Murder at the Mikado (12 page)

Drew gave him a sympathetic smile. “That’s rather a leap, isn’t it? Over such a trivial matter?”

Landis looked sheepish. “That would be Fleur. One moment purring like a kitten, the next, claws out and yowling. One can never tell about the fair sex.”

“Quite. So you didn’t tell the police this when they originally questioned you?” Drew asked.

“I didn’t think that it mattered. It had nothing to do with Ravenswood.”

“What about last night, Mr. Landis?” Madeline asked. “Do you know where your wife was? Was she at home again?”

“Yes, of course she was.”

“And you were with her?” Drew asked.

“She slept next to me all night.”

“You’d have noticed if she got up, would you?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve always been a light sleeper. It doesn’t take much to—”

Landis broke off when Birdsong emerged from his office giving instructions to a rather sturdy-looking constable. When the constable hurried off, Birdsong turned to Drew.

“There you are, Mr. Farthering.” He shook Drew’s hand and nodded to Madeline. “Miss Parker. Won’t you both come into my office?”

Landis looked at him, a desperate hope in his eyes, and Birdsong’s face was professionally sympathetic. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Landis, would you wait out here? We’ll be just a few minutes.”

With a nod, Landis sank back down onto the bench as Drew and Madeline followed the chief inspector into his office.

B
irdsong offered Drew and Madeline each a chair and then sat down at his desk. “I suppose Landis told you what’s happened.”

Drew nodded. “He said the wardrobe girl, Tess Davidson, was murdered last night.”

“She was strangled with the cord from the iron, the one they use on the costumes.”

Birdsong pushed a file folder across the desk. Drew opened it, looked inside, and swiftly closed it. “You may not want to see this, darling.”

Madeline pressed her lips together. “Is it pictures of the body?”

Drew nodded.

“All right,” she said. “I can take it.”

He opened the folder again. The first photograph showed the girl huddled in the corner of what looked to be a closet in the wardrobe room at the theater. There were costumes hung on a rod along the back and a large box of military-looking
hats in the corner. Judging from the cloth wadded in her hands, and the clothes hanger that had slid out onto the black-and-white linoleum floor, she must have pulled one of the pirate costumes down as she was being strangled. The cord from the iron was still around her neck.

“What happened to the iron itself?” Drew asked as he thumbed through the other photographs, close-ups of the cord, the costume clutched in her stiff hands, her blanched, distorted face.

“The iron’s still on the ironing board,” Birdsong replied. “There in the wardrobe room. The killer evidently cut the cord off with the shears from the sewing kit they keep. I rather wondered why our murderer didn’t bash the girl on the head with the iron, though. Just to make sure.”

Drew studied one of the photographs again. She was just a wisp of a girl. It wouldn’t take much for anyone, male or female, to make away with her. “Why do you think Mrs. Landis did it?” he asked.

Birdsong frowned. “She was a suspect in the Ravenswood murder. She was seen at the theater that night after the performance.”

“Not really.” Drew glanced at Madeline and then back at the chief inspector. “Even Benton doesn’t claim he actually saw her face.”

“Perhaps not,” Birdsong said, “but it does make her a suspect in this case. Not likely to have two murders in the same little theater without them being connected, eh?”

“Landis tells me his wife was at home last night,” Drew said. “Benton doesn’t claim he saw her at the theater again, does he?”

“No.”

“That’s hardly enough to arrest someone on,” Drew protested. “Why would Mrs. Landis want to have killed this girl anyway?”

Madeline narrowed her eyes at the chief inspector. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you haven’t told us or you wouldn’t have arrested her.”

Birdsong nodded gravely. “It seems our killer left behind a tassel from her cloak. It’s unquestionably Mrs. Landis’s. Even her husband can’t deny it or explain it away.”

There was a knock, and then the door opened and a uniformed officer leaned in. “A Mr. Clifton to see you, sir, on the Landis case.”

“Right,” Birdsong said. “Send him in.”

The officer stepped back, and a tall, somber-looking man came into the room and shut the door behind him. Drew and Birdsong both stood.

“Mr. Clifton,” the chief inspector said, shaking the man’s hand. “I believe you know Mr. Farthering here.”

Clifton shook Drew’s hand, too. “Indeed. Good afternoon, Mr. Farthering. Mr. Landis told me you were here.”

“Good afternoon. Madeline, this is Mr. Clifton from our firm of solicitors. Mr. Clifton, may I present my fiancée, Miss Madeline Parker?”

“Miss Parker.” Clifton nodded, then turned back to the chief inspector. “Mr. Landis says I’m to make Mr. Farthering and Miss Parker privy to anything we discuss. If that’s all right with you, I have a few questions.”

“Certainly,” Birdsong said. “Won’t you sit down?”

Clifton accepted the invitation. “Apart from the matter of the tassel, which could easily have been planted to incriminate my client, what else do you have against her, Chief Inspector?”

“Mrs. Landis was implicated in the Ravenswood killing. Now she is implicated in this one. It can hardly be a coincidence.”

“And hardly proof positive, either,” Clifton said. “Mr. and Mrs. Landis claim she was at home all evening.”

The telephone on the desk rang, and after excusing himself, Birdsong answered it. His eyes grew shrewdly pleased at what he heard on the other end of the line.

“Perhaps we ought to have Mr. Landis in after all,” he said once he had rung off. He quickly went to the door and opened it. “Mr. Landis, if you please.”

Landis hurried in, and the chief inspector shut the door behind him. There were no more chairs, so Drew gave Landis his next to Clifton and moved to stand behind Madeline. Chief Inspector Birdsong sat behind his desk once more.

“Now, Mr. Landis, would you care to tell us where you and your wife were last night?”

“We were home.” Landis glanced at Drew. “Asleep.”

Birdsong nodded. “And tell us who is likely to have access to your car.”

Landis looked puzzled. “My car? Our driver, Phillips, of course. Me. Sometimes my wife.”

“One of my men has been at your home, sir, questioning your staff. It seems your car was moved sometime in the night.”

“Moved?”

“So your man says. He left a pan under it because he noticed an oil leak. This morning it wasn’t in the same place.”

“The pan?” Drew asked.

Birdsong shook his head. “The pan was where he put it, on top of a stain in the cement. But the car had been moved. Not much, but moved all the same. And not by him.”

Landis opened his mouth to speak, but Clifton put a cautioning hand on his arm. Landis immediately shook him off.

“Excuse me, but I have nothing to hide. If that car was moved last night, it wasn’t moved by me or my wife.”

“So you absolutely vouch for your wife’s whereabouts?”

“I do. She had taken a sleeping tablet and gone to bed. It was something she often takes, and she sleeps quite soundly afterward. She was still sleeping when I woke this morning. I tell you, it couldn’t have been Fleur.” Landis had both hands clenched into fists now, and his jaw was tight.

“And neither of you drove the car?” Clifton asked, his voice calm.

Landis shook his head. “No. She was asleep, I tell you. She didn’t even know when I got into bed with her.”

Birdsong leaned forward. “Is there anything else you would like to add, Mr. Landis?”

Landis glanced at Drew and then shook his head again.

“Until I can speak to the judge about bail, I take it Mrs. Landis will remain in your custody, Chief Inspector,” Clifton said.

“That’s right.” Birdsong stood. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Landis. We will be sure to keep you informed about the case.”

“Very well then.” Clifton stood, shook hands once more with Birdsong and with Drew and then bowed to Madeline. “Thank you all for your time. I think you’d be better off at home now, Mr. Landis.” He took Landis by the arm and led him, unprotesting, out of the office.

“You’ve talked with all the staff at Landis’s, have you?” Drew asked the chief inspector once they had gone.

“Yes.”

“Did any of them see Mrs. Landis leave during the night?”

“No,” Birdsong admitted. “That doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t this Phillips, the driver, have heard something if the car was moved in the night?”

Birdsong shook his head. “Sergeant Price says the man’s rather hard of hearing.”

“So he wouldn’t have known if the car was moved the night Ravenswood was killed, either.”

“Price did ask him that. And no, he wouldn’t have. Anything else, Detective Farthering?”

“No.” Drew and Madeline both stood. “Though I’m led to believe you have not yet given any reply to the wedding invitation you were sent. You aren’t going to disappoint us, are you, Chief Inspector?”

“I, uh . . .” The chief inspector’s thick mustache twitched, and there was an extra tinge of color in his face. “It is most kind of you both to invite my wife and me, but, well . . .”

“No need to make a fuss over it, Chief Inspector, neither you nor Mrs. Birdsong,” Drew said. “We’d be delighted to have you come. Practically the whole village will be there at the church, and you needn’t stay long.”

“Well, of course, but—”

“You mustn’t say no.” Madeline took the chief inspector’s arm, beaming at him. “You really mustn’t. If it weren’t for you, we would likely not be getting married at all.”

“Me, miss?”

Drew fought a laugh, seeing the usually imperturbable chief inspector look even more flustered than before. “She’s right, you know. That was a near thing, our last little adventure, and only then did my dear Madeline realize how desperately she loved me.”

Madeline raised one eyebrow. “I was thinking more along the lines that you didn’t actually die.”

“Well, there is that,” Drew said sunnily. “Come now, Chief Inspector, do say you’ll come. We absolutely cannot get married without your august presence.”

Birdsong gave them both a nod. “If you’re certain, sir, miss, the wife and I would be most honored to accept.”

“Excellent.” Drew shook his hand. “Three o’clock on the tenth of next month, Holy Trinity in Farthering St. John.”

He escorted Madeline out into the corridor, and Birdsong followed them to his doorway.

“Well, if it isn’t the two of you together.”

Drew turned and saw Conor Benton rise from the bench where he had obviously been waiting, the same bench where Landis had sat just minutes before.

“Mr. Benton,” Drew said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Benton stalked over to them, barely sparing Madeline a glance, glaring at the hand Drew offered. “Are you happy now? She’s dead. She’s dead because you wouldn’t let them put that . . . that
woman
behind bars in the first place.” His face went all red and patchy, and his lips trembled. “I told you, Inspector, and I even told Farthering here. Neither of you did the least bit of anything about it, and now an innocent young girl lies dead.”

“We are using every resource available to us in this investigation, Mr. Benton,” Birdsong said, his voice calm and professional. “Your comments were duly noted when you made them. At that point in time, there was not enough evidence—”

“How about now?” Benton demanded. “Do you have enough evidence now? Tessie is lying on a slab in the morgue
with only a sheet to cover her, strangled to death. Is that proof enough?”

“Come along now,” Drew said, his voice gentle as he tried to take Benton’s arm. “Sit down for a bit.”

Benton shrugged him off with a gasping sob and then stood there shaking, fighting to compose himself.

“Mr. Benton,” Birdsong said after a moment. “Do sit down. Please, sir.”

Benton dropped back onto the bench and looked up at Birdsong. “She said she remembered hearing something Ravenswood said to Fleur before he was killed.”

The chief inspector raised both eyebrows. “Miss Davidson did? What was it?”

“I . . . I don’t know. She said it mightn’t be anything, so she didn’t like to say.” Benton fidgeted, his fingers in a helpless knot. “But she must have known something . . . something that pointed to Fleur as Johnnie’s killer.”

Drew shook his head. “That’s hardly proof, Benton. Why would she—?”

“Tess is dead! I told you, that’s proof enough!” Tears spilled from Benton’s red-rimmed eyes as he glared up at Drew. “I understand you’re about to be married.”

Drew nodded.

Benton jerked his chin at Madeline. “To her?”

Again Drew nodded, and he stepped a little to one side, putting himself between Benton and Madeline.

“Tell me, how would you like to be taken down to a cold, foul-smelling basement just to see her lying on a metal table with her face hardly recognizable?”

Madeline’s eyes widened, and her hold on Drew’s arm tightened. He pulled her closer. He hadn’t seen the body in
person, but in the photographs he had seen the girl huddled defenseless in the corner of the wardrobe room closet, her face distorted and full of blood. If that had been Madeline . . .

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Drew said. “Did she know?”

“I hadn’t . . .” Benton drew a painful, shuddering breath. “I hadn’t come out and said it, if that’s what you mean. I knew she was still hurting over Ravenswood, and I didn’t want her to think I was the same. I . . . I tried to show her in little ways, you know? Only as a friend at first.” He covered his eyes with one hand, and his shoulders shook. “She was just beginning to be happy again . . .”

“Why don’t we discuss it further but in a more private setting?” Drew suggested, giving Benton his handkerchief. “Something more suitable than this hallway, eh?”

Benton nodded and stood, and the four of them went back into Birdsong’s office. The actor took the seat the solicitor had been in, and the other three sat where they had before.

“Now,” Drew said, “you told the chief inspector you are sure you saw Mrs. Landis hurrying out of the theater the night Ravenswood was killed. Are you still certain of that?”

“Yes. I’m certain it was Fleur. I recognized that cloak of hers with the tassels. She had the hood up and was nearly running, but it was Fleur all right. Even if I hadn’t recognized the cloak, I could tell by the way she moved. I thought at the time it might have been Tess, but then I realized it wasn’t. Tess was such a slip of a thing. Not so tall as Fleur and not so . . . well, not shaped the same way. I didn’t know why Fleur would be there at all. She hadn’t been at the performance or at the party. But, even running, she’s always had a particular grace to her. I don’t know what it is, almost hypnotizing in its perfection. It was like seeing one of Botticelli’s angels
step out of a painting and onto the pavement.” He glanced at Drew. “You know what I mean?”

Drew nodded, avoiding Madeline’s suddenly cool gaze. Fleur did have a way about her.

“And you saw no one else that night?”

Benton shook his head.

“All right,” Drew said. “What about this morning? You didn’t see anyone? Not Grady? None of the other actors?”

Benton pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head. “Nobody had come in yet. I was in my dressing room.”

“So you came in earlier than usual?” Madeline asked. “Why?”