Death Through the Looking Glass (12 page)

“The houseboy is taking inventory now.”

“He wasn't killed in the house,” Lyon said.

“And how in hell do you come up with that?” the trooper captain asked, turning a light shade of red.

“He's got his shoes on.”

“So?”

“He would have taken them off automatically in the outside vestibule.”

“I think he's right,” Rocco agreed.

“Don't just stand there!” Norbert yelled at the two corporals. “Check around the house.”

As if propelled by a released spring, the two troopers moved quickly from the room. In a few moments, Lyon could see one of them walking heavily through the
hira-niwa
, kicking the smoothed ruffles of sand. He cringed. “What does Koyota say?”

Norbert looked puzzled. “Who?”

“Esposito's butler-houseman.”

“Like the report said, he called us when he found the body. Last night he prepared and served dinner, then left for the night, and didn't return until eight this morning.”

“I'd like to talk to him,” Lyon said.

They found the Japanese houseman in a front room, with an insurance list attached to a clipboard. He moved slowly through the room, checking items against the list. He bowed silently as Rocco and Lyon entered, then cast a rueful look at their shod feet.

“Anything missing?” Rocco asked.

“It would seem not. I have one more room to inventory, but the more valuable pieces have been accounted for.”

“We just found six hundred bucks in the deceased's wallet,” Norbert said from the doorway. “Robbery's out.”

“Would you please describe all your activities yesterday?” Lyon asked.

“I cleaned house in the morning, dusted, waxed, and paid special attention to the garden and pool. Mr. Esposito was very particular about the pool and insisted that no additives be placed in the water, so it must continually be cleaned thoroughly. I spent most of yesterday afternoon scrubbing the pool. When Mr. Esposito arrived home at six, I prepared and served dinner. I left before seven.”

“The medical examiner will want the exact contents of the meal you served.”

“It was one of his favorites. He had it at least once a week.”

“Which was?”

“
Gohan, osuimono, sashimi, tempura, tsukemono
and
chawan mushi.
”

“That's a hell of a big help,” Captain Norbert said from the doorway.

“Translate, please.”

“Rice, soup, raw fish, shrimp in batter, pickled vegetables and custard.”

“What about your whereabouts last night, Koyota?”

The diminutive Japanese bowed with a slight smile. “I believe there is an American saying—was getting ashes hauled.”

“Laid?”

“The two ladies of the night will testify if necessary.”

“Two?” Rocco asked incredulously.

“Their other friend was indisposed.”

Perspiration beaded Sarge's forehead as he wrestled the beer keg under the bar, tapped it, and ran foam from the spigot until he'd bled it properly.

“Do you have any Dry Sack under there?” Lyon asked.

“You bet.” A bottle was plunked on the bar, and a glass slid along the polished surface. “Where's the chief?”

“He'll be along.”

“Ever tell you about the time we were pinned down near Inchon, and the chief—he was a captain then—held a mortar with his bare hands and …”

Lyon had heard the story several times and knew he'd hear it again. He tried to concentrate through Sarge's tale of charging Chinese and Rocco's courage. Esposito had been involved with Giles, and the two dead men had been involved with two others in the tontine. If Esposito was involved, there had to be a great deal of money in the situation. Since Giles was involved, the situation required legal expertise. But who were the others?

“Got a dollar's worth of change, Sarge?”

“Hey, you usually ask for a dime.”

“This call's to Hartford.”

Sarge rang the register and flipped the quarters to Lyon. “Know how much change you've borrowed over the years?”

“I'll settle up next time I come in,” Lyon said as he dialed the state capital from the wall phone.

“I put her on the windjammer cruise and waved bye-bye until it was out of sight,” Bea said when she picked up on her extension. “No way she can get off without swimming through shark-infested waters.”

“I need you to run a check on a corporation for me, hon …”

“Sure. What's the name?”

“I don't know.”

“It's harder that way, Lyon,” Bea said with a trace of sarcasm.

“Esposito and Giles were probably two of the officers, and I'd like to know the names of the other officers and major stockholders.”

“Lyon, this office has over forty-three thousand domestic corporations registered, not including churches and foreign corporations.”

“I thought that if you looked through the forms and picked out the one that had both Esposito's and Giles's names …”

“You're stark raving mad! We'd have to examine each and every file!”

“Thanks, Bea. 'Preciate it. And listen, don't run them all, just corporations chartered in the last year or two.”

Rocco entered the bar slowly and gingerly slid onto the stool next to Lyon. A drink was wordlessly poured for him. Sarge and Lyon watched the police officer gulp it down.

“You look awful.”

Rocco signaled for another drink. “Do you know that in all my years of police work and military service, I thought I had seen everything? I've seen traffic accidents where we had to pry the bodies up with crowbars, and I've watched artillery landing in some poor guy's foxhole … but I had never been to an autopsy before. Do you know what the doctor does? He takes a knife and …”

“Never mind,” Lyon interrupted. “The results will be sufficient.”

“Death by drowning. A massive blow to the head rendered him unconscious, but he drowned in the pool.”

“Time of death?”

“He could fix it pretty definitely because of the progression of the rather distinctive food remnants in the digestive tract and the knowledge of exactly when he ate.”

“And?”

“Midnight. Give or take a few minutes either way.”

“He's sure of that?”

“Said he'd testify to it in court.”

Bea Wentworth put her hands on Kim's shoulders and stooped to peer over her deputy's shoulder into the microfilm reader. Pages blurred past until Kim stopped the wheel's movement and adjusted the focus.

“We came up with twenty other corporations with Giles named as an officer, but this is the only one that lists both him and Esposito,” Kim said.

“As a lawyer, he would often appear as an incorporator for his clients, but this is the one we want. Can you have a print made and bring it to my office?”

“Give me five minutes.”

Bea was lost in thought as she sat behind her desk. She made notes on a legal pad. The Darling Corporation's major listed activity was buying and selling real estate. She listed the four corporate officers. The notes trailed off into a scrawl that changed to doodles. Bea found that she had formed the outline of an airplane. She reached for the phone.

“Get me the director of the FAA in Washington,” she told her secretary. “The Federal Aviation Agency. Wait a minute—a deputy director will do, someone who handles the issuance of pilot's licenses.”

While Bea was talking to Washington, Kim entered and placed the print-out from the microfilm on her desk. Her eyebrows rose as Bea finished the call. “Well?”

Bea looked off into space, and then picked up the print-out. She studied it for a few minutes.

“Well?” Kim asked again.

“I think we have another job cut out for us.”

“What this time?”

Bea tapped the print-out. “The company was chartered just after the first of the year and lists its primary activity as real estate.”

“I see, said the blind man. You want to know what real estate they're fooling around with.”

“You know, Kim, you're bright.”

“I'm not bright enough to know how to do it. There's nothing in our records that will disclose real-estate transactions for any company, much less this Darling Corporation.”

“The town clerks will know.”

“Not another one hundred and sixty-nine calls?”

“Yep. Now, deeds in this state are filed by individual towns, and each town clerk can run the indices to find out whether any property has been conveyed to the Darling Corporation since its inception.”

“Come on, Beatrice. You know how some of those town clerks are: they're ancient, don't work very hard, and won't give you the time of day if they have to turn their heads to see the clock.”

“Tell them the request is from the governor.”

“You can be impeached, you know.”

“I know. And then we'd go back to the state Senate, where we belong.”

“I always enjoy a ride in the country,” Lyon said, “but will you please tell me where we're going?”

“NOPE!”

“You're looking as smug as the time you blocked MacKay from the gubernatorial nomination. The cat who ate the chicken sort of look.”

“THAT'S CANARY, WENTWORTH!”

“Whatever. You must have consumed the whole damn coop.”

“CAGE!”

“How come those hearing aids never seem to work right?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

The gently rolling Connecticut countryside sharpened as the road approached the Berkshire foothills in the northwest quadrant of the state. A gentle breeze sparked green hues off dense foliage as the road wound toward a small valley.

Lyon turned to Bea as she stopped in front of the village's town hall. “Penobscot? I never would have thought you had many supporters here.”

“They are a little reactionary,” Bea said as they walked up the steps. “In fact, last November, I think there were twenty write-in votes for King George III. I want to show you something on the land records.”

The town clerk's office, located at the rear of the building, consisted of a small front room with two desks and a large vault containing numerous heavy volumes of deeds and mortgages. A dour white-haired woman in her early sixties looked up from a ledger with a frown.

Bea smiled broadly and stepped forward to shake hands. “How good to see you again, Mrs. Wainwright.”

The clerk ignored Bea's hand. “Welfare chiselers should be hanged.”

“We were going to hang two or three hundred of them, but you know how the Supreme Court is.”

“Ought to hang them, too.”

Bea's smile remained transfixed. “I hope it's all right for the loyal opposition to look at a book or two in the vault?”

“They're public records.”

Lyon looked apprehensively at the heavy vault door as they stepped inside. “You don't suppose she'll lock us in, do you?” he whispered to Bea.

“There's always that possibility,” Bea replied. She ran a finger over several ledgers until she found the one she wanted. She lugged it to a high table and began to thumb through the pages of documents.

“Will you please tell me what's going on?”

“I'll have it in a minute. In the meanwhile, read this.” She handed Lyon the microfilm print-out of the Darling Corporation's charter.

While Lyon read the document, Bea pulled out two more volumes of land records and located the additional pages.

“Good God,” Lyon said softly.

“It's the only charter we could locate that had both Giles's and Esposito's names on it.”

“And the two others. It's hard to believe.”

“It doesn't necessarily prove anything.”

Lyon leaned against the vault wall, holding the document limply in one hand. “Toranga Blossom.”

“What did Rocco tell you about the Most Reverend Dr. Blossom? That he's the reincarnation of John the Baptist or something?”

“And Damon Snow's name.” Lyon thought over his relationship with the toy manufacturer for a moment. “Well, we know it's not Damon.”

“How's that?”

“Damon was at our house the night Esposito was killed. If you'll remember, at the exact time of the killing, midnight, he was drunk and attacking Robin.”

“And we were all with him when the plane went down.”

“But the Reverend Dr. Blossom … that's another question. What else do you have?”

“We ran the charter for the Darling Corporation, found four names listed, and their major activity described as real property.”

“And now you've discovered that Darling has property here in Penobscot.”

“Right.” Bea pointed to the first volume on the table. “In April the Darling Corporation purchased a large tract of land for eight hundred thousand dollars. On the same day they took out a land loan in the amount of four hundred thousand dollars.”

“Mr. E. mentioned a tontine. I can't figure out how that fits into a perfectly legal land purchase.”

“Four weeks later the Darling Corporation conveyed the same property to four individuals as joint tenants.”

Lyon looked at the deed. “Conveyed to Giles, Esposito, Blossom and Damon Snow. The tontine.”

“How's that?”

“I'll explain later. Right now, I'd like to look at that property.”

Using the property description from the deed and the large topographical map in the clerk's office, they were able to pinpoint the location of the acreage as being near the Interstate highway, several miles from the village center.

They parked on the grassy shoulder, with the car's wheels canted into a drainage ditch. Lyon held the rusty strands of barbed wire apart as Bea slipped between them and began to walk through the meadow. He bent to pick up a clump of dirt and let it run through his fingers. “Good land.”

“From what you've told me of Sal Esposito, I can't imagine him turning farmer.”