Death Under the Lilacs (20 page)

“I've known those people since I was in grade school,” Rocco said. “Well, not Jamie and Elsie—I've known them since
they
were in grade school and I used to do school crossings. I'd stake my life on any of them.”

“Why don't we finish working with the recorder,” Bea said. “It will give us a time fix that we can compare to the sign-out sheet. It might tell us something.”

Bea and Rocco huddled over the small machine as Lyon walked back into the main part of the building. Little had changed, and it was oppressively quiet. At the front desk, Elsie Summer was still busy. Her movements, as she turned from radio to front desk and around to the telephone, reminded him of the little tramp's activity as he worked on the assembly line in the movie
Modern Times
. There was a relentless, nearly frantic movement to her body, and it was no wonder that she was vague over identification of anyone except Roy.

“Elsie, are all the badges accounted for?”

“Yes, Mr. Wentworth.”

He walked pensively back to the office. Rocco looked up as he entered and switched off the recorder. “We've got it; like a look?”

“Sure would.” Lyon took the pad with Bea's meticulous notes and slouched down on the couch to read the time breakdown.

Rocco had made a notation of the date and time when the first visitor, Traxis, had been announced. The tape had continued running until they had all left the room at the announcement of the discovery of the body. Names and times were specific:

“Whoever killed Reuven had twelve minutes to do it in,” Lyon said.

Rocco looked depressed. “It would seem so.”

“And during that time no one else came in or out of the building.”

“It's a slow day,” Rocco said. “If I didn't have a murder in my basement, I would hardly know what to do with myself.”

Bea took the notes off Lyon's lap. “There must be a clue in here somewhere.” She ran her finger down the names and times. “How do we know that someone puts down the right time?”

“There's a clock right next to the sheet by the door,” Rocco said. “Whoever's working the desk enters the time. There could be a slight error of perhaps a minute or two, but no more.”

Bea shook her head. “I don't see it then. There's probably something here staring us in the face, but I don't know what it is. Someone had to kill Reuven, return his badge, and leave the building in his place. How could that be? Everyone else signed out. There was no one in the station except us and three officers on duty.”

“Holy Jesus, Bea,” Rocco said, “if I knew the answer to that, I'd have myself a murderer. I can't even figure out how it was done without worrying about how they got in here.”

“I think I have something on that,” Lyon said. “Let's recreate it.” He walked into the hallway, followed by Bea and Rocco. “Whoever it was, whether one of the people we interviewed or someone else who gained access to the station, they stood in this room.” He walked into the room beyond Rocco's office, which contained the fingerprint equipment and camera. “This room is hardly ever used and was almost certain to be vacant during the time we're interested in.”

“Sometimes we book and print a perp every other week,” Rocco said.

Lyon stood in the corner of the room beyond the door. His position gave him a clear view of the hall nearly to the front desk. “I can see anyone coming down the hall.”

Rocco and Bea hovered near him and checked the sight lines. “Reuven would be coming toward my office next door,” Rocco said.

“The killer stepped out into the hallway when he saw him coming. Reuven had never been in this building before, had he?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“He or she stepped into the hallway and beckoned to Reuven. The victim responded, and they went down the steps into the basement.” Lyon turned the corner and started down the stairs toward the holding cells. “He let the victim proceed ahead by three steps. When he reached the basement level, the killer slipped the wire over Reuven's neck. He probably placed his knee in the small of his back and twisted the wire.”

“And no one heard a sound,” Bea said.

“If the garrote is closed firmly and quickly enough, there's no possibility of the victim making any sound except perhaps a low gurgling that wouldn't have carried to the top of the stairs.”

Rocco nodded. “Then he dragged the unconscious body into the open cell, took off the victim's belt, and hanged him from the grillework.”

“And then dropped the key in Reuven's pocket, took the victim's badge, and signed himself out in the murdered man's name,” Bea said.

“That's all just dandy,” Rocco said. “Except how in hell did he get in here in the first place?”

Captain Norbert's amplified phone voice filled Rocco's office. As usual, Rocco sat with his chair pushed back and his feet on the desk. Lyon and Bea sat together on the couch.

“I'm drawing up the search warrant now,” Norbert said. “Since Reuven had a room in the Traxis home, we have every right to toss the whole damn place.”

“You had better make the warrant as inclusive as possible,” Rocco said. “Anything you find not on the list is tainted evidence.”

“I know that! Why in the hell do you think I'm calling you? I'm going to tell the judge that Reuven was a prime suspect in a kidnapping, attempted murder, and conspiracy. In addition, since he was a murder victim, we need a thorough search. Which is all going to give us one hell of a good shot at Traxis.”

“What do you have on the warrant so far?”

“Ski masks, chloroform, the list of valuable stamps, and any evidence of van keys. We're still looking for that sucker.”

“None of the suspects has a van registered to him?” Bea asked.

“Hell, no. We checked that out a long time ago, but they could have rented one under an assumed name or stolen one. Can you think of anything else to include?”

Rocco looked at Bea and Lyon as they shook their heads. “That's it, Norbie. Good hunting.”

“Would that we were so lucky.” The connection was broken, and the hum of the dial tone filled the room.

“What would we have to find in order to indict Traxis?” Lyon asked.

Rocco's feet clumped to the floor as he leaned across the desk. “Well, a diary, written in his own hand with a signature at the bottom of each page wherein he confessed to everything in sufficient detail for us to find other corroborating evidence, would help.”

“I'm serious.”

“In the first place, I don't bring the indictment, right? Norbie prepares the information and evidence and sends it to the state's attorney, who would issue a warrant … maybe. Then we go before the grand jury, who may or may not make a presentment; then we go to trial.”

“You're a big help.”

“Sorry. My cynicism increases with the years. It's getting harder and harder to get these guys, Lyon. If he walks in here with the loaded gun still smoking and confesses in the presence of his lawyer … then we have a good case.”

“If not?”

“Then Norbie has to find something awfully incriminating. With Reuven dead, it's going to take very hard evidence to bring charges against Traxis.”

“You're attacking my liberal sensibilities,” Bea said.

“When I was in London and told the fellows over there our rules on evidence, Miranda and the whole smear, they were rolling in the pub aisles.”

“I'm surprised to hear that,” Lyon said. “The English judicial system has always seemed very fair to me.”

“It is,” Rocco said. “They have a sense of fair play over there that is not to be believed, and that's what's saved them. They aren't hobbled like we are because they never abused the system in the first place.”

They stood in front of the police station blinking in the warm afternoon sun. Lyon felt tired. The kaleidoscope of events had been disconcerting.

“I had better go grocery shopping,” Bea said in a quiet voice.

“I'll drive you to the shopping center and browse in the bookstore.”

“I don't think I'm up to the shopping center yet. I'll just pick up a few things at Walt's Market.”

He glanced at her with concern. “You feel all right?”

“Are we caught in some web that's going to entangle us the rest of our lives?”

“He'll be caught, or he might already be dead.”

“Maybe.” Bea, followed by Jamie Martin, started across the street and up the short walk to the green and Walt's Market. Lyon knew she did not care to shop there. It was expensive and catered to older women who ordered single chicken breasts and had the order delivered.

“I'll meet you back at the car,” he called after her. She didn't answer and continued up the street. Her shoulders were slightly hunched forward, and her steps were hesitant, as if the forward motion of her body had to test the firmness of the way before she shifted weight to the next step.

His wife had been violated. The shock of the trauma was still festering. It was this limbo in which they were existing that continued her fear.

He had read that women who had been raped were never again the same. Forever after they shied from dark corners and never felt a true sense of security.

This was why men often yearned for the combat of war. The necessity to face a known enemy of physical proportions could be a relief from nameless fear.

There was something about his earlier recapitulation of the murder that bothered him, and he thought he knew where to find the answer.

Lyon turned and began to walk back a block to the Murphysville Town Hall.

There was a small bag of groceries in the rear of the station wagon when Lyon returned to the car. Bea was sitting in the front seat on the passenger's side looking straight ahead. She gave a start and glanced at him apprehensively when he opened the door.

“Where's Jamie?” he asked.

“Gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don't want any more guards or keepers. One way or the other, I've got to get through this without Jamie and his shotgun.”

15

“I am not going to eat breakfast sitting on the kitchen floor.”

“Lean back against the cupboards. It's really quite comfortable,” Lyon said as he demonstrated.

“This is nonsense.”

“You always said the kitchen floor was clean enough to eat off.”

“I didn't mean that literally.” Bea grasped the edge of a kitchen counter and pulled herself erect. She began to do busywork around the coffee percolator.

“You're in the line of fire,” Lyon said softly. “Anyone with a high-powered rifle could get you through the window.” He pushed her shoulders gently until she took two steps away from the window.

“I'm not going to live this way, Lyon. I want to go back to work. I want to go to the Capitol and do my business, and go shopping again. I want to live normally.”

“I suppose we could eat in the cellar.”

“We are going to eat in the breakfast nook in exactly five minutes. I will then go to work and you will take your bod into the study and attempt to write great children's literature.”

He knew her mind was set, and he slid into the nook.

They were midway through fat western omelets when the car careening up the drive caused them both to stop eating with forks poised in midair. “You know that's Rocco,” Lyon said. “In five seconds he'll be in here demanding coffee.”

“Where's the coffee?” Rocco said from the kitchen doorway a few moments later. “There's good news this morning.”

“We could use some.”

Rocco pulled a mug from a cabinet and filled it with coffee. “Norbie and the boys tossed the Traxis house last night.…”

“And?”

Rocco slid into the breakfast nook and whipped a Polaroid snapshot from his pocket. “It's almost the smoking gun,” he said as he handed the picture to Lyon.

Lyon examined the picture a moment. “It's a United States 1918 24-cent inverted airmail.”

“You're damn right it is.”

“That's one of the ransom stamps,” Bea said.

“Found in the Traxis private collection. Didn't he tell you that he didn't have an inverted airmail?”

“Yes, he sure did.”

Bea smiled. “Traxis knew that Reuven had been asked to headquarters for an interrogation.”

“We call them interviews now,” Rocco corrected.

“He was afraid that I might identify Reuven, which would implicate him.”

“That's how we see it,” Rocco said.

“You know there were a hundred of those inverted airmails on the original sheet,” Lyon said. “Traxis could have bought one honestly.”

“And lied to you;”

“True.”

“Traxis has one; he lied about it.”

“He has the money to buy it legitimately.”

Rocco shook his head. “Reuven snatched Bea, held her, and Traxis collected the stamps in London. Reuven had the MO for what he did, and Traxis had a double motive.”

“What about the other stamps?”

“They haven't turned up yet, and we assume that he sold them in Europe.”

“Is it enough for the grand jury?” Bea asked.

“Norbie's with the state's attorney right now. It's going to be a tough one, what with the rules of evidence being what they are and the high-powered legal talent we can expect Traxis to muster. But we'll get the bastard—if we have to plea-bargain with him.”