by Jayne Castle
There was no telling what Samson Crisp had discovered in the course of the investigation, but whatever it was had most certainly gotten him killed. It was Crisp’s motive for being on Rainshadow that made Drake suspicious. It was a long and expensive trip for a low-rent PI to make without checking to be sure the client would pay for all costs.
“Maybe he found out who really killed Whitcomb,” Alice said. She watched the notebook with an expression of wary hope. “Maybe he also came up with some proof. But why would the killer stick him in Burt’s frozen food locker?”
“I can think of two possibilities,” Drake said.
Alice blinked. “Two?”
“The murder may have been an impulsive act that left the killer with a body to dispose of in a hurry. Evidently Burt’s freezer was the most convenient place to stash it.”
Alice gave that a moment’s thought. “What’s the other possibility?”
“The murder was premeditated but it did not go according to plan. Same outcome. The killer is stuck with a body.”
“And Burt’s freezer was the most convenient place to stash it,” Alice concluded.
“It wasn’t a great option because sooner or later someone was bound to discover the body. But it wasn’t a bad choice, all things considered.”
“How can you say that?” Alice widened her hands. “Who knows how long poor Mr. Crisp’s body has been lying there behind the breakfast sausages?”
“Long enough to give the killer plenty of time to get off the island undetected,” Drake said.
Alice winced. “I see what you mean.” She frowned, her brows scrunching. “I hired Crisp about two months after Whitcomb was murdered. That’s how long it took me to realize that the cops probably were not going to find the real killer. I’ll bet he came here immediately to start his own investigation.”
“Let’s see what Crisp has to say for himself,” Drake said.
He sat forward and picked up the notebook. The freezing process had done very little damage, but nevertheless he turned the pages cautiously.
Alice hurried across the room to look over his shoulder. “Oh, damn, it’s in code.”
“Not exactly.” Drake studied the somewhat cryptic entries that had been made in cramped handwriting. “Some sort of personal shorthand. Since we know the names of several of the people involved in this thing, as well as the locations where the events took place, the initials should be easy enough to identify.” He pointed to the letters A and N. “That’s you. This looks like the date you initially contacted him. And the W has to stand for Whitcomb.”
“Yes. Hang on, I’ll get a pen and take some notes while you read.”
Drake waited until she was settled at the table with a pen and a pad bearing the legend The Marina Inn on each page. Then he started to read aloud. It didn’t take long to pick up the telltale signs.
“Crisp was looking for an angle, right from the start,” Drake said.
Alice frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He realized that the real money involved in the case was the Whitcomb fortune. He started hunting for a way to tap into that the minute you walked out of his office.”
“You mean he tried to sell his services to Ethel Whitcomb?”
“No, at least not yet.” Drake turned another page. “But he did what the cops should have done more thoroughly—what I plan to do as soon as we get the computers up and running again. He looked into the background of everyone who was closely associated with Fulton Whitcomb.”
“Well? Don’t keep me in suspense. Did he find anything that might point to the killer?”
“Do the initials AH mean anything to you in connection with the Whitcomb Museum?”
Alice went still. “The director of the museum is Aldwin Hampstead. He was the one who hired me to work in the gift shop.”
“If I’m interpreting these notes correctly, it looks like Hampstead was operating a thriving business in black market Alien antiquities out of the basement of the museum.”
“Good grief, are you sure?”
“Looks like Crisp was certain about it, which is the critical point.” Drake flipped another couple of pages. “I think it’s safe to say that, after a short but evidently solid investigation, Crisp believed that he had found a way to turn a handsome profit on the Whitcomb case.”
“By finding out that Aldwin Hampstead was dealing in illegal antiquities?” Alice asked. “How does that—?” She broke off, her eyes widening. “Yes, of course, he intended to blackmail Aldwin. But that makes no sense. Aldwin wasn’t the one with the money.”
“No, but Aldwin Hampstead had a pipeline into the Whitcomb money. He had evidently been convincing Ethel to spend a fortune on fake antiquities for years. Looks like Crisp figured Hampstead could find a way to get more money out of Ethel and use it to pay Crisp for his silence.”
“So how did Crisp wind up on Rainshadow?”
Drake turned another page. “Here we go. At some point along the way Crisp realizes that Hampstead and Fulton Whitcomb are into something very, very big here on Rainshadow, an important Alien find. Compared to the potential profits of a discovery that yields a substantial amount of Alien technology, blackmail would be penny ante stuff.”
Alice put down her pen. “He wanted in on the project?”
“Yes. Hampstead agrees. They set up a meeting here on the island to show Crisp the ruin.”
“Instead of taking Crisp on a tour of the ruin, Aldwin Hampstead murdered him,” Alice concluded.
“Looks like it.” Drake turned the last page. “Crisp notes that he made a reservation here at the Marina Inn.”
“Well, it’s not like there are a lot of options here in Shadow Bay,” Alice said. “There are a handful of B-and-Bs, but people tend to remember you in small establishments. The Marina Inn would have seemed much more anonymous.”
“Given that Crisp’s body was found in the basement of the tavern, we can assume he was killed at the inn.”
“It still seems strange that the killer stashed the body in the freezer.”
“He was probably killed there,” Drake said, “or somewhere close by. It’s not easy to dump a body in a small town like Shadow Bay. The obvious location is inside the Preserve, but that would require the killer to carry the corpse through the inn and outside to a vehicle. There would have been too much risk that someone would see something suspicious.”
Alice tipped her head to one side. “We’re assuming that because Crisp came here to meet Hampstead, Hampstead is the killer. But what about Zara Tucker?”
“Zara is a very petite woman. She would not have had the upper body strength to lift Crisp up onto that shelf in the freezer where you found him.”
“Petite, huh? And I think you also said she was beautiful.”
Alice’s tone was a little too neutral and her expression was unreadable.
Drake suddenly felt as if he was walking on eggshells. He cleared his throat. “Take it from me, Zara is not the one who stuffed Crisp into the freezer. She never does her own dirty work if she can avoid it.”
“Which leaves Aldwin Hampstead as our most likely suspect.”
“If Hampstead and Zara are both in on this, which seems likely, you can be sure that Hampstead is taking orders from Zara Tucker. She’s the one running the show.”
Alice nodded once. “I believe you. What’s our next move?”
Drake got to his feet and went to stand at the window. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Crisp’s body wound up in Burt’s freezer, not the freezer at the grocery store or the one at the fish market.”
“Good heavens, surely you don’t think Burt Caster killed the investigator.” Alice hesitated. “Unless he’s Zara Tucker’s spy here in town.”
Drake shook his head. “I don’t think Burt is the killer. He wouldn’t have sent you downstairs to clean out the last of the frozen hamburger meat if he had stashed a body inside the locker.”
“Right.
Whew. That’s a relief. Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.” Alice held up one hand and ticked off facts. “Samson Crisp came here to Rainshadow to meet with Aldwin Hampstead. Crisp wanted a piece of the action at the ruin that Zara Tucker is excavating somewhere on the island. The meeting between Crisp and Hampstead took place at the Marina Inn where Crisp was killed.”
“It seems likely that Hampstead would have been staying here at the inn for the same reason that Crisp got a room there,” Drake said, thinking it through. “It’s the largest and most anonymous motel in Shadow Bay.”
Alice jumped to her feet, excitement sparking in her eyes. “If they both stayed here, there will be a record.”
“The killer would have used a fake name,” Drake warned her. “Rainshadow isn’t a major tourist destination in the Amber Sea, but it gets a fair number of day-trippers during the summer months and on the weekends.”
“But we’ve got dates and descriptions of both men.”
Drake smiled slowly. “We also know that one of the guests never checked out, at least not in person. In a community the size of Shadow Bay, you can be sure that someone will remember something.”
Alice made a face. “Small towns. Gotta love ’em.”
Chapter 27
“I REMEMBER THE DEAD GUY NOW.” SYLVIA BENETZ peered at the card she had taken out of a file box. “Checked in as Fred Smith. Paid cash. Didn’t see him the next morning. Just assumed he left on the early ferry. I didn’t worry about it at the time. After all, he’d paid for the room.”
Alice studied the card that Sylvia set on the inn’s front desk. She was not the only one examining it. A sizeable crowd was gathered around the desk. In addition to Drake, Kirk Willis, Myrna, Rachel, Charlotte, and Dr. Harrison were present.
Houdini and Darwina were the only ones who did not show any interest in the murder investigation. They were out in the street in front of the inn, learning how to play hide-and-seek with the half dozen children left in town.
The fog had retreated for the day, leaving behind another heavy sky. The parents of the kids had all agreed that the little ones needed to work off excess energy, and the dust bunnies were thrilled to take on the role of camp counselors. With a natural talent for turning anything and everything into a game, they had picked up the essential concepts of hide-and-seek almost immediately. Shouts of laughter interspersed by short bursts of hushed silence were followed by excited chortling and more giggles echoing through the partially deserted town.
“That’s not the address of Samson Crisp and Associates,” Alice said.
Kirk glanced at the card. “He was using a fake name so he went with a fake address, as well. Not that it matters now that we’ve got a positive ID. Damn. This is a genuine homicide. Too bad the chief isn’t here. He was FBPI. He knows how to run a murder investigation.”
“Well, Slade isn’t here, so we’re on our own,” Myrna said. She gave Drake a narrow-eyed look. “But this is Foundation Security business, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Drake said. “It is. Normally Harry would handle a Preserve-connected murder, but since he and Attridge aren’t around, I’ll take the lead.” He paused for a beat. “If that’s okay with you and Kirk?”
“Fine by me,” Myrna said. “Crisp wasn’t a local and it doesn’t look like the perp was from the island, either. Not our problem.”
Kirk gave a clipped nod of his head. “As the only representative of the Foundation available at the moment, sir, you’re in charge. But you need to keep Myrna and me in the loop. The chief will want a full report when he gets back.”
“Understood,” Drake said. He turned to the doctor. “What can you tell us, Dr. Forester?”
“Call me Ed,” Forester said. “And I don’t have squat for you. No visible wounds. If Sylvia had found Crisp’s body in one of the rooms upstairs, I would have said the guy had suffered a heart attack or a stroke.”
“Just like Fulton,” Alice said quietly.
With the exception of Drake, everyone looked at her.
“My ex,” she explained.
“Oh, right,” Rachel said. “The guy you spent your first honeymoon with here on Rainshadow.”
Alice flushed. “It was just an MC.”
Drake stepped into the short, awkward silence. “Given the facts, I think we can assume that Crisp was killed with the same weapon that was used on Fulton Whitcomb.”
Kirk’s jaw hardened into a grim line. “Alien technology?”
“I think so,” Drake said. “A couple of the people involved in this thing—Zara Tucker and Aldwin Hampstead—had access to a lot of Alien artifacts.”
“I don’t get it,” Charlotte said. “If the killer knew the death would look like natural causes, why would he go to the trouble of concealing the body in the freezer?”
“I can think of a couple of reasons,” Drake said. “First, he wanted to buy some time. He had to know that the body would be identified fairly quickly once it was discovered. It wasn’t like Crisp was working under deep cover. He just checked in with a fake name and address.”
Alice nodded. “And once the body was identified, there was a strong possibility that someone back in Resonance—Crisp’s last client, for example—would start asking questions about why he had gone to Rainshadow and what he’d found there. Said client might have gone to the police with her suspicions and convinced them to reopen the investigation.”
Myrna arched her brows. “Crisp’s last client being you.”
“Yep.”
Sylvia shook her head. “Told Burt ages ago that he needed to clean out that freezer.”
“What about the killer?” Drake said. He studied the handful of cards on file. “Doesn’t look like there were a lot of other folks staying here the night Crisp checked in.”
“It was off-season,” Sylvia said. “We weren’t booked solid. Looks like mostly couples, though.” She paused. “Here’s a single man. Roger Carter. Gave a Resonance City address and paid cash, too. One night only. Left early the following morning.”
“We think the killer is a man named Aldwin Hampstead,” Alice said. “He’s a museum director and he looks the part. Mid-thirties, slender, blond hair, good looking in a polished, classy sort of way. He would have been well dressed and rather aloof.”
“Huh.” Sylvia snapped the registration card against the desktop a couple of times and looked thoughtful. “I don’t think this is your guy. Hampstead sounds like someone I would remember. But I can’t recall anything in particular about Roger Carter. Medium height, medium build. Very ordinary type, I guess.”
“Damn,” Drake said softly. “Sounds like Zara Tucker found herself a pro.”
Everyone looked at him.
“A professional hit man who knows how to fade into the background,” Drake explained. “The kind of guy no one remembers.”
Alice shook her head. “That’s definitely not Aldwin Hampstead.”
Chapter 28
DRAKE STOOD AT THE WINDOW OF THE LANTERN-LIT room, watching the shadows of the paranormal fog roll through the main street of Shadow Bay.
Alice was still in the bathroom. He could hear water running in the sink. It seemed to him that she had been in there for an inordinate length of time. Something told him that their second night together at the Marina Inn was going to be a lot more complicated than the first.
Last night had been simple because they had both been exhausted. The sex had come out of nowhere, blindsiding them. Like the torrid kiss in the parking garage, the fiery passion last night had hit hard and fast. It was not the kind of sex that implied a commitment to another such encounter tonight.
He was sure that when they climbed the stairs to their room a short time ago they had both been thinking about the bed that awaited them. He certainly had been thinking about it. But he could not get a read on Alice. He should not push her, he thought. She’d had a rough day. Finding a dead body was a traumatic experience made even worse in this case because she had known the victim. He should give Alice some spa
ce tonight.
Too bad Houdini had taken off a short time ago. The dust bunny served as a sort of chaperone.
The bathroom door opened. Drake turned around and watched Alice emerge in the robe and nightgown that she had borrowed from Rachel. Her hair was tumbled down around her shoulders. In the glow of the lantern she looked freshly scrubbed and sweetly vulnerable.
His wife. For now, at least.
His blood heated. He fought the nearly overpowering impulse to take her down onto the bed and lose himself in her arms. She was a dazzling drug to his senses, and he was completely and utterly addicted.
He really should give her some space tonight.
She stopped and looked at him. “Anything going on outside?”
“No,” he said. Intensely aware of his fierce erection, he started toward the bathroom. “Be out in a minute.”
Give her some space, he thought.
When he emerged a short time later, he discovered that Alice was in bed. She had turned the lantern down very low. To his eyes, the room was still fully illuminated, but he knew the shadows that she perceived gave her a sense of privacy. At least she could not see how aroused he was.
He went around to the far side of the bed and stripped off his trousers and shirt. He climbed under the covers wearing only his briefs, folded his arms behind his head, and concentrated on the ceiling.
There was a short silence.
“You can turn off the lantern,” Alice said.
“It’s all right. I don’t mind sleeping in my glasses.”
“That’s not necessary, really.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He hesitated and then reached out and de-rezzed the lantern, plunging the room into what he knew was utter darkness for Alice. He took off his glasses and put them close at hand on the bedside table.
There was another short silence. Alice stirred.
“You can still see me, can’t you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“As if I’m lying here in broad daylight?”
