Weekends Can Be Murder, page 19
But things had spun out of control. Anger was levelled. Hatred was unleashed.
Where was the family whose love had once warmed this place?
Where were the children who had laughed and played in its rooms?
Gone. All of them, gone.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Why had he even bothered to return…?
Seventeen
Larry opened his eyes and found Selena’s grinning face hovering above him.
“And he’s back!” she declared. “I have to say, I’m jealous. A hard wooden bench, daylight all around… Some people can fall sleep absolutely anywhere.”
He levered himself to a sitting position, arched his back, and stretched his arms, unfolding them as if they were wings. “What time is it?” he asked, then cleared his throat and asked it again, in a more recognizable voice.
“It’s nearly half past eleven. You’ve been out for more than two hours,” she replied. “I thought about waking you so you could go upstairs to bed, but you were—pardon the expression—dead to the world, and I didn’t have the heart.” As he glanced around the garden, she answered the question that must have been writing itself on his features. “Blaise and Norman are in their room, catching a nap before the meeting. Or before lunch, whichever comes first. Hugh and Liz are still being interviewed. You’ve got time to use the facilities, and maybe freshen up…?”
The bristle on his cheeks and the bad taste in his mouth told him what she really meant. “Good idea.”
Blaise and Norman weren’t the only ones getting some much-needed sleep. Larry walked around to the front door, the dining room having been transformed by the police into their base of operations. As he crossed the foyer, headed toward the stairs, all he saw was blue uniforms. Six constables visible. At least another two out of sight, plus Brassard. That made a cop-to-suspect ratio of approximately one to two.
Twenty minutes later, wide awake and presentable once more, Larry returned to the garden and saw Selena chatting with Norman and Blaise beside the gazebo.
“Where are the Sampsons?” he asked, striding over to join them.
Norman consulted his wristwatch. “They’ll be along shortly. Their interview should be wrapping up any time now.”
Selena slid her arm through Larry’s and pulled him into a leisurely stroll. “Murders aside, this place really is beautiful, isn’t it?”
He had to agree. Beneath a swath of vibrant blue sky, drifting piles of fluffy white cumulus were building a cloudscape on the horizon. Meanwhile, the sun and the temperature were both high, burning off any lingering shreds of morning mist.
To his right and immediate left were the bluff and the staircase leading down to the beach, respectively, both festooned with yellow police tape. It was a sour note in an otherwise harmonious scene, standing out for him in the same way that he apparently stood out for Sergeant Brassard.
Larry was the detail that didn’t fit in or make sense. And, he had to admit, things weren’t making much sense to him either. If their places were switched, he would probably be just as suspicious of this outsider as she was.
“Selena tells us that you’re on the police radar, Mr. Holmes,” said Norman’s voice behind them.
“Yeah. For the attempted murder of Gareth Wylde and whatever else Brassard thinks she can make stick.”
Blaise uttered a disdainful syllable. “Brassard wants everything to be simple, so she can wrap up the investigation and get off this island as quickly as possible.”
“He doesn’t mean that the way it came out,” Norman apologized. “Sergeant Brassard is not a lazy cop. I overheard some constables talking, and apparently, she and her team have been up all night, working on this investigation from the moment it was handed to them. I suspect she’s suffering from a bit of tunnel vision right now, brought about by lack of sleep. And it doesn’t make her job any easier when so many of her persons of interest are professional liars,” he concluded dryly.
“You know, the first Phineas Pyke may have been a callous son of a bitch, but he accomplished something remarkable here,” said Blaise, gazing around with evident admiration. “It takes vision and persistence to turn a barren slab of rock into an estate with a garden, and lawns, and a beach. I wonder what will happen to it now that Arthur’s dead.”
Norman shot him a warning look. “Tell me you’re not—!”
“I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” Blaise replied. “But if Vollmer has his eye on this place, I say we let him have it. Competing with him has never turned out well for anyone except him.”
“Maybe we should ask Edyth Pyke who gets Rafferty Island now,” Selena suggested, her eyebrows arching.
Larry’s brows rose as well, in surprise. “She’s still here? I thought she was supposed to accompany Arthur’s body on the helicopter.”
“I’m sure she thought so too, until a pair of constables went out to fetch her back to the house. I saw them escort her through the door. Dragon Lady is a good nickname for her. She looked ready to breathe fire. Harald didn’t look too happy either. Sgt. Brassard is going to have her hands full with those two.”
“You know who might be able to tell us about Arthur’s will?” Larry surmised. “Alec Ullman. As Pyke’s lawyer, he’s probably the one who drew it up.”
“The police will be all over that angle by now,” said Norman. “What we need to do is uncover the small but telling details that they may have overlooked.”
Like that one.
Feeling the warmth of the sun on his neck and shoulders, Larry cocked his head. He had let his gaze roam along the wooden safety railing on the edge of the bluff. “Selena, what did you tell them about Farley’s death?”
“Everything I heard while I was on the stairs,” she replied with a small shrug. “It was too dark to see anything, but there was definitely a struggle. Lots of grunting and shouting and swearing. I heard three separate voices and recognized them right away. I don’t know what kind of story Baker and Kemper told when giving their statements, but Farley sounded terrified of them. They kept saying they just wanted to talk to him, and he kept running away. Then they caught him. There was a loud cracking sound, and I heard him scream, and when he hit the rocks, there was a noise I wish I could forget.”
“A cracking sound,” he echoed thoughtfully. Larry pointed at the section of fence behind the yellow tape. “That’s a crime scene. It’s supposed to look exactly the way it was when Farley died. So, what’s wrong with that picture?”
For a silent moment, she stared where he was pointing. “Nothing,” she said at last, dawning comprehension in her voice. “The fence looks perfectly fine. Every section is the same height, and every cross-piece is level and intact.”
“And yet, you heard a sharp crack, as though part of it was breaking. Let’s get closer,” he suggested. Leaving Norman and Blaise behind, the two of them walked over to the guard rail.
As they approached, it became clear just how tall the safety barrier was. The top cross-piece sat at least ten centimetres above Selena’s waist level.
“Farley was about the same height as you are. How easy do you think it would be for you to lose your balance and accidentally fall over this fence?”
“Easy enough if I were climbing it,” she replied. “But that wasn’t what Farley was doing, was it? According to Baker, he was running at it full tilt, in the dark.” She considered for a moment. “If I didn’t know the fence was there and didn’t slow down before hitting it, I think it would knock the wind out of me, and then bounce me backward.”
“But it couldn’t just flip you forward, even if your feet weren’t on the ground,” Larry pointed out, “because the top of it is higher than your centre of gravity.”
She nodded slowly. “If the cross-piece was there, then either Farley was climbing the fence when he fell, or someone threw him over it. And the cracking noise I heard…?”
“…could have been the cross-piece dropping as Will released the latch he told us he’d installed earlier. Farley was in the dark, running for his life. Will could have driven him toward the gap in the fence, either shoved him or let him fall through it, then raised the cross-piece again before Baker got there.”
“Or maybe Farley was in such a panic to get away that he mindlessly climbed the fence, lost his grip or his balance, and fell off the edge of the bluff,” said Warfield’s voice behind them. “And the noise could have been made by something unrelated. You’ve got to consider all the possibilities, Mr. Holmes, including the exculpatory ones, or you’ll be no better than the people who are accusing you.”
Larry turned and saw the other man standing just out of arm’s reach. “I thought you were one of the people accusing me,” he challenged.
Warfield gave a small shrug. “That was before Sergeant Brassard decided you were a suspect. I’ve always made it a point of principle never to agree with her.”
“You have history with Brassard?” Selena said.
“We’ve butted heads on more than one occasion,” Warfield replied. “And before you ask, we were both in law enforcement at the time. So was Baker. I never agreed with him either.”
“And now you’re both here,” Larry observed, “and you say you’re on my side. Does that mean Baker isn’t?”
“Baker’s his own man. The problem is, he not only marches to the beat of a different drummer, he tries to drag the rest of the band along with him. The best I can tell you is that as long as your interests align with his, he’ll support you one hundred percent.”
“So, he and Harald Pyke are a team?” said Selena.
Warfield chuckled. “I’m sure Harald would like to believe that.”
“And you and Greg Vollmer are a team,” Larry put in.
“Actually, Lois was mistaken earlier when she called him my employer. I’m self-employed. Vollmer occasionally hires my services. This is one of those occasions.”
Selena’s eyes now held a speculative gleam. “You call yourself a ‘specialist researcher’. Would that by any chance be another way of saying ‘private investigator’?”
Another chuckle, this time accompanied by a head nod.
Meanwhile, Norman and Blaise had wandered over. “Mr. Warfield?” said Norman. “To what do we owe this dubious honour?”
“I overheard something in the dining room and decided I wanted to be part of it,” he responded.
“Because you thought it would benefit your client?” Blaise challenged.
“Because I have an interest in getting to the truth, whatever that might turn out to be,” Warfield replied.
Selena stepped between the two men, raising a placating hand in each direction. “It’s okay, guys,” Selena assured them. “So do we.”
By now, Hugh and Liz had come outside and were walking toward them.
Blaise took a grudging pace backward. Then, still directing a narrowed gaze at the interloper, he pulled a folded piece of paper from one pocket and a mechanical pencil from another and prepared to make notes. “Which murder shall we look into first?”
“The one Mr. Holmes is accused of orchestrating, of course,” declared Hugh, “the attempted murder of Gareth Wylde. And I see we now have a new sleuth among us.”
“An actual sleuth, as it happens,” Selena told him. “Mr. Warfield is a private investigator.”
“Really!” Hugh said. “One of the constables referred to him during my interview. Called him a whistle-blower, in a tone of voice that made it clear he was not being complimentary. Well, anyone willing to speak truth to power is a friend of ours. Welcome aboard, Warfield. Or may we call you Charles?”
“Just Warfield will do. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking we were getting too chummy. It could complicate things.”
As if they weren’t complicated enough!
Norman cleared his throat and said, “Wylde was the celebrity victim of the murder mystery game, and we identified several people who probably wanted to kill him in real life, including Will Kemper. Let’s start there.”
“Fine by me,” said Warfield. “But you’ll have to bring me up to speed.”
“According to the script he was following, Will was a budding mystery author and a fan of Gareth Wylde’s books,” Larry explained. “He told us he’d sent Wylde an excerpt from one of his manuscripts, hoping for some feedback from the master storyteller. Instead, he got a blistering critique, and knowing Gareth Wylde, a generous dose of public humiliation probably came with it. That would be enough to destroy a beginning writer’s confidence and derail his career. Depending on other factors, it could also be a strong motive for murder.”
“The question we need to answer is: how much of that script was rooted in reality?” Hugh added. “It’s not a simple matter of asking Court or Will whether something actually happened. If it’s true, they’ll both have reasons to lie about it. And because they’re actors, they’ll be convincing.”
“The same could be said about any of the information we gleaned during the game, pet,” Liz pointed out. “We know Lois was following a script. Every time we deviated from it, she became upset. But what about the others?”
“I think I would like to know more about everyone’s background,” Norman declared, “and not just the people who are on the island. Wylde has an agent who apparently talked him into coming here. Was there a reason for that? Alec Ullman was Arthur Pyke’s lawyer, and Greg Vollmer is a property vulture. Each of those two stands to benefit from what’s happened here.”
“Vollmer doesn’t,” Warfield interjected. “In fact, it makes Rafferty Island a very unattractive proposition for him.”
“How do you figure that?” demanded Blaise.
“Vollmer prefers things to be simple. He wants to deal with property owners, keeping lawyer involvement to a minimum. When the owner is dead, the will has to be probated, which means at least one lawyer, more than one if the will is contested. And when the owner has been murdered, there’s a police investigation on top of that, probate gets delayed, and the estate could be tied up quite literally for years. I’ve already submitted a verbal report, recommending that Vollmer look elsewhere for his next deal.”
“Does that mean you’re no longer working for him?” said Larry.
“I did promise to deliver Ms. Drake back home safe and sound, but yes, the main part of my assignment is over.”
“Back to Gareth Wylde’s attempted murder, if you don’t mind,” Selena said tartly. “Georgina also had a strong motive for killing him, or at least punishing him, and we didn’t find that out from a script or an interview.”
“True,” Hugh allowed, “but we violated their privacy by spying on them, and because we have no verifiable record of their conversations, it’s all hearsay, unless we can back it up with evidence. Until then, it’s ‘he said, she said’.”
“Then I’m with Norman on this. We need to research Gareth and Georgina’s backgrounds,” Selena said. “When we went off-script and asked them whether there was something in either of their pasts that could be used to incriminate Gareth for Arthur’s murder, Georgina said yes. She would have said more, but Gareth cut her off. I believe there is definitely a skeleton in that closet.”
“And perhaps in Antony Court’s as well,” Liz added. “He seems to be at the centre of all of this. He created the game. He chose the cast and wrote the scripts. And let’s not forget that he’s the one who brought a gun to the island in the first place.”
“I’m not sure I would agree with you on that, my dear,” said Hugh. “I think Arthur Pyke is at the centre of this, and his plans for Rafferty Island. This property has been a sore spot for the Pyke family for generations. Arthur knew it, but went ahead with the restoration anyway, and he made a point of inviting his mother and brother to this weekend party. He picked the Heron Springs company of actors to run the murder mystery game, and he drew up the guest list, knowingly or unknowingly bringing together a group of people who were keeping secrets and nursing old grudges against one another.”
“Hold on,” Blaise instructed them, busily scribbling on his piece of paper. “I’m mapping all the different connections. We know Arthur was in financial trouble and looking for investors to help him complete the restoration. That’s most likely why Norman and I were included on the guest list. Alec Ullman was Arthur’s lawyer. Selena is a travel agent who could bring future business to Rafferty House. Hugh and Liz, you’re the national president and vice-president of the Crime Club, able to publicize the theme weekends to thousands of members across the country.”
“Crass,” Selena murmured.
“Desperate,” Liz corrected her.
“The only thing sadder than a half-finished reno is having to abandon it for lack of funds,” Norman agreed.
“What about Edyth and Harald?” Hugh wanted to know. “Investors?”
“She’d already turned down Arthur’s requests for money,” Larry replied, “and Harald knew it. I think Arthur just wanted to show them what he could do and hear something positive from his family for a change. He didn’t even get that,” he added, letting out a gusty breath. “It’s a shame.”
“We heard directly from Gareth that he and Georgina were invited by Arthur, who had once been a fan and a friend of Gareth’s,” Selena told them.
“But not anymore?” said Norman.
“Gareth broke it off. Completely. He wouldn’t tell us why,” Larry said. “And if the Wyldes know Arthur’s probable reason for wanting them at Rafferty House this weekend, they’re not talking about that either.”
“As for Lois and our new friend here,” Blaise continued, hardening his voice, “Vollmer’s partnership with Court apparently got him arm-twisting privileges, resulting in you and the boss’s girlfriend sitting at the dinner table yesterday.”
“Don’t hold back, Mr. Marcel,” Warfield taunted him. “Tell us what you really think.”
Blaise drew himself up. “Am I wrong?” he demanded, glaring into Warfield’s face.
Warfield responded with the same challenging stare he’d given Baker the evening before.
