Husbands And Lap Dogs Breathe Their Last (23 page)

Studying the fragments confirmed that they were evidence—not conclusive evidence, but at least encouragement. The numbers suggested that his assumptions were, or at least might be, correct.

He folded the sheets and put them in a pocket. He walked toward his car. He kept the windows open on the drive home, in a valiant but futile effort to dissipate the stench from his clothes.

The next morning, Cummings started the day searching the Internet for costume rental companies. He set his wristwatch timer and considered the relative merits of each. When the buzzer went off, he picked the one with the largest selection of costumes within five miles of his house.

“May I help you?” a young man, dressed as a comic book superhero, asked as Cummings walked in.

“Yes. I need a repairman’s costume.”

“What sort of repairman?”

“Any sort as long as one would commonly find such a person fixing something in a home, such as air conditioning or plumbing.”

“Contemporary or historical?”

“Contemporary.”

“Are you in a play?”

“No. I’m going to a costume party,” Cummings lied.

“Honestly, being a repairman is a little boring. We have thousands of costumes here. Wouldn’t you like something with more sparkle? Zorro? Sasquatch? Mary, Queen of Scots?”

“A repairman’s costume will do fine.”

“Okay, but you won’t be winning any prizes with that!”

The clerk led Cummings to a dusty rack of men’s service uniforms, dating from perhaps 1950 on. Cummings perused his options and chose a gray jumpsuit with a corporate logo, Lefkowitz Appliances, stitched across the back and on the front of a matching cap.

“Do you rent props, too?” Cummings asked. “I’ll need a tool kit.”

“I’ll look around.”

“Good. Is there somewhere I can change into this?”

“You want to wear it out?”

“Yes. Why not?”

Cummings drove to Tom Daniels’s neighborhood and parked. He picked up his toolkit from the passenger seat, straightened his cap and walked toward the house.

“I’m here to repair the washer,” Cummings explained to Glenda, Tom’s cleaning person, who answered the door.

“Mister Daniels isn’t here. He went to the market.”

“He said he wouldn’t be in, but you would.” Cummings knew this because Tom had remarked that he normally went out on Tuesdays to allow his cleaning person to do her job. “I’m from Lefkowitz Appliances. Mister Daniels called and asked us to come fix the washer.”

“I guess you should come in then.”

“Thank you. Can you show me where it is?”

Glenda brought him into the laundry room, which was located off the kitchen. On the way by the back door to the house, Cummings noticed two trash bags waiting to be taken out. They were tied with plastic closures.

Glenda returned to her work as Cummings pretended to inspect the washing machine. He waited fifteen minutes. When he heard the muffled sound of a vacuum cleaner start up in some distant part of the house, he called out:

“All fixed. I’ll let myself out.”

He went to the back door, picked up the trash bags and took them through the landscaped yard. Alleys run behind almost all Chicago residential streets. Cummings was safe in assuming that beyond the cedar fence marking the end of the property, he’d find one — as indeed he did.

He opened the back gate. Tom had a small detached garage, also a common feature in Chicago residential neighborhoods. Cummings crouched to one side of it, out of view of the house.

He opened the bags and began carefully digging through the contents. He found what he was looking for quickly, a welcome contrast to his earlier trash explorations. He put the items of interest into a pocket and resealed the bag.

As he did so, he heard the sound of a car entering the alley. He stood up and walked away casually from the garage.

It quickly became clear there were two cars, not one. In the first Cummings recognized Tom Daniels. A police car was behind him.

Cummings casually walked another hundred yards or so, then moved to the side and stood behind a tree. The cars passed him. Cummings was now slightly obscured and far enough away not to attract undue attention, yet he was still within visual and aural range.

He watched as Tom’s garage door opened automatically and Tom drove in. The cruiser stopped, and two policemen got out. They ordered Tom out of his car.

“What is this about?” Tom asked, walking back into the alley.

“We’re placing you under arrest for the murder of Therese Hickok,” the first policeman said, brandishing a pair of handcuffs.

“You can’t be serious,” Tom protested.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law ...” the policeman continued, pushing Tom against the side of his garage and cuffing him.

Cummings wasn’t surprised. Indeed, he nodded his head in assent, wondering why the police hadn’t made the arrest sooner. He continued his walk down the alley away from Tom’s garage.

“Good afternoon, Rockland,” Cummings said. He was speaking on his cell phone in his car, still parked down the street from Tom’s home. “Is this a bad time to probe your remarkable mind?”

“I am not sure what would characterize a time as bad,” Rockland responded. “If you are seeking to learn whether I’m in a coma or otherwise intellectually indisposed, the answer is no.”

“I was just at Tom Daniels’s house. He’s been arrested for the murder of Therese Hickok.”

“Is that a surprise?”

“I don’t think so. He’s been our prime suspect for some time. I became even more certain about him during the last few days. Anyway, I was digging through Tom’s trash just before the police arrived. I found some printouts from the drug store — you know, the drug information they give you when you fill a prescription. Would you tell me what these drugs are used to treat?”

Cummings’s next stop was Otto’s house. Traffic was tangled, as it often is in Chicago, and it took him more than an hour to get there.

Mandrake did not open the door. Instead Cummings found himself greeted by an apparently distraught Otto. He was wearing sunglasses, and it was obvious that tears had been running down his face.

“What are you doing here?” Otto asked, not pleased to see Cummings.

“I want to speak to Mandrake.”

“He’s not here. He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“It’s been a horrific day, and we’ve just heard dreadful news! Tom’s been arrested for Therese’s murder. He just called and asked me to get him a lawyer. Mandrake took off the moment he heard. He literally ran out of the house! How could you do this, you son of a bitch?” Otto exclaimed.

“How could I do what?” Cumming asked.

“Throw Tom to the wolves! What do you think I mean?”

“I didn’t have anything to do with his arrest. May I come in?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let him in,” a voice behind Otto said. It was Sebastian. Otto didn’t move.

“Let him in!” Sebastian insisted.

Otto moved away from the door, and Cummings walked into the entryway. Sebastian stood a few feet away, proportionately as unemotional as Otto was overwrought.

“We didn’t have anything to do with this,” Sebastian said.

“Anything to do with what?” Cummings asked.

“With any of this,” Sebastian answered cautiously.

Cummings saw a shape in the corner of his eye. He glanced down the hallway. Barbara Cartland was lying on her side on the floor. She wasn’t moving.

“Is something wrong with the dog?”

“She’s dead,” Sebastian said. “We don’t know what happened. She just fell over. Possibly she had a heart condition.”

At this Otto began to wail with the emotional fervor of a Norse berserker about to attack a medieval monastery. He fell to his knees, crawled to Barbara’s lifeless body and keened over her remains.

“I imagine this is a difficult time for you,” Cummings said, understating the obvious. “I came by just now to tell you Tom had been arrested, but you seem to know that already. I also wanted to give you some additional information. Perhaps it will be of some comfort.”

“What information is that?” Sebastian asked.

“Tom is very ill. He has multidrug-resistant tuberculosis that doesn’t appear to be responding to treatment. He’s scared. He’s not thinking clearly. I think he wanted the brooch because of its reputed health properties. I believe he tried to buy it from Therese, but she wouldn’t sell it to him. So he decided to steal it by creating a diversion while she was speaking at the Mathers meeting. Of course, we know what happened — the diversion went out of control.

“From this point on I can only speculate. One of my theories is that Anunciación Hollingberry somehow figured out what had happened. Perhaps she’s very low on funds. She may have blackmailed Tom with help from Mandrake. Does that seem possible to you?” Cumming asked, relishing this moment of cat and mouse.

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened, isn’t it, Otto?” Sebastian said.

“What do you mean?” Cummings asked.

“That’s just what Mandrake told us,” Sebastian explained. “Before he ran away. Isn’t that right, Otto? Neither of us had any idea.”

“Is that what Mandrake said? Did he also mention the furniture polish?”

“What furniture polish?”

“It was used as an accelerant. The brand name is Heirloom Formula. It was invented by Anunciación’s husband. That’s how she was able to identify it as the cause of the fire.”

“I had no idea. Did Mandrake tell us that, Otto?”

“Leave me out of this,” Otto wailed.

“I think you need to confirm my story, Otto,” Sebastian said pointedly. “Otherwise, how is Cummings to know that we’re telling him the truth?”

“Indeed, particularly as there are some inconsistencies,” Cummings continued.

“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked.

“Anunciación just sold that furniture polish to an international conglomerate for an obscene amount of money, so it’s unclear why she might want to blackmail Tom.”

“But you just said ...”

“Yes, I did. Truthfully, I’ve already discarded that theory. I just wanted to see how you’d react. This leads me to my other theory, which seems to be the correct one. I spent some time in Boys Town the other night. I visited two of your bars, Sebastian. One has closed, and the other was practically empty. I also found several invoices from a liquor wholesaler in a trash bin behind your accountant’s office. They were ninety days past due.”

“That must have been an oversight.”

“I have also searched
Crain’s Chicago Business
for articles about your corporation. Apparently, you’re involved in several condo projects that the paper described as stalled. The economy’s taken such a toll on everyone, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has, which makes my circumstances far from unusual. I still have substantial assets.”

“Substantial is a relative term. Everyone has a budget and bills to pay. This is what I think happened: You and Otto saw Tom set the fire. Otto lied to the police in a misguided effort to protect Tom. That was understandable but foolish. Sebastian, you blackmailed Tom and told Otto that if he didn’t cooperate, you’d make sure the police knew Tom had committed the crime and Otto had tried to conceal it. You also forced Mandrake to participate. You killed the dog in the last day or two. I’m basing that on the state of her rigor mortis. Of course, that was before you heard about Tom’s arrest. That development might have led to a softer approach; but given that it’s you, who’s to say?”

“None of that’s true,” Sebastian insisted. “I love Otto.”

“I think you find him colorful, and your marriage is good for business. As to love, poor Otto doesn’t seem to have very good luck with men. Perhaps that’s why he’s a romance writer.”

“It’s true,” Otto blurted out, turning to face Cummings. “Everything you just said is true. Sebastian told me there would be hell to pay if I tried to stop him from blackmailing Tom. That’s why I told you I was the one being blackmailed and the brooch was missing. I thought if I sent you down the wrong road, perhaps you’d arrive at another solution that would keep Tom out of this mess.”

“That was very silly,” Cummings said.

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Otto said, bursting into tears again. “I write about love. My strength is atmosphere, not plots!”

The front door opened. Cummings saw Mandrake rush in through the doorway. Behind him were several policemen. The rivers of Middle Earth gushed down Mandrake’s cheeks as he ran to Otto and embraced him.

“Ah thought he’d murdurr ye!” Mandrake cried out.

“I’m fine,” Otto assured him, “just fine.” Turning to Sebastian he said, “I realize we’re about to be arrested, but I’m afraid there’s no good time to tell you this. I’m divorcing you, Sebastian. You know as well as I that we haven’t been happy for a long time. Mandrake and I have fallen in love. We plan to move to a nondenominational spiritual community outside of Fergus Falls.”

“That be a toon in Minnesota,” Mandrake added, passionately tightening his embrace around Otto’s waist.

On the drive home Cummings had a sense that he’d overlooked something. After a few minutes he realized what it was—a small detail, perhaps something that would turn out to be nothing, but it needed to be looked into.

He walked into the living room, where Odin was sipping a cup of tea and reading the newspaper. He looked decidedly more cheerful.

“Tom Daniels has been arrested.”

“Has he? So the case is closed?”

“Only part of the case. There’s still the murder in Maine and how the two murders are connected.”

“I think things are looking up at work,” Odin said. “They’re assigning me to a new project team. It tests sports equipment. If things go well, they said they’ll hire me full-time as soon as next month.”

“That’s great, Odin. We’ll celebrate when I get back. I’ll take you to dinner wherever you like.”

“Get back from where?”

“I need to make another trip to New England. Therese and Chess knew each other well. There must a connection between their murders. If not, it’s the biggest coincidence in mortality since Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died on the same Fourth of July. I think the information I’m looking for may be in Boston.”