Death in a Summer Colony (22 page)

46

“
W
hat did you learn in Grayling?” asked Ray as Sue entered his office early the next morning.

“I’ve got a good set of prints off the handle of the knife, but the evidence tech—Andy Goodhue, a new guy that I’ve never worked with before—alerted me to something very interesting.”

“Which is?”

“The position of the fingers on the handle of the push dagger. The prints were good, almost too good. The fingers had been positioned in such a way to get the maximum area of the fingertips against the wide area of the handle. After we were done lifting prints, he showed me that it would be unlikely for the fingers to fall on the handle in that way if the perp was gripping it tightly to make a kill. In short, Ray, they looked staged.”

“So you’re suggesting that the prints were obtained from the dying or dead Brenda.”

“It appears that way.”

“So who was with Brenda? We know Grubbs was there. Did he do this? Or was it Jill, or Alyson, or Elliott?”

“Or perhaps someone else?”

“I was hoping to find a print or two on the scabbard that would help us answer that question. No such luck. After we established there were no prints on the leather, Andy cut open the seams. We could see traces of dried blood on the interior. He seemed confident that there was enough material to get a DNA profile. We should have the results in about five business days. Assuming a match, sometime next week, we can say this was the likely murder weapon. One more thing, the blade closely matches the dimensions cited in Malcolm Wudbine’s autopsy.”

“The pieces of the puzzle are falling together,” said Ray. “Here are Brenda Wudbine’s fingerprints. Dr. Dyskin was good enough to get us this set before the body was shipped to Grand Rapids.” Ray removed a standardized fingerprint card from a folder and handed it to Sue.

“So let me do a quick comparison.” She placed the cards side-by-side and examined them closely. “Something’s wrong here.” She studied them a second time. “I see the problem. My mistake. I assumed the prints on the push knife were from the right hand. They are a perfect match with the left hand prints from Brenda’s body.”

“The pathologists on Malcolm Wudbine’s autopsy said the murderer was probably left handed,” said Ray. “Did you find prints on the brandy bottle and coffee mug?”

Sue added two more fingerprint cards. She studied them carefully. “They are not of the same quality, but clearly from the right hand. See for yourself.”

“Agreed. We need to verify this, but it appears that Brenda was right-handed. How about the contents of the brandy bottle and coffee mug?” asked Ray.

“Andy did a quick and dirty. He’ll send a more complete analysis in a few days. Just brandy and coffee with brandy, no adulterations.”

“According to Hanna, Brenda’s blood alcohol was .26. Another thing she and Dr. Dyskin noted during their preliminary exam was that Brenda had sustained a blow to the back of the head, consistent with hitting a hard, flat surface, like a concrete floor. Let’s look at the greenhouse photos, I want see the position of the stool.”

Sue opened the laptop, “Is this what you’re looking for?”

“Perfect.”

“The EMTs probably would have pushed it out of their way,” said Sue.

“Yes,” agreed Ray. “But would they have changed the orientation? What I’m thinking is that Brenda had an early morning visitor, Grubbs or someone before him. Let’s say they were standing on the opposite side of the table. To get at Brenda they would take the shortest route, moving clockwise around the table.” Ray ran his finger over the screen to show the path. “And if they gave her a fairly forceful push, she would have ended up about where Grubbs said he found her. So tossing in another assumption, if this was the person who planted the knife and put Brenda’s prints on the handle….”

“They were probably moving fast. A mirror image grab of the hand, a simple mistake.”

“Or not,” said Ray.

“I see where you are going. My head is starting to hurt. I think we’ve only encountered one southpaw, Alyson Mickels.”

“Yes, that’s my memory.”

“Hold onto that,” said Ray. He laid out the copies of the room reservations, following Hanna’s organizational pattern. “I’ll get a pot of fresh coffee while you look those over. I’m interested in your interpretation.”

Five minutes later he returned with the coffee and clean mugs.

Sue gave him a Cheshire Cat grin.

“Okay, let me have it.”

“Based on these documents. Looks like Jill was, to put it in the vernacular, Malcolm’s main squeeze. There were occasional segues for a little spice with Pepper, but after Alyson happened on the scene, everything changed. She’s quite the babe.”

“Let’s go through our top suspects again.” Ray pulled down the whiteboard. “Starting with Richard Grubbs. He’s got motive….”

“Lots of motives,” interrupted Sue, “motive and opportunity.”

“And we’ve already talked about the fact that he’s been at the scene of both deaths. And three months ago, when I first encountered Wudbine, Grubbs jokingly said that if Malcolm ever ended up dead, we’d have an almost endless list of suspects.”

“Grubbs seems to be a kind, rational man,” said Sue. “But he’s only human. There’s got to be rage lurking below the surface. Could he have encouraged Brenda to put a little arsenic in Malcolm’s coffee?”

“Probably, he seems to be one of her few friends here. How about Pepper? And why did she send me all those documents?”

“She’s pissed. She wants revenge. So she’s breaking the code of silence and tossing out the dirty linen,” said Sue.

“Or maybe she thinks she is under suspicion. She’s trying to build some cover. But is she a killer?”

“Pepper was backstage, so she had opportunity. And there probably are multiple motives. She would have needed an accomplice. Could she have maneuvered Brenda into handling the power switch?”

“How about Alyson?” asked Ray. “Again, she’s the only southpaw in the group that I’ve noticed.”

“I’m impressed that you picked up on that particular characteristic.”

As was his custom, Ray let her comment pass. “I don’t know what her motive would be. She seemed to be Wudbine’s….”

“Femme du jour. Both Wudbine men seemed quite taken with her. Tom Lea puts her with Elliott. But could he be confused about the sequence of events?”
 

“A possibility. And then there’s Jill,” offered Ray.

“We just don’t know much about her. Could she manipulate Brenda into handling the power? Pepper said something about Jill trying to rehabilitate Brenda. That seems to be more hostile than friendly.”

“So,” said Ray, “a key element is how did the killer communicate with the person who turned off the lights. It had to be a cell phone.”

“I’ll do the paperwork on Brenda’s phone right now. The murder weapon should pave the way for the search warrant.”

“We need to keep the pressure on these people. Let’s try to be there by early afternoon.”

47

P
epper Markley met Ray at the door of Gull House.

“I thought you might be gone by now,” he said.

“Things change incredibly fast. Jill has decreed that the memorial service will be up here. There will be hundreds of the right kind of people coming in from out of state and various foreign locations. Lots of hotel arrangements and catering need to be looked after. Suddenly, I’m a greatly respected, exceedingly competent queen of logistics and once again a highly paid employee of Wudbine Investments.”

Ray noted the playfully wicked smile that accompanied her sarcastic tone. “When is this going to happen?”

“Right after Labor Day. We need to get the summer people out of town first. Then there will be adequate lodging available at the proper kind of places and adequate airline seats for those who must fly commercial. I trust you will want a seat close to the family at the memorial service. I can arrange that, Sheriff.”

“Right now I’ll settle for a brief conversation with Elliott Wudbine.”

“He’s down at his cottage. I expect him within the next fifteen minutes. They have a planning meeting scheduled here at 2:00. All of the stakeholders have been asked to help orchestrate the memorial service. And I do love that term, stakeholders. Sounds like they’re intending to kill Dracula. But, hey, someone already got Drac.” She giggled at her own joke. “Forgive my digression. Would you like to wait for Mr. Wudbine in the great room? I’ve already got coffee set up there.”

“That will be fine,” responded Ray.

Pepper escorted him, offering coffee, and then disappearing. Ray carefully surveyed the room. Sunlight flooded in the massive windows that faced the water. The doors were open, allowing the sound of wind and waves to enter the room. It struck him that the space was even more dramatic than he remembered. He walked to the piano, opened the lid, and gently, one at a time, pushed a few keys. The sound reverberated through the room.

He closed the lid and moved to the upright string bass. He walked around the instrument, studying the wooden stand that securely held it vertically.

“Do you play, Sheriff?” asked Richard Grubbs, walking across the thick white carpet.

“I wish. There was a beat-up old bass in the band room when I was in high school. The teacher showed me a couple of jazz progressions that I had fun experimenting with. That’s as far as it went. But I heard that your daughter is an excellent jazz musician.”

“I don’t know if that’s true these days. I’m not sure she’s played much in recent years. But there was a time when she was quite remarkable.”

“The bass is set up for a left-hand musician. I don’t think I noticed that your daughter was a southpaw.”

“That’s an interesting story, Sheriff. When Jill was just an infant she showed a preference for using her left hand. For some reason that bothered my late wife enormously. She was constantly moving Jill’s spoon or rattle to her right hand. The whole thing became a bone of contention between the two of us. I thought the child should be allowed to do what she wanted to do. But eventually my wife won out.

“My wife, she was a violinist, a very accomplished one. I imagine that’s where Jill gets her musical side. It sure doesn’t come from me. She started Jill in Suzuki when she was about four. It was a really fine school. They allowed the kids to experiment with different instruments before they settled on one to play. Jill quickly moved toward the violin, which pleased her mother. But the instrument she picked up and insisted on playing was this beautiful little quarter-size violin, setup for the left hand. They tried to move her to a right-hand instrument, and she absolutely refused. So Jill and her mother reached a compromise of sorts. Jill would play the violin, which her mother desperately wanted her to do, but she would play on the left-hand instrument.

“By the time she got to junior high, she had moved on to the string bass, leaving the violin behind. And in high school she started playing jazz exclusively. Not a popular move on the home front.”

“When did you and Jill become estranged?”

“Long ago, when she was in college. Her mother died of cancer. For some reason, she seemed to hold me accountable. It’s something I still don’t understand. Probably never will.”

Their attention was drawn to the sound of voices as people flooded through the double doors into the room.

Sterling Shevlin joined their group. Ray noted Shevlin’s flushed complexion and the smell of alcohol.

“We’ve all been pressed into service again, haven’t we?”

“This will be an easy one for you, Sterling. No casting involved. They just want you to get things organized. Elliot wants this service to have a very professional look,” explained Grubbs.

“Revenge from the grave. Malcolm’s last laugh.”

“You will cooperate?”

“Oh, absolutely, Grubby. I can be as disingenuous as the best of them.”

“Who’s attending this meeting?” asked Ray.

“Usual suspects. Isn’t that what you police say?” Grubbs laughed at his joke. “Sterling, here, and our summer minister of music, Dick Fulton. Hope enough people are staying on so we can put together a little choir. I think I have to find an organist. First I heard about this whole thing was late yesterday, and now we’re hurrying to get everything in place in less than three weeks.”

“Who invited you?” Jill Wudbine asked, her question directed at Ray. Elliott Wudbine was at her side, looking abashed.

“Actually, dear, it’s good that he’s here. We’re going to need extra security for this event, and we’re going to need the Sheriff’s assistance in handling the traffic, too.”

Ray opened the folder and handed Elliott a search warrant. Elliott quickly scanned it and handed it back.

“Sheriff, can I hold you off on this for about an hour? As soon as this meeting is completed, I promise to be totally at your disposal. In the meantime, I’d like you to join us. We need to know what resources your agency can provide.”

Ray nodded his assent. He moved away from the group and quietly observed as the room filled, extra chairs being carried in by Pepper, Alyson Mickels, and Grubbs. Most of the faces were familiar to Ray: members of the family, including Verity; Wudbine employees; and members of the cast and crew of Murder at the Vicarage. There were a few others he had no memory of ever seeing before.

Elliott stood at a lectern. “Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you being here on such short notice. As you no doubt have heard, the purpose of this meeting is to begin planning my father’s memorial service. We are looking toward the week after Labor Day. That gives us about three weeks. An enormous amount of work has to be accomplished in a very short time. And each of you will be called upon to play an important role in this event.

“The Mission Point Summer Colony was an important part of my father’s life. Many of his happiest days were spent on these beaches, in the colony, at his cottage, and, of course, on his beloved sailboat plying the waters of Lake Michigan. It is most appropriate that we celebrate his life here at Mission Point.”

Ray, sitting off to the side, watched the faces of the audience as Elliott continued his remarks. Ray’s phone vibrated, and he looked at the text message on the screen. B.W. Cause of death: Cranial Bleed, blunt force trauma to skull. Ray thought about the scene in the greenhouse; Elliott rattled on in the background.

Did she fall or was she pushed? If she was pushed, is the assailant here in the room?” Ray wondered as he looked around. Pepper Markley was sitting near him, carefully inspecting her manicure. Jill Wudbine was in a swivel chair, one brought in from an adjoining office. She was slowly rotating from side to side, her gaze fixed on the carpet just beyond her sandals. Alyson Mickels’ stared off through the window in the direction of Lake Michigan. Verity Wudbine-Merone was focused on her knitting. She would look up toward her son, then back at her needles.

“With the help of my good wife, Jill, and our resourceful concierge, Pepper Markley, we are currently developing a task analysis for the event. Multiple venues will be required. As soon as the task analysis is done, we will be providing each of you with job descriptions and a calendar of events. Needless to say, you will be generously compensated for your time. Pepper will be looking after the HR responsibilities for the event. Alyson Mickels will be handling the transportation arrangements. If you have any questions, they should be directed to these women.

Elliott looked in Ray’s direction.

“We are going to have many important people in attendance. And we live in a time when we have to be aware of every possible threat. Ms. Mickels will be heading our security team, and we will bring in more personnel from Chicago. But we are grateful that Sheriff Elkins is here, and I know his assistance will be invaluable.” Elliott gestured in Ray’s direction.

“Are there any questions?” He scanned the room.

“Elliott, we’ve had two deaths,” noted Sterling Shevlin. “Is this service for Brenda Wudbine, too? Surely there needs to be a way of remembering your stepmother.”

Elliott was not quick to answer. He looked at Jill, holding her in his gaze for many seconds. Finally, Jill responded. “Brenda’s sudden death is most tragic. We will celebrate her life in a family ceremony as soon as her body is returned to us. Brenda was a very private person, and we will honor her passing in a manner consistent with the way she lived.”

“So your logic is if you’re private you get private, and if you’re public you get public?”

“Sterling, we can have this conversation at another time,” said Elliott.

Ray watched as Shevlin came to his feet. “This question is for the Sheriff. The events of the last few days have been horrendous for all of us. And now we are dealing with a second death. Brenda—initially we were told that she died of natural causes, but there are reports to the contrary. Would you put the rumors to rest?” Shevlin dropped back into his seat.

Ray stood so he could see all the faces in the room.

“We are aware of the fact that Brenda Wudbine had some major health issues. However, at this time we are still treating it as an unexplained death. We are looking at every possibility. I will be able to tell you more when we have the complete results from the forensic autopsy.” Ray studied the faces carefully.

“Sheriff, before you sit down, I have another question.” Shevlin was on his feet again. “Malcolm’s death. It just happened a few days ago. I know that you and your people have been working on this with great diligence. But there have been no arrests. True?”

“True.”

“So let me voice the concerns of many in this room. There’s a killer loose. He or she might even be in this room. None of us has ever confronted this kind of violence. Quite frankly, I’m frightened to even go into the theater. Our colony, it’s not the same place. Sheriff, can you provide any assurance that this crime will be solved in the near future?”

“That’s a good question, Mr. Shevlin, a question that the public has a right to ask. I can tell you that we are making progress. This was a complex, carefully planned and executed crime. The pieces are starting to fall together.”

“Sterling, can we get back to the task at hand?” pleaded Elliott.

“This is the business at hand. How can you consider bringing all these very important people here when a killer is running lose?”

“Maybe the Sheriff should have started with you,” said Elliott. “This play, casting my father in the role of the most hated man in the village…was all your idea. You put him in that chair. Defenseless. A sitting duck.”

“Why, Elliott, why?” shouted Shevlin. “I had nothing to gain. Your wife, your minions, they were all in the theater. Was this a team building exercise for the Wudbine Group? You’d free yourselves from that SOB. Become fabulously rich in the process.”

“Can we all just settle down? There’s work to be done,” pleaded Grubbs in a conciliatory tone.

“If you killed him, Grubby,” roared Shevlin, “we’d all be supporting you. Justifiable homicide. Why didn’t you do it years ago?” He paused, dropping his voice. “And then there’s Brenda. Battered wife? And her dying, just too convenient. Like I was saying, Elliott, how can we go forward with this memorial service when the killer is still at large?”

“If you’d like to confess, we’d get this all behind us.” Jill’s tone was shrill and hostile.

“The only thing I have to confess to is allowing that bastard to run over me.”

“Sterling, enough,” scolded Verity.

“Enough, my ass. We all remember those bad old days.”

“We don’t need to do this in front of….”

Shevlin cut her off. “Yes, I know. We need to protect the children. And that’s what we’ve done for decades, protect, been cowed. Or perhaps been cowards.”

“Are you done, Sterling?” asked Elliott.

“Actually, I’m just warming to the topic. But maybe we should throw this back to the Sheriff.” He stopped and made a slow, dramatic gesture with his right arm toward Ray. “You’ve been snooping around for days. We’ve all been interrogated several times. I imagine a lot of dirty linen has been aired. I’m sure you’ve heard every titillating rumor that’s circulated around here for the last 50 years. The Mission Point Summer Colony is hardly a Peyton Place. That said, we’re not totally boring. What can you tell us, Sheriff? Do you think I’m the guilty party? Is a murderer sitting next to me?”

Ray sat silently and considered if this might be an opportunity to flush out the killer. Then he stood. Before starting to speak he carefully regarded the crowd. Every face was turned in his direction. One by one, he gazed at each individual. He was tapping his foot, thinking Largo. Slowly inhaling and exhaling, observing the tension in the room.

“While none of you were ever identified as persons of interest, almost everyone in the room had access to Malcolm Wudbine. And from the beginning we believed that more than one person was involved.

“Verity, Mrs. Wudbine-Merone,” he looked in her direction, “made an impassioned case for the killers coming from the outside, foreigners wanting revenge for some alleged misdeeds on Malcolm’s part.

“Mr. Shevlin, you certainly had the means and opportunity. No one else knows the theater, the play, or the timing better than you. You cast the play and put Wudbine in a defenseless position. And just in giving him that part, there was hostility and malice. You were having a joke, one that many of your friends here shared.