The Death at Yew Corner (19 page)

“Wentworth! Wait a minute!” Bea grabbed the dog's loose leash and pulled the choke collar tight. She struggled after Lyon while pulling the recalcitrant dog. “Do you mean to say you wanted a dog for one measly test like that?”

“I wanted to verify my assumption.” He turned to her in shock. “You mean you thought we'd keep him?”

“You said you needed a dog, so I got a dog complete with papers.”

Lyon looked at the large animal sitting by Bea's side. His haunches were splayed to the side in that odd sitting position of a Great Dane. “Looks like a nice pooch,” he said before turning to go back to the house.

“Oh, my God!” Bea slapped her forehead. “What I wouldn't give to be back in the state senate where at least the insanity is formalized.” She jerked the leash. “Come on, Nicky. Follow that man.”

A carpenter was at work repairing the murder-room door as Lyon entered. The room was a disaster area. Rocco's men and state police had moved and overturned furniture. A thin layer of plaster dust filmed all the uncovered surfaces. They had driven spikes into the thick walls in an attempt to locate a possible alternate entrance. He went into the bathroom, knelt by the tub, and turned the faucet on and off several times before leaving it on to allow a flow of hot water to fill the tub and spew steam into the air.

“I left Nicky tied downstairs,” Bea said.

He let the stopper down and watched the flow of water slowly fill the tub: “Can I borrow your watch?”

“I didn't wear it this morning. You know, I gave you a watch for Christmas three years ago.”

“I need a clock with a second hand on it.” He left the bathroom and searched the room. The only clock available in the murder room was a clock-radio built into the bed's headboard. He stepped back into the hall and entered the room next door. It was a masculine bedroom with deep chairs and heavy carpeting. There was a small electric clock on the night table which he unplugged and took back into the bathroom. He replugged it into the electrical outlet on the wall next to the medicine chest.

“Checking the time it takes the tub to fill and overflow?” Bea asked.

“Yes. There's good pressure in the pipe system. It won't take long.”

They both watched the filling tub as the water level rose gradually. Small rivulets of steaming water brimmed the top of the tub and began to seep across the floor. They backtracked from the room as the small streams fought their way toward the bedroom door.

“There must be a nearly imperceptible slant to the floor,” Bea said.

“The house probably settled years ago.”

The instant the crest of water reached the bedroom door, Lyon turned off the tub. He glanced at the small clock on the sink. “What time does that clock in the headboard read?”

“Eleven fifteen.”

“This one's an hour behind.”

“What does that mean?”

“I'm not sure.”

“How long did the water take?”

“Eight minutes.”

“That's within the time span.”

“I know.”

Lyon walked over to the French doors leading out to the small balcony and began to inspect the windowpanes closely. Bea righted an easy chair in the corner and sat down to observe her husband over folded hands. He was completely absorbed in his thorough examination. She often wondered how her eccentric husband, who often forgot to wear socks, was able to bring every particle of his conscious mind to bear on the problem of murder. There were strange currents within this man that after all these years she barely understood. He pulled a small bench from the dressing table to stand on and see the door's upper panes.

“Find anything?”

“I think so.” He turned with a wry smile. “Let's look at the rest of the house.”

He took her hand as they walked through the large house. Occasionally Lyon would leave her side and examine a door, a wall, or an odd piece of furniture.

“We're not going to buy the place, you know,” she said.

“I would hope not. I find it oppressive.”

They stood in the living room where they had had cocktails at the time of the murder. Lyon walked to the telephone and lifted the receiver. He dialed random single numbers.

“Serena called Ramsey. He spoke to her for a few moments and then hung up. We talked for a few minutes in here and then went down the hall to the dining room.” Lyon walked into the hall with Bea following as he made his way slowly to the dining room. “Were we alone?”

“I think you and I were the first ones to arrive in the dining room.”

“It took a few minutes for the others to straggle in.”

“Barbara Rustman stopped at the powder room while Ramsey stepped into the kitchen. He probably had some last-minute instructions for the cook.”

“That's how I recall it. Still, we were all together a few minutes later.”

“It couldn't have been even five. That's not time enough for someone to rush upstairs, enter Serena's room, and kill her in that manner before returning to the dining room.”

“And that assumes the cooperation of Horace at the hall door and some way of getting through a locked door.”

“Which means that whoever killed her had to go through the French doors on the balcony.”

“Which were latched from the inside and guarded by a man on the outside below the window.”

“Entering the murder room from the outside would assume the cooperation of the exterior guard. The murderer would have had to leave the rest of us in the living room, obtain a ladder or some such thing, and … No, it doesn't work.”

“Very simple, Lyon. We were present at a murder that couldn't have happened.”

“It would seem so. You know, I'd like to see the attic and the cellar.”

“The cellar in this place must have rats. You can check that one out for yourself.”

“There's probably an entrance from the kitchen.” Lyon left Bea in the dining room and then disappeared into the recesses of the house.

“Anybody here!” A loud call from the hall.

Bea went to meet Rocco Herbert at the door. “Your playmate is exploring,” she said.

“He can stop. The case is closed.”

“Closed? How come?”

“We found Marty Rustman.”

“He confessed.”

“Hardly. He's quite dead.”

13

Wolf Pit road arches its way up from Route 90 and then wanders along a ridge line on the outskirts of Murphysville. It is a heavily wooded area that overlooks much of the river valley. Lyon had often wondered why home developers hadn't desecrated it. Perhaps the cost of cutting into the rock for lot sites made it prohibitive. Economics had to be why the area had not been raped. Aesthetic reasons never impeded avarice.

“When was the body found?”

“Early this morning,” Rocco replied as he took a switchback turn too fast, causing the car to sway. “The body was burned beyond recognition, but I had a hunch and the ME's office ran the dental work against Rustman's.”

“ID conclusive?”

“Hold up in any court in the land.”

“The car?”

“Stolen yesterday from a supermarket parking lot. Actually, it was a pickup truck.”

“Was?”

“You'll see.” Rocco parked the police cruiser on the shoulder of the road and both men climbed out. They stood looking over the slim guardrail now shattered along a thirty-foot stretch. The charred remains of a pickup truck were canted obscenely far down the embankment.

“I'd like to take a look.”

“Not much to see. Rustman had bad luck stealing that one.”

“How's that?”

“It was loaded with oil drums. Come on, I'll show you.”

They worked their way awkwardly down the embankment until they came to the burned truck. It was hardly recognizable as a motor vehicle. It was burned so extensively that paint had peeled off and any flammable item within the cab had been destroyed. All the windows had shattered.

“He stole the truck,” Rocco said, “and was probably driving up here to hide for the night. He took the curve too fast and lost control. When he crashed through the guardrail, he might possibly have survived if the thing hadn't burst into flames. Isolated as it is up here, we didn't discover it until early this morning. It was difficult to identify the body as human.”

Lyon winced. “What did the doctor say?”

Rocco shrugged. “What's to say. I saw it, Lyon. Believe me, you wouldn't care to.”

“Are they going to run tests on the body?”

“I don't think so. Cause of death seemed obvious.”

Lyon nodded and began to work his way up the hill to the road. At the top, he turned to extend his hand to Rocco and pull the panting chief up the last remaining feet. “You're closing the case?”

“Yep. This one saved the state some money.”

“Let's have a drink.”

“Sarge's Place?”

“Right.”

Bea sat in her car in the Rustmans' driveway. She was beginning to think that she was physically incapable of opening the door and going down the walk to ring the bell. How do you tell someone her husband is dead? How do you inform children that they have no father?

Rocco had asked her to do it and it had to be done.

She left the car, walked briskly up the path, and without hesitation pushed the bell. Barbara Rustman opened the door. Her features seemed to dissolve when her eyes met Bea's. Her hands fluttered and ran along her cheeks. “He's dead.”

“Yes.”

“I knew it.”

“Are the children here?”

Barbara looked at her without comprehension. “The children?”

“Are they at home?”

“No, they aren't here. They're at the playground.”

“Can I call someone for you?”

“Come in. Would you like coffee or something?”

“No, thank you.”

They went into the small living room and sat at opposite ends of the couch. “How did it happen?”

“He was driving a pickup truck that ran off the road in Murphysville.”

“Oh.” The word was an expression of finality. “I didn't even know they made pickup trucks with those gadgets, but I suppose they do.”

“I'm sorry to tell you the truck was stolen.” Bea paused a moment. “What sort of gadget?”

“The kind the Veterans Administration put on Marty's cars.”

“The VA? I don't understand.”

“Marty was wounded in Vietnam. He didn't have much feeling in his right leg. All our cars had a hand throttle off the steering wheel. The government always paid for it.”

“Could he drive a car or truck without the throttle?”

“I don't think so. He's dead now. That explains why he never called the children. I should have known.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No. Thank you. I'll call our parents in a minute or two. You know, Marty was always afraid something would happen to him. He talked to me lots of times about what might happen and how it might look like an accident. That's why he told me where the money was.”

“What money?”

“The money at the union hall. He said if he didn't come back, that after a day or two I was to go to the union hall and take the money from its hiding place. I did like he told me, but that man had me watched and found out. He knew I did it.”

“Tanner. Gustav Tanner of the nursing home?”

“Yes. When the money was missing he called me. He said he knew I had it, that his man had seen me sneak into the hall. He said he would go to the police unless I … unless I …”

“Went to the motel with him.”

“I went.”

Barbara Rustman turned her head toward the cushions as cries racked her body. For the second time Bea went to the other woman and held her.

She was halfway to Murphysville before she realized the significance of the visit. She pulled the car off the shoulder and went to an open phone booth. She knew where Lyon would be and dialed the number of Sarge's Place.

Captain Norbert of the state police was an unhappy man. Although he was pleased that his brother-in-law, Rocco, was also in police work, he was suspicious of the chief's friends. Not only did Lyon Wentworth write books but he also read them. Not only was Bea prominent in politics but she was also a Democrat. All of this made the husband-wife combination suspect. He wouldn't be surprised if they were closet Commies. Their kind usually were.

The chief and his friend were in their usual booth in the far corner of Sarge's Place. The scene made Norbert angrier, for he felt that if the major caught him in here, he'd be transferred to dormant records. He grimaced and pulled a straight chair over to the booth.

“Glad you could make it, Norbie,” Rocco said.

“It better be important. I've got one hell of a lot of work to do to close this Rustman matter. We're having a news conference at five. You ought to be there, Chief.”

“I'm surprised you told me about it.”

Lyon twirled his pony of sherry. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

“The major believes in being fair,” Norbert said. “The case is solved, which makes Herbert and us look good.”

“You're going to look foolish when you have to reopen it.”

Lyon took the opportunity during the foreboding silence to signal Sarge for another drink. Captain Norbert's physical condition worried him. The man's complexion changed while they watched. His naturally florid face turned a deep hue of red as the color spread upward from the base of his neck. Rocco took the news more prosaically and merely shook his head.

“You had better explain yourself, Wentworth.”

“He's been right before,” Rocco said softly.

“He's always meddling in areas that civilians should stay out of.”

“Rustman didn't do it,” Lyon said and took the refilled pony from Sarge and smiled thanks.

“Like hell!” Norbert half rose from his chair. “The guy was a nut. Rustman's been running over the whole damn county knocking people off. He worked his way up until he got the woman and then ran the truck off the road.”