The Death at Yew Corner Page 16

Rocco nodded toward a uniformed officer. “Got that, Hansen?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Remember, notify the chief of anything you hear or see.”

  Lyon led them to the living room downstairs. Norbert paced the rug impatiently. “I would like Jamie Martin to walk the same guard post as the security man did below Serena’s window. He must have the dog with him.”

  Rocco gestured to the patrolman who stood uncomfortably holding the dog on the leash. “You know the spot. I assume Lyon wants you to report on the radio anything you see or hear.”

  “Right, Chief. What about the dog?”

  “Keep him with you,” Lyon said. “But no matter what happens, do not leave your post.”

  Jamie led the dog gingerly down the hall and out the door.

  “What in hell’s going on?” Ramsey Mclean said as he strode into the living room accompanied by a short, bespectacled man holding a clipboard. “I thought you were through with the house, Chief?”

  “What are you doing here, McLean?”

  “We’re taking an inventory for the estate.”

  “Wentworth has some scheme as to how the murder took place.”

  “I thought you found Rustman dead?”

  “We did. There’s still the problem of how he did it.”

  Ramsey turned to the man with the clipboard. “Why don’t you continue without me for a few minutes, Mr. Brumby? I’m quite interested in Mr. Wentworth’s theory.”

  “I’ll start on the silver in the pantry.”

  Ramsey was angry as Brumby left. “I want to know exactly what’s going on.”

  “Lyon is going to duplicate the murder. Isn’t that right?” Rocco said.

  “Yes.”

  “We have a man posted in the hall outside your wife’s room and a man with a dog outside. We have tried to approximate the circumstances as nearly as possible.”

  “Get on with it, Wentworth.”

  Lyon looked at his watch. “On the day of the murder Bea and I were working in the study. Will everyone please go in there. Rocco, if you will monitor any calls from the police on guard and please take notes, we’ll begin.”

  “Does neatness count?”

  “Funny.”

  Lyon stood in the center of the living room until Bea led the remaining police officers and Ramsey into the study. Once they were out of sight, he went into the pantry, past the man with the clipboard, and continued into the kitchen to the cellar door. He found a light switch near the stairwell and went down the open wooden stairs. He found the rope where he had discovered it yesterday, stuffed into an ancient coal bucket. It had been dyed brown, the same color as the outer walls of the house, and it was stout enough to support the weight of a man. He looped it over his shoulder and glanced at his watch.

  Five minutes remaining.

  The fuse box was next. It was a large wooden affair that was probably installed when the house was first constructed in the thirties. He counted three from the right on the second line, unscrewed a fuse, and stuck it into his pocket.

  Four minutes left.

  The water turn-off valves were neatly labeled with hanging white tags. He turned the appropriate valve and sprinted for the stairs. He took the cellar steps two at a time and raced for the servants’ staircase that led from the kitchen to the third floor.

  He entered a musty unused servant’s room, tied an end of the rope to a heavy radiator, and stood with his back against the wall as he watched the second hand on his watch sweep around the dial. He thought again, as he had the day before, about the plight of men and women sentenced to these cell-like rooms for their working lives, on call most of the hours of the day, living without family six days a week. It was modern serfdom, which prosperity had finally destroyed.

  He glanced at his watch again. Barely a minute left if his calculations were correct. Finding the bits of thin rubber on the grass where the dog had died had bothered him at first, and he had almost discarded them as possible clues until he discovered the rubber nipple high in the tree. If he made the assumption that no one had come over the wall and thrown the scented and poisoned meat on the ground to distract and kill the dog, the meat would have to have been hidden nearby in a sealed container until it was dropped at a specified time.

  Earlier today he had duplicated the timing device and hung it in the tree. He had placed a thin string of sausage heavily doused with female dog musk inside a small weather balloon. Also inserted in the balloon was a small alcohol lamp. He had filled the balloon with air and ignited the lamp before he hung it high in a tree.

  Seconds left. He pressed against the wall as near to the window as he dared and listened.

  The pop was nearly inaudible at this distance, and more than likely the patrolling policeman outside would not have heard it.

  The flame heated the air inside the balloon to the point where it expanded enough to explode the balloon. Small pieces of rubber had now fallen to the ground along with the scented meat.

  He could hear the frantic bark of the Great Dane.

  Lyon opened the narrow window, threw out the rope, and hoisted himself onto the sill. As he expected, Jamie Martin below was fighting to hold on to the Dane.

  The dog made a final plunge and ripped the leash from the officer’s hand and loped across the grass toward the trees at the far side of the grounds.

  Lyon lowered himself onto the balcony, slipped chewing gum from his mouth, and placed it against a windowpane. The pane was held only loosely by a splotch of putty and it easily worked loose. He put the glass in his shirt and looped a thin strand of wire through the aperture and down over the latch of the French doors. He pulled on the wire and raised the latch.

  In seconds he was inside the room with the doors shut behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder informed him that the officer below the window was looking bewilderedly after the Dane, unsure whether to give chase or remain at his post. He began talking over his radio.

  Lyon removed the mannequin from the bed after tying a plastic bag over its head.

  He placed the mannequin in the tub and turned on the hot water faucet all the way. A small trickle of water from inside the pipe drained into the tub for a moment and then stopped.

  Back in the bedroom he turned on the switch for the bedside light.

  He took a last look around the room. There was one more thing to be done. It was risky, but if he could do it soundlessly, it would be the final touch. He went to the bedroom door and turned the key in the door to the lock position.

  The return to the third floor would be the most difficult part of the reenactment.

  He pressed against the wall to watch the patrolman walk his post below the window. As he expected, the young officer, like most people, took a regular course that he duplicated constantly. He marched in military fashion from one end of the house to the other. Lyon waited until he passed the window and was going toward the front of the house. His back was now to the window.

  Lyon slipped out the French doors and closed them behind him. He looped the wire back through the window where the pane was missing and latched the door. He replaced the pane easily and held it secure with chewing gum. He grasped the rope that he had looped around the balcony struts and swung out over the building and began his climb back into the servants’ quarters.

  He pulled the rope up after himself, shut the narrow window, and walked quietly down the backstairs and into the study.

  “Anything from your men?” he asked Rocco.

  “All quiet upstairs, but Jamie outside lost your dog.”

  “The gate’s closed and he can’t leave the grounds.”

  “What now?”

  “We wait for the murder in the living room over drinks.”

  14

  “When does this murder take place?”

  Lyon sank into an easy chair and tented his fingers. “Cocktails were served that day at seven.”

  “Wait a minute!” Captain Norbert was on his feet shaking in anger. “I’ve got two men on
overtime.” The corporals smirked. “We’re not having any booze.”

  “We’ll simulate the cocktails,” Lyon replied.

  “Then let’s simulate that it’s after seven.”

  Lyon stood up. “Everyone has a cocktail. Present are Bea and I, Ramsey, Mrs. Rustman, Tanner, and Smelts.”

  Rocco looked down at his nonexistent drink. “They make a lousy cocktail here.”

  “Serena called Ramsey at eight,” Bea said.

  “Can I simulate that?” Ramsey said. “Consider the call made.”

  “No. Go through the motions.”

  “Why not?” Ramsey walked over to the table with the phone. “We have a house intercom system. Serena dialed seven from her room, which would ring the phone in here. The phone rang and I picked it up.”

  “Please duplicate your conversation as best you can remember.”

  Ramsey held the receiver in his hand and looked thoughtful. “She said she had overslept and that she would be late. I told her it was nearly eight and dinner was ready. She told me to go ahead and start with the others and that she would be down later after she bathed. Something along those lines.”

  “Good,” Lyon said. “Tell me, Ramsey. When you talked to your wife, are you sure it was her?”

  “Well, she mumbled a bit. Like she had just awakened. That wasn’t unusual. She’d often take a nap in the afternoon and then stay up half the night.”

  “Could someone else have called from her room?”

  “Well, yes. It could have been someone else. I assumed it was Serena.”

  “I see. Now, on the day of the murder, conversation continued in this room for a few minutes after Serena’s call. Then dinner was announced.”

  “Serena always did like to be fashionably late for meals.”

  “All right,” Lyon continued. “Dinner has now been announced and we all move into the dining room.”

  “Can we simulate that too?”

  “Absolutely not. Please move in a leisurely fashion down the hall to the dining room.”

  The group ambled sheepishly down the hall. Bea started to stay by Lyon’s side, but he waved her on and left the room last. He followed them down the hall but kept well to their rear. When the last police officer had entered the large dining room, he turned, went through the pantry door, and sprinted for the cellar steps. It took him forty seconds to reach the fuse box and screw the fuse back in and turn on the water for the upstairs bath. In another ten seconds he was back in the dining room. He took a seat at the table next to Bea.

  Rocco’s radio beeped. He answered in a voice too low for the others seated at the table to hear.

  “Don’t keep it a damn secret!” Norbert said when Rocco replaced the radio on his belt. “What in hell did he say?”

  “Them. Both officers called. Hansen, in the upstairs hall, heard the water turn on and Jamie, outside, saw the bedroom light flick on.”

  “How’d you do that, Wentworth?”

  “The same way anyone else who knew the house could have.”

  “McLean!” Rocco tumbled his chair backward as he catapulted to his feet. “Where in hell is he?”

  “He was with us in the living room,” Bea said. “I thought he came down the hall with us.”

  “He’s the one, isn’t he?”

  Lyon nodded. “I think you should find him before he leaves the grounds.”

  Rocco barked into the radio. “Jamie! Hold Ramsey McLean. Don’t let him leave.”

  Mr. Brumby, with his clipboard, poked his head in the door. “Mr. McLean just left. He said for you all to enjoy yourselves.”

  “Goddamn it!” Rocco slapped his thigh. He snatched the radio from his belt. “Do you see him, Jamie?” He glanced over at Captain Norbert. “He’s made it through the gate.”

  Both senior police officers ran for the door. They reached their cars simultaneously and gave quick and concise orders over their car radios. Rocco finished first, took a map from the glove compartment, and spread it over the hood of the cruiser.

  “I’ve got three cars operating this shift, and I’ve asked the two men at headquarters to use a spare vehicle to cover Route Eighty.”

  Norbert jabbed at the map. “We’ll have roadblocks at both Murphysville ramps to the interstate within three minutes. The barracks is alerting the adjoining towns.”

  “He’s only got a few minutes headstart. He’ll never make it out of town.” Rocco thumped a fist on the car hood. “We’ll get the bastard.” His radio beeped on his belt and he flipped it to receive.

  “There’s water coming under the door,” Hansen yelled in excitement.

  “I wish it were over.”

  They were gathered to wait at Nutmeg Hill. Lyon, sitting in his desk chair, swiveled to face Bea and Kim. Mandy Summers had seemed uncomfortable working in their presence, declined a drink, and left for a quiet spot in the upstairs guest room to proofread Lyon’s book.

  “Anyone hungry?” Bea asked. At the negative response she began to mix drinks at the bar cart. “I was surprised that Rocco and Norbie could work so well together. After years of listening to their flack, it was a pleasure to watch two professionals performing in unison.”

  Kim glanced at her watch. “Didn’t seem to do much good. It’s been two hours already. They will call when they catch McLean, won’t they?”

  “Said they would,” Lyon said as he accepted a sherry from Bea. The drink tasted lifeless and flat. “He knows how anxious we are.”

  “All right, Wentworth. We’ve had our drink and now we’re ready for explanations.”

  “Let’s wait until Rocco comes so that we can go over it all at once. How’s the strike coming, Kim?”

  “With Smelts and his monkeys out of the way we have a fighting chance again.”

  “From what I was told earlier,” Bea said, “Smelts is going to be out of the way for a good long time.”

  A car raced up the drive and stopped by the front door. The hallway clump of large brogans made it obvious that Rocco had arrived. He entered the study without acknowledging their presence and mixed a strong vodka and water.

  “We take it you’ve been unsuccessful,” Kim said.

  “You take it right,” he replied and drained half the drink. “Bastard couldn’t have slipped through unless he walked through the woods or swam the river.”

  “How about holing up somewhere?”

  “That’s always possible. He could be at a friend’s house or might have broken into a vacant place. He’ll have to come out eventually.”

  “You never found Rustman until he was killed.”

  “There wasn’t any Rustman to find. Lyon was right. He’d been dead for days.”

  “He was already dead when the truck burned?”

  “Yes. They hadn’t intended to run further tests on the body until we alerted them to that possibility. The burning of the body was a subterfuge.”

  “He’d been dead all the time,” Bea said.

  “The medical examiner is now certain that he was.”

  “But the body … I mean it should have decomposed.”

  “My educated guess is that Rustman’s body was hidden in the freezer at the Arcadia Produce Company by McLean and accidentally discovered by the manager,” Lyon said.

  “Which would account for the manager’s death,” Rocco added.

  “All right, Lyon,” Bea said. “Let’s hear it. Rocco will get Ramsey eventually, but I want to know the rest of it.”

  “From the top?”

  “A fine place to start.”

  “The death of Dr. Bunting was never intended.”

  “She had the misfortune of seeing them snatch Marty,” Kim said.

  “Exactly. She was murdered by Maginacolda for what she saw. Rustman was killed in the state forest not only for his opposition to Smelts’s union, but also because he had evidence on its illegal connection with the Shopton Corporation.”

  “And was dead the whole time?”

  “I’m afraid so. The body was moved by
Ramsey as part of his scheme.”

  “To make all the other deaths seem tied together.”

  “Yes. Ramsey knew that Rustman was going to be kidnapped, and it was easy enough for him to find out where he had been killed and buried. He moved the body and then killed Maginacolda and Falconer.”

  “Why move Rustman’s body?” Rocco asked. “As it was, we nearly didn’t find it.”

  “A couple of reasons,” Lyon said. “Smelts was still alive and knew where Rustman was buried. Also, unless he froze the corpse, the body’s deterioration would have been immediately obvious to the assistant medical examiner.”

  “Okay,” Rocco said. “And then he went after Smelts.”

  “All to make Serena more fearful for her own life. He knew she had a pathological fear of death by asphyxiation.”

  “But that only resulted in her sealing herself in the house surrounded by half a dozen guards.”

  “He had worked it out that way. I’m sure he not only encouraged Serena to increase her security, but he might even have suggested that Bea and I be present for that dinner party. We were to provide the iron-clad alibi for his presence during the supposed time of the murder.”

  “What about motive?”

  “Greed and fear. He knew that Serena was going to end their marriage, which would preclude him from handling her future legal work. He also knew his wife well enough to know that eventually she would begin to worry about him and what he knew. Divorce would not be enough for Serena. She would arrange for Ramsey to have an accident.”

  “Kill him?”

  “Probably.”

  “Which all leads to Serena’s murder.”

  Rocco mixed another drink. “Run through the details on that one. I think I have most of it, but there are some holes.”

  Lyon leaned back in his swivel chair and extended his legs with his hands laced behind his head. “Ramsey had already suggested that Bea and I be brought to the mansion, but Serena’s idea of confronting the others was gratuitous. It was a made-to-order situation for him with everyone who had a motive for murder present at the house.”

  “How did he get into the room?”

  “The same way I did.”

  “But both guards heard and saw things. The light went on at eight and then the water ran in the tub.”