Death in a Summer Colony (5 page)

10

A
fter the buffet dinner, Ray and Hanna, accompanied by Richard Grubbs made their way to the Assembly Hall where the play was being staged. They waited for Sue Lawrence and her date, Harry Hawkins, and then found their seats, assisted by one of the teenage ushers. They had just settled in when a flash of lightening shot through the building from the windows that lined the walls, followed immediately by a roar of thunder. The ground shook, the lights flickered, dimmed, went out momentarily, and then came back on.

“Perfect,” said Grubbs, sitting next to Hanna and directing his comments to Ray. “Don’t you think that sets the tone for something sinister.”

“What would happen if the lights stayed out?” asked Ray.

“I think we would sit quietly for five or ten minutes, then Sterling Shevlin would slowly make his way to the center of the stage, carrying one candle that would illuminate just his face. He’d wait until he had absolute silence, and then in his rich baritone voice he’d announce that the play would resume tomorrow evening, and that the ushers—equipped for the event with, he’d probably say torches rather than flashlights, will help with a row by row exit, just like our Sunday services. We are a very disciplined group, Sheriff. The building would be emptied expeditiously and the afterglow would start, this time by candlelight in cottages all across the colony. And tomorrow we’d all be back. That’s why this place is so magical. A little bad weather or most calamities in the outside world don’t affect us. We have this wonderful respite here for a few months each year that’s quite disconnected from our usual lives.”

Another peal of thunder rocked the building and reverberated through the rolling terrain. Ray looked up at the elaborate framing overhead, huge timbers notched and fitted and pegged in place, carried by massive hand-hewn beams that rested on fieldstone pillars. Between the roar of each thunderclap, the room was alive with voices, voices that were suddenly subdued by the flood of rain cascading off of the long eaves and slamming into the ground.

Ray squirmed in his seat, trying to get comfortable on the hard plywood surface.

“How was dinner?” asked Sue. “Up to your standards?”

“Unusually good. A friend of the host is a Cordon Bleu-trained chef. These people are serious about their eating and drinking.”

The lights flashed on and off three times, alerting the few stragglers that the show was about to begin. A hush fell over the audience as the curtain slowly opened on the interior of a large room. On the left facing the audience was a sofa. Behind it French doors opened to a brightly lit garden. The dinner table stood on the right near the front of the stage. The surrounding chairs, two at the back and one on each side, faced the audience. At the back right of the set was a desk and chair. The walls in this area were surrounded by bookshelves. An old typewriter sat at one corner of the desk and a dial phone at the other, giving the dimly lit area the appearance of an office. Four characters, three men and a woman, came on stage and took chairs at the table. The eldest man, graying at the temples and wearing a clerical collar, sat at the head of the table. A woman, much younger than the man, took the chair at the opposite end of the table. Between them were a teenage boy and a thirty-something man, who was also wearing a clerical collar. The man at the head of the table started a prayer, “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.”

A young woman, plump and in an ill-fitting cotton dress, entered with a tray and began placing heavy china serving dishes on the table.

Ray looked down at his program studying the list of characters and then reading the synopsis of the first act from the glow coming off the brightly lit stage. He looked back at the scene unfolding in front of him, identifying characters and beginning to follow the narrative, at times struggling to hear the lines as the rain and thunder still reverberated through the building.

As various new characters were introduced, Ray noticed that Colonel Protheroe was part of every conversation. He could see that Agatha Christie wanted the audience to know that almost everyone in St. Mary Mead had a reason to dislike Protheroe.

Ray was on his feet as soon as the curtain closed on the first scene, stretching and trying to extend his back. Sue was at his side. “That was just the opening scene. Are you going to be able to make it?”

Before he could answer, Richard Grubbs, leaning past Hana, said, “I’ll be back in a minute, I need to check on things.”

Ray dropped back into his chair. Hanna said to Sue, “Notice he hasn’t checked his phone for email.”

“That’s not good. Does he have a pulse, Doctor?”

“Are you enjoying the show,” Ray asked Harry Hawkins, not commenting on the repartee.

“The costuming is good,” Hawkins responded with a wry smile. “And the woman playing Griselda is very attractive. I wonder what she is doing after the show.”

“You’ve already got plans,” retorted Sue.

A flash of blue-white shot through the building, followed instantly by the roar of thunder as the building went dark. The screen on Ray’s phone came to life. “You two are lucky I have this. I’
ll be able to light your way out of here if necessary.”

The light from other phones began to illuminate the dull interior. Low conversations filled the room for several minutes before the lights came on.

Ray watched as Richard Grubbs, red-faced and agitated, entered the side door of the auditorium, pointed to him and made a beckoning gesture with his hand. Ray pointed to his chest with his fingers. Grubbs made an affirmative nod.

11

“
W
hat’s happened?” asked Ray.

“Please follow. Something dreadful.”

Ray trailed Grubbs out of the auditorium through an exit door near the front of the stage. They stayed close to the exterior wall of the building, avoiding the torrent pouring off the long overhangs and ducked back in through a rear entrance, double doors, both propped open. Another set of doors took them into the back of the auditorium. They skirted the rear of the set and entered the room through the door at stage left, the right side of the set as viewed from the audience. The curtain separating the audience from the stage remained closed. Bare bulbs suspended above in the fly space cast an eerie, dull light over the interior.

Ray carefully palpated the neck of a man sprawled over a desk at the rear of the set.

“Who is this?” he asked.

“Malcolm Wudbine. This is where he is supposed to be at the beginning of the second scene, but….”

“Get Dr. Jeffers and Sergeant Lawrence,” he said, looking at Grubbs.

“Oh, my God. What’s happened?” asked Sterling Shevlin, coming close. “Is he…?”

“I need you to get everyone backstage in one place,” ordered Ray. “Everyone! And make sure no one leaves until I tell you otherwise. No one, absolutely no one is allowed to leave. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Ray watched as Shevlin herded a few onlookers through the French doors at the rear of the set. A few moments later Hanna and Sue were at his side, with Grubbs peering over them and Harry Hawkins just behind.

“I couldn’t find a pulse,” said Ray looking at Hanna.

Hanna reached into the soft tissue of the man’s neck with her left hand. Then she went to the other side with her right hand. She pulled her hand back and looked at her fingertips, now red with blood.

“I need some light,” she ordered.

Grubbs switched on the flashlight he was carrying.

“Bring the beam over here,” she instructed.

Ray hovered at her left side. Impatiently, she grabbed the light from Grubbs and ran the icy LED beam along Wudbine’s skull. She looked at Ray.

“What?”

“It looks like there are two wounds, one real, the other…looks like a combination of rubber and makeup. I shouldn’t do anything more. Get the ME here. Let him figure it out.”

“What kind of wound?”

“The real one, something sharp was driven between the vertebrae at the base of his skull. It severed the spinal column. The victim died instantly. But it would take a lot of force.”

“Weapon?”

“I don’t know. I’m way out of my field. The pathologist will be the best….” Her voice trailed off as she continued to inspect the head with the light. Finally she looked up and said, “There’s a third wound here, an exit wound under his forehead. I think that’s fake, too.”

“How would you like to proceed?” asked Sue, standing at Ray’s side.

“We need to get Dr. Dyskin here.”

“I’ve already made the call.”

“Secure this area so you can start working the scene. Given the noise out there, the audience is getting restless. Richard, we need to empty the auditorium.”

“What do I say?”

“Tell them…tell them that something has happened to one of the cast members. Ask them to please leave the area so emergency vehicles can get in here. And say that you will have full details as soon as you have more information.”

Ray’s eyes followed Grubbs as he slid through the curtains to the center of the stage. The hum coming from the audience fell away as Grubbs started to talk. His comments were brief, the voices returned as people began to leave the auditorium.

Ray looked at Sue. “What do you want to do first?”

“I’d like to get everything photographed before anyone else is in here. And then I’d like to work the area as soon as Dr. Dyskin is done and the body is removed. At that point we have to secure the area so I can come back tomorrow and take another look when I have daylight. Unless it’s someplace obvious, we’re going to have to tear this place apart to find the murder weapon.”

“Staffing?” asked Ray.

“Let’s bring people in on overtime. And Ben Reilly said he’d like to work occasionally, get him.”

“Okay. I will talk to the cast members and everyone else who was backstage. I’ll let them know what’s happened. I’m sure there’s been a lot of speculation by now. I will get a list of their names, contact information, and where they were at the end of the first act. I’ll try to find out if anyone saw anything suspicious.” Ray, using his phone, checked the time. “Given the hour, unless someone has evidence that would take us to the killer, we should organize an interview process and have people lined up to talk to tomorrow morning. We’ll have Grubbs get us a place to do the interviews and have Shevlin identify everyone backstage at the time of the murder. Is your Jeep close?”

“Near the entrance. I’ll have Harry bring it up here. I’ll be able to start taking photos before Dyskin arrives. After the body is removed, I’ll take some more pictures and start working the scene.”

“What kind of help do you want?”

“Just secure the building. I need to get a sense of this place. It’s not like any scene I’ve ever worked.”

“There’s a wife out there,” said Ray. “I’ll have Grubbs help me locate her and other family members.”

“How about the family?” asked Ray when he next encountered Grubbs standing with Sterling Shevlin in the hallway outside the green room.

“His daughter-in-law, she’s in the cast…well they all knew…she was very upset. Her husband, Elliot, Malcolm’s son, he came back here, and she told him. Elliot took her out of here. There was nothing I could do.” He gave Ray a helpless look.

“How about Wudbine’s wife?”

“I think I’ve told you already, she never comes to colony events.”

Ray stood for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Where do you think they went?”

“Probably to Malcolm’s place, Gull Cottage, unless they went to their own cottage.”

“I want you to go with me. We’ll start at Gull Cottage.”

“Let’s take my golf cart,” suggested Grubbs. “There’s a paved path.”

“Have you seen Gull Cottage?” asked Grubbs, as they slowly rolled along a macadam ribbon through the woods, the dense fog that was blowing off the lake limiting the beam of the headlights.

“No,” responded Ray. He was working to control anger, trying to focus on the crime.

“After his divorce from Verity, he bought this big old cottage, gray-weathered-shake shingle siding, very New England. It was a beautiful place. He modernized and expanded it, ruined the proportions. Then ten or fifteen years ago, he had it leveled. Rumor has it that he was celebrating his first billion. Malcolm loved gulls, he wanted to capture their energy and freedom in a building. Hired a disciple of Saarinan—concrete, cables, titanium, and glass, sort of like the Dulles airport, only more delicate and flight-like. They did a prototype in canvas, making changes along the way. Malcolm wanted it large. The architect convinced him to build smaller, in scale with the landscape and then add guest cottages and other structures away from the shore so nothing would distract from Gull Cottage.”

Ray could see the glow as they approached through the mist, the features becoming clearer as they neared the edifice. One of the twin entrance doors swung open before they had alighted from the cart.

“Hello, Pepper,” said Richard.

“Everyone is gathered in the great room,” the young woman announced, then led the way.

Ray stood for a moment and observed the family and friends scattered across the room on large, carefully arranged groupings of couches and chairs. The room was brilliantly illuminated by the beams of dozens of small lights mounted in the high, sloping ceiling. Everything was in white, the carpeting, the fabric on the furniture, the vaulted plaster arching above. The only exception was an ebony grand piano at the rear of the room, its relative size providing a scale to the dimensions of space. It appeared to Ray to be a mise en scene, the curtain had just gone up and all the actors were in place, silent, holding drinks in delicately shaped martini glasses, looking very composed.

Grubbs provided the opening line to put the scene in motion. “This is the Sheriff of Cedar County, Ray Elkins. Sheriff, this is Mr. Wudbine’s wife, Brenda, his son, Elliott, and Jill, his daughter-in-law.”

Finally Brenda Wudbine looked up at Ray, her manner unsteady, “Elliott told me what happened. Is it true? Is Malcolm really dead?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to tell you that it is true.”

“And that he was murdered?”

“Yes, that appears to be the case.”

“How, how was he killed?”

“We will know more after the autopsy.”

“Sterling said he was stabbed,” said Jill.

Everyone in the room looked at Ray. “It appears that he died of a puncture wound. Like I said, we will have a precise cause of death after the postmortem examination.”

“And when will that happen? When will the body be returned to us?” Jill asked. “We need to begin planning his funeral. My father-in-law was a very important public personality. We need to plan an event that’s befitting his many life accomplishments.”

“I will know more by Monday. In the meantime I will need to talk with each of you and the members of your staff.”

“What on earth for? How would I know anything about this?” asked the new widow, pique in her tone.

“Sheriff,” said Jill Wudbine, “we need time to adjust to this. I think we need to be alone.”

“I plan on beginning these interviews tomorrow.”

“Sheriff, I was Malcolm’s personal attorney for the last two decades. From this point forward I will act as the family’s legal counsel in this matter,” her tone flat and businesslike. “I will facilitate scheduling these interviews at a time that’s convenient to family members and not disruptive to work schedules of our employees. You must understand that Mr. Wudbine’s death comes as a great shock to all of us. If you provide a phone number, I will be in contact. Now please leave us to our grief.”

Ray handed her a business card. “I will begin the interviews tomorrow afternoon. Memories fade quickly. I need your cooperation in finding the killer.” He spoke directly to Jill Wudbine, then slowly made eye contact with the other people in the room.

Jill rose, she appeared to Ray to be a bit unsteady. “Ms. Markley will escort you out, Sheriff. I will be in contact with you relative to the interviews in the morning.”

Once outside, Ray walked across the drive and then turned back toward the structure. He wanted to get a sense of the building, and he needed a few moments alone to reflect on what had just happened.

“She has a heart of ice, doesn’t she?” said Grubbs as Ray slid onto the seat of the golf cart.

“Who is that?”

“Jill, the family attorney. No emotion with that woman, ever. She’s totally cognitive. I hope she doesn’t get in your way too much. She’s probably more into protecting the family than finding out who killed her employer, father-in-law, whatever.”