“No? I was on a case once where the mass murderer fed his victims to his dogs."
“Oh, please—" Shelley said, turning away.
“Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'll take note of your evaluation of Butch Kowalski, Jane. Now, I have an important question for you.”
He picked up the big manila envelope he'd put on the coffee table when he came in. He opened the end of it and very carefully pulled out a plastic bag. Inside was a blood-encrusted knife. "I'm sorry, Jane, but you must look carefully at this. Have you ever seen this knife before?”
Jane didn't answer for a long moment. Not because she didn't know the answer, but because she hated having to say it. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, "Yes, it's mine.”
10
“How can you be so sure?" Mel asked. He sounded as if he was giving her every opportunity to change her mind.
Jane would have loved to take the admission back, but couldn't. "The kids gave me the set last Christmas. There are four and they go into a sort of chopping block thing. I accidentally set this one on a hot burner and part of the handle melted a little. See those two burner marks? And then Mike took it to his room to open a box and it hung around up there and got some green model airplane paint right where the blade fits into the handle. You can see a little of it."
“Are you okay, Jane?" Shelley asked.
“Yes. Just a little woozy feeling. Mel, please put it away."
“Sure. I'm sorry. You hadn't missed it when you cleaned up the mess in your kitchen?"
“No, why should I? I wasn't taking inventory and haven't even finished cleaning up. And even if I had noticed it wasn't in the block with the others, I'd have just assumed it was in the dishwasher or with the stuff I shoved into the guest bath."
“Do you remember where you last had it?" Mel asked.
“Mel, I don't pay that kind of attention to every kitchen utensil. Now, if you wanted to know the last time I hauled out the pasta maker or the cookie press or the electric meat slicer, I could probably tell you. But an everyday kitchen knife—? No. It's like an extension to my hand. I use it without even thinking.”
She heard the sound of her own voice rising toward hysteria and took a deep breath, turning away to study the view out the window while Mel rattled around putting the gory knife back into the envelope. It was starting to get dark, but the movie production showed no signs of slowing down.
“This Kowalski person you mentioned is Jake's assistant, right?" Shelley asked Mel. "Why do you think he's lying about cutting his hand by accident?"
“I don't necessarily think he's lying," Mel said, putting the envelope next to the sofa out of sight. "I'm just saying it's possible. If he stabbed Jake Elder and in the process cut his own hand, he might have shoved the knife into the railing in order to make another explanation for his injury.”
Jane had pulled herself together. "Even so, and putting aside my own impression of Butch, why would he kill Jake? Jake was his mentor, his employer."
“Protégés have knocked off mentors before, Jane," Mel said. "Sometimes that's how they get to be mentors in their turn. Or, suppose this: Butch had made some screw-up that Jake was not only going to fire him for, but bad-mouth him throughout the business. I get the impression from talking to people that Jake Elder knew everybody who was anybody and was well thought of — professionally, at least. I haven't met anybody yet who makes any pretense of having liked him."
“But what kind of mistake could Butch have made that would be that important? He was an apprentice, just a glorified gofer, it seemed to me. Learning the ropes from the bottom up by fetching and carrying.”
Mel gestured toward the window and the scene beyond. "What kind of mistake? I'd think there'd be about a hundred you could make out there. Just look at all those electrical wires, for one thing. Those look like a disaster waiting to happen."
“But Jake and Butch had nothing to do with that part of it, did they?" Jane asked. "What could you do wrong with a prop that would matter?"
“I'm just speculating, Jane. It's my job," Mel said tightly.
“I know. I'm sorry. But Mel, you saw Butch at my kitchen table. Poor kid was about to faint at the sight of his own blood. Can you really imagine him doing something awful like that to somebody else?”
Mel shrugged. "Maybe that's what he was really faint about. Nobody saw his 'accident' with the handrail. We only have his word.”
Shelley had been listening silently. Now she spoke. "Mel, tell us more about Jake's death. Where did he die? Was there a struggle? Did it take a lot of strength?"
“It doesn't look like it took strength as much as luck to slip the knife right between the ribs," Mel said. "He was apparently inside the props trailer, bent over slightly, looking into a crate. The blow was probably delivered downward, almost certainly by a right-handed assailant. The blade almost certainly pierced the back of his heart. At least that's what it all looked like at the scene. The lab work may show something else, but I doubt it."
“So anybody could have done it," Shelley said.
“Anybody at all," Mel agreed. "It was easy and clean. No blood spatters to speak of. No struggle. There was a cleaning rag with blood on it on the ground near the handrail, suggesting that the assailant probably wiped the fingerprints off the knife handle and maybe held it with the rag to jam it into the underside of the railing."
“I can't picture what you're talking about. . this railing," Jane said.
Mel grabbed a newspaper off the end table and sketched. "The stair rail itself is just a thin piece of metal running along the top of the uprights. There's an upside-down U-shaped piece that fits over it to make a smooth handhold. But the underneath part of the U is open. And about the width of the knife handle."
“But who would notice that?" Jane asked.
“Somebody who was familiar with the trailer," Mel said. "Like Butch. But to be fair, anybody might have noticed. If you were going up the steps, holding the knife in your right hand and also steadying yourself with the rail, you might be aware that your fingers were curling into a place about the size of the knife."
“Why did the knife have to be hidden?" Shelley mused. "I suppose just because the murderer didn't want to be seen carrying it around. But why not just drop it in the truck?”
Mel shrugged. "I have no idea."
“Have you interviewed Butch?" Jane asked, wondering why she was feeling so protective of the boy. She supposed it was because she'd seen an intrinsic gentleness and vulnerability in him. Or perhaps after Mike's bad experience earlier in the day, her maternal instincts were just working overtime.
“Not yet. He's really pretty much of a mess. Scared to death of the responsibility that's fallen on him, he says."
“What responsibility?" Shelley asked.
“Apparently they only have a few days' filming left and the producers sent word that they don't want to bring in a new property master at such a late date. They want Butch to take over and see it through."
“—thereby making or breaking his reputation as a skilled expert in his own right," Jane finished for him. "Which might have been a motive. I see it in theory, but I don't believe it for a minute. If you'd seen how nice he was to—"
“—your cats. Yes, I know. Speaking of which, isn't that one of them?”
Mel pointed out the window where several people were trying to catch Meow and remove her from the craft service table, where she was browsing through the food.
"That explains the mess in your kitchen," Shelley said when Jane came back inside with a cat under each arm. She'd carried them through the kitchen where Mel was using the phone and the other long-suffering police officer was still interviewing cast and crew members.