expressed his concern that the police had not yet arrived.
The chief inspector assured him that assistance was on its way. “The dispatcher, who knows my son, called me at home, Mr. Graves. He thought I would like to know since it was your place, again.”
Dalgerry had headed up the Moor Murders Case and, although Rex had solved the crime, he had let the chief inspector take most of the credit. Rex wasn’t so much interested in fame as in the satisfaction of finding out whodunit. The two of them engaged in a cautious professional acquaintance, the officer according Rex grudging respect, and Rex, in turn, cognizant of the chief inspector’s rank and experience.
“Aye, I’m beginning to regret buying this place. It was supposed to afford me some peace and quiet.”
Dalgerry chuckled over the phone. “Och, you love all the drama. And from what I hear, this one’s a real gem. I’m in my car now heading up the A82, approximately half an hour away, depending on road conditions, which are verra bad.” The chief inspector spoke in a growl, with a heavy Highland accent.
Rex thanked him and rang off while some charge was still left on his cell phone. He sat quietly at the kitchen table to reflect on what could most expediently be achieved in the short time before the police arrived. Little progress had been made other than the discovery of the dart, which in and of itself was certainly important, except that it could have been shot by almost anyone in the room, and just conceivably by someone not invited to the party.
Murder at Midnight Page 8
