Death on the Mississippi (19 page)

“They're pragmatists,” Rocco said. “You can't collect from a dead man, and their kind of debt isn't one you can pursue against an estate.”

Norbert shrugged. “So, what do you suggest?”

“That the money's been paid back.”

“Pan could have done it to get them off her back. She had life insurance money in addition to the fifty thousand that Bea discovered,” Rocco said.

“I think Dalton is alive,” Lyon said.

“Oh, my God,” Norbert said and nearly broke his second glass. “What in the hell have you been smoking? You identified the body. You described how he had been tortured and then hanged. You saw him.”

“We learned this morning that there's a way to hang without being hurt,” Bea said.

“I cut somebody up,” Doctor Mellin stated categorically. “Say what you will, there was a man's body on my table, and we did him up right.”

“Granted that the practical joke this morning was quirky,” Rocco said, “and I can imagine that it's possible to fake a hanging, but if that didn't kill him, the fire sure in hell did.”

“Death was by asphyxiation prior to any possibility of smoke inhalation,” the Medical Examiner said with quiet authority. “I would stake my career on that.”

“Okay,” Rocco continued, “you not only saw the body, but we identified the fingerprints from the finger in the box.”

“There was a definite match between that finger and the army files the FBI had on Mr. Turman. In addition, his wife identified the wedding ring on the finger,” Mellin said smugly, as if pleased to make his contribution.

“One print off one finger is all we need, Wentworth,” Captain Norbert said. “Prints don't lie. They never have and they never will.”

“Was a match made between the severed finger and the cadaver's hand?” Lyon asked. “Was a microscopic examination made to determine if the finger's severed bone matched the hand?”

The Medical Examiner looked thunderstruck. “Under the circumstances of identification, such tests did not seem warranted.”

“What about the teeth?” Lyon asked.

“Teeth! I'm always getting teeth!” Doctor Mellin seemed to be getting more and more agitated. “There is no central registry for teeth, you know. To compare physical dental work with the records, we have to know who the victim might be and who the dentist was. The decedent's wife did not know his dentist. I understand they had only been married a few months, and there did not seem to be any reason to pursue that avenue further.”

“We can get a court order to exhume the body,” Bea said.

Mellin downed the remainder of his drink and poured himself another while he shook his head. “The body was released to the wife and was cremated.”

“That's bad luck,” Lyon said, “but I understand that fluid analysis is very sophisticated these days. We might be able to at least exclude Dalton's identity.”

“Dumped,” Mellin said as he drank.

“What?”

“You were all so hot to have a fast report that we did our work, released the body, and destroyed the examined organs and fluids,” the doctor said. “Our files are closed.”

“As a matter of curiosity, who do you think we found out there?” Rocco asked.

“Considering everything, including relative size,” Lyon said, “I believe it was one of the men who worked for Carillo, the one called Stockton.”

“Then what happened to the other one?” Rocco asked.

“I expect that he is also dead.”

“Killed by Dalton Turman,” Norbert snorted.

“Probably.”

Norbert stood with feet apart and arms akimbo. “All this crap is because someone played a joke on you two this morning.”

“That's how it started,” Lyon said. “But everything fits if you assume that Dalton is alive.”

“Which would mean that he was the one who killed Katrina Loops,” Rocco said. “Probably because she knew too much.”

“We have arrested a man who the court saw fit to place under three hundred thousand dollars bond for that killing,” Norbert said. “When he goes to trial, we are going to nail his hide to the wall.”

“It's the wrong man,” Bea said as she poured Doctor Mellin another drink.

“I've had it!” Norbert shouted. “Do you know how much trouble you cause me, Wentworth? Whenever you get involved in police business you cause trouble. You shot a cop, for Christ's sake. You are also either a nut, incompetent, or drunk. And that's exactly what this conversation sounds like. You are a bunch of bored people sitting around a patio on a Sunday afternoon drinking too many Bloody Marys and creating nutty ideas about corpses that come alive. You are a bunch of professional drinkers who think they're amateur detectives.”

“I resent that,” Bea said as she hiccupped.

Doctor Mellin stumbled forward with raised fists. “You can't talk to Senator Wentworth that way.” He rushed at Captain Norbert, and when the police officer stepped aside, the Medical Examiner fell over the parapet and disappeared from view.

“I think this party is deteriorating,” Rocco said.

“And we know about you, Herbert,” Norbert said. “You are a proven drunk who sees snakes. God only knows what Wentworth sees.”

“Would you believe furry animals with long snouts and beady little eyes?” Bea laughed.

“I believe it. God, do I believe it,” Norbert said as he stalked from the patio. “And to think I could have been playing golf with the major and letting him cheat a little,” they heard him say as he left slamming the front door.

“Someone ought to see if the Medical Examiner is dead,” Rocco said. “Because if he is, we have a real problem of who to call.”

Lyon squinted into the early-morning sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. He groaned and tweaked Bea's big toe that protruded from under the sheet. She groaned. He searched the room and picked up dropped clothing from various locations and pulled on khaki pants, a sport shirt, and slipped into topsiders. When he went downstairs he passed the living room where Rocco's long frame overlapped the couch. The coffee had almost finished perking when the front door opened.

Martha Herbert, followed by her daughter, Remley, stalked into the living room. She threw a handful of clothes at Rocco. Their daughter dropped a shaving kit on his head. The large police chief moaned and sat up as Lyon sank a coffee mug into his hand.

“Good morning, dear,” Rocco said to his wife.

“She's not speaking to you,” his daughter replied.

“I called last night and told you that I was working on a case,” Rocco mumbled.

“A case of vodka,” Martha snorted before she retraced her stalk back to her car.

“This is another example of the decadent idle rich taking advantage of the working class,” Remley said. “Once again the bourgeois have seduced the workers by enticing them with grape in order to close their eyes against the inequalities of the system.” She glanced at her father once more before following her mother to the car.

“That's got a nice ring to it,” Bea said as she shuffled into the kitchen.

“I didn't know we were that decadent,” Lyon said as he poured coffee for Bea.

“We absolutely drink too much.”

“And I didn't know we were rich.”

“I know for a fact that's untrue,” Bea said.

“I never really think about money, there always seems to be enough.”

“That's your problem, Went. People who aren't rich should always think a lot about money.”

“You've got to do something for me,” Lyon said.

“Don't ask much. I'm not up to it. Thank God the Senate's not in session today.”

“I want you to keep the Medical Examiner here all day. I don't want him to have any phone calls or contact with anyone.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Bea asked. “Seduction?”

“He has a liquor capacity of exactly one drink. It shouldn't be too difficult.”

“Everything's going to be difficult today,” Rocco said as he entered the kitchen and leaned against the wall.

“I'd like you to come with me,” Lyon said to Rocco. “I need you to follow Pan after I give her certain information.”

“What information?” Bea asked.

“That Doctor Mellin has discovered that the body wasn't Dalton's.”

“Come on, Lyon, that's a lie, and you are one hell of a bad liar,” Bea said.

“Not when I really believe what I'm saying.”

Doctor Mellin, immaculately groomed and looking none the worse for wear, entered and smiled at them. “Thank you so much for a wonderful time. I really must run.”

Lyon went quickly to the refrigerator and poured a large glass half full of fresh orange juice. With his back to the others except Rocco, he laced the drink with a large dollop of vodka. “Please have some juice before you rush off,” he said to the doctor as he handed him the glass.

Doctor Mellin gratefully took the juice and drank almost all of it. “I feel so terrible that I'd kill myself except that Barton would do the autopsy, and he does such sloppy work. Do you know, I'm feeling better already.” He drank the remainder of the juice. “In fact, I think I'll have another, if that's all right?” Lyon prepared another spiked OJ as Mellin plunked a small radio device on the table. “I found this in the room and tried to tune in the news this morning. Dumb of me, it seems to be some sort of ham radio.”

“So much for my housekeeping,” Bea said as she picked up Pan's receiving device. “I thought she had taken it with her.”

“Where's the bug we found in the mattress?” Lyon asked.

“In the middle kitchen drawer,” Bea said.

Lyon searched the drawer until he found the transmitter and pocketed it along with the receiver.

“I could use one of those orange juices,” Rocco said.

“We have to go,” Lyon answered as he dragged Rocco from the room.

The Medical Examiner raised his glass in a toast to their departure.

14

The police cruiser swerved out of the driveway and rocked violently on its shocks when it hit the highway straightaway. Rocco flipped on the dome lights and siren as he increased speed to ninety.

“I think you're teed off about something,” Lyon said as both hands frantically clutched the dashboard.

“I wanted some of that orange juice you were feeding the ME.” The cruiser fishtailed as they cornered and Rocco momentarily fought for control.

“If you don't kill us in the next five minutes, we have a lot to do today.”

Rocco gave him a grumpy look but did switch off the siren as he reduced speed to a saner fifty. “You have it all wrong. Within the incorporated city limits of Murphysville, I am in charge of all police activity. You are a civilian, subject to my orders in all matters concerning crime, investigations, and keeping the peace. Is that understood?”

“Of course.”

“All right then, what are we going to do?”

“I am going to talk to Pan and plant the bug in her cottage. You will listen, and also keep her under surveillance from a spot on top of Malvern Hill.”

As Lyon walked through the entrance, he could see that the resort had been rejuvenated. Men were back at work, new deliveries of construction material had been made, and there was an aura of renewed vitality. He stopped before the door to Pan's cottage and looked over his shoulder. On a small rise in the distance, he could barely see Rocco's cruiser through the foliage. He knocked on the door.

“The door's unlocked. Just leave the groceries on the table,” a muffled feminine voice said from the interior.

He stepped into the living room and was surprised at the amount of cartons piled four and five high throughout the small room. A shower, barely audible over the strains of rock music, could be heard in the bathroom located off the bedroom. He quickly flipped open the lids of several unsealed cartons. They seemed to contain a great many books, picture albums, and photography equipment, along with a mundane collection of ordinary household goods.

He slipped the tiny transmitter bug from his pocket and unscrewed the mouthpiece of the telephone receiver. He attached the bug inside and rescrewed the lid. The device would not only pick up phone conversation, but would transmit ordinary room conversation.

Pan walked into the room wearing a towel turban and nothing else. She gave a gasp when she saw him and retreated back into the bedroom. “My God, I thought the delivery boy had left.”

“Sorry,” Lyon shouted to her.

The door opened a crack and she peered at him through the aperture. “What do you want, Wentworth?”

“All these boxes really clutter up the place,” Lyon said.

“I was moving everything from the house Dalton sold to the boat, but never had a chance to finish.”

“That was convenient,” Lyon said.

She stepped back into the room. “Yeah, I'm a real lucky widow to have all my mementos.” She was still nude, and walked provocatively to an end table and picked up a package of cigarettes. She slowly lit one and exhaled. “Seen enough?”

He didn't answer.

“You may as well make a move. You already got blamed for it anyway.” She pushed a box to the side and sat on it. “Well?”

He looked into her eyes, but they stared back at him without revelation. “Well, what?”

“Why in the hell are you here?”

“I will always be beholden to Dalton for saving my life. You are the only way I can communicate with him.”

“I never learned how to talk with the dead, sorry.”

“Dalton's alive.”

She mashed her cigarette out on the floor in a violent gesture. “That's not funny. It's mean and sadistic.”

“Rocco Herbert is a good friend of mine, and he's related to Captain Norbert of the State Police. They told me, in strictest confidence, that the Medical Examiner has come up with positive proof that the body we identified is not Dalton.”