“I needed to sleep last night, and it didn’t happen. All of these people were floating through my brain. I need to go for a long paddle, a couple of days, where I don’t think about this. But we don’t have that luxury, do we?”
“So what’s the plan?”
“I wish we had a solid reason to request a search warrant for Gull House and the out buildings.”
“What are you looking for?”
Ray chuckled, “That’s why we don’t have a good reason. It would be fishing trip, a chance to snag something that might move the investigation forward.”
“In the meantime?”
“I want to talk to Verity again. I want Grubbs to tell me how he found the body. Why was he onstage? Then I would like to chat with Pepper and Alyson, separately. Malcolm surrounded himself with beautiful young women. What was going on there? Did he give these women a motive to off him? Then there’s Elliott, and his wife, the devoted daughter-in-law. I think we’re just starting to understand the complexity of all these relationships.”
37
Ray knocked, paused, and then knocked a second time. Just as he was about to leave, the curtain moved. A blurry-eyed Verity peered out at him. “What do you want?”
“I have a few more questions for you.” He stood and waited, finally the door swung open.
Verity blocked his entrance. “I have nothing more to tell you. You’re wasting my time and taxpayers’ money,” she argued, her breath reeking of alcohol.
“I need to clarify a few things.”
“Alright, alright, come in. Sit there at the table. I’ve just made some coffee. Do you want a mug?
“Please. Black.”
Verity placed a mug in front of him and filled it with coffee from a thick glass carafe, spilling some on the table and muttering an obscenity. She came back with a dish towel and clumsily wiped the surface. She dropped into the chair across from him, adding brandy, sugar and cream to her mug, and stirring slowly.
“I don’t know why you bother with me. Can’t you leave an old woman to her own grieving and sadness?”
“From our last conversation, I didn’t get the impression that you were going to do much grieving.”
“I’m not grieving for that bastard, Malcolm. The devil can take him. I’m grieving for all of us. This is our little paradise, and it’s been ruined, at least for this year. And for me, at my stage of life, every summer is magical, a special gift. And it’s been stolen away.
“And like I said, I don’t know why you are talking to me. You just don’t seem to get it, Sheriff. Malcolm was part of the billionaires’ club. Somewhere across the face of this planet people are celebrating. Maybe they are in Dubai or Abu Dhabi, perhaps Hong Kong or Beijing, or close like New York or Chicago, or somewhere in Europe, Paris, London.
“What you have to understand is Malcolm was a giant in a very exclusive club. He was smart and very shrewd. But perhaps most importantly, he was a worker. When he was on a project, Malcolm’s focus was there for 12, 14, 16 hours a day. People thought he was a gambler. He never gambled. He carefully calculated every investment and didn’t buy in until he knew that he was going to be successful. If that had been the end of it, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But Malcolm needed more. After he crushed someone in a business deal, he’d go out of his way to humiliate them further if he could.
“I don’t mean to be disparaging, Sheriff, but you are out of your league. In your wildest imagination you can’t envisage the world I’m talking about. You’re giving those men in far away places a good chuckle. There’s no way in hell that a backwoods sheriff in a one-horse town is ever going to figure this one out. You’d need the FBI and Interpol and scores of lawyers and accountants to discover what Malcolm’s been up to and who he’s screwed. What I’m telling you is that he had a heart of coal, as black as they come. He was a greatly flawed person. He obviously pushed the wrong people too far.
“And you can’t even begin to fathom the resources that were brought to bear in this assassination. I wonder how many people were on the ground, blending in, casing the place. Look how perfectly everything was done. And then they were gone. And ever since, you’ve been muddling around, looking through people’s trash, making a nuisance of yourself. You can go around and annoy people till hell freezes over, and you’re not going to find anything. There’s nothing here. Nothing.” She took several gulps of coffee and added more brandy. “So why don’t you just leave us alone?”
“If you’re finished with your rant, I’ve got a few questions for you,” said Ray.
Verity didn’t respond verbally, she just looked across the table scornfully.
“You’re telling me that this murder was done by outsiders, hired killers, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“But when we last talked, you told me you didn’t remember seeing anyone who looked out of place. Now you’re telling me that a team of assassins, hired by Mr. Wudbine’s enemies, is responsible for the crime.”
They sat in silence for several minutes. Then Verity responded, “Well, I think I told you that no one in the colony was responsible. Given the way you and your people have been running around here like chickens with their heads cut off, you obviously didn’t get the message. I compliment you on your diligence, and forgive you for your complete naiveté.”
“My lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Verity gave Ray a startled look and chuckled, “So what are you thinking. I’m like one of those plovers on the beach trying to lead you away from my eggs?”
“I’m just reflecting on what you’ve told me. You’ve been a summer resident all your life. You know everyone connected with this place and their histories. You’ve told me you don’t recall seeing anyone around in recent weeks who shouldn’t have been here. And then you very aggressively contend that the murder was the work of professional killers hired by billionaires from far-off places. It doesn’t add up. And even if you don’t have any knowledge of the crime, you do have people you would probably like to protect: your son, perhaps your daughter-in-law, and Richard Grubbs, among others. And then there are people like Brenda Wudbine. If you thought she helped off your ex, perhaps you would feel you owed her some loyalty.” Ray paused and looked at her. “It would be ever so convenient if we went away. That’s not going to happen.”
Verity looked across the table, stood, picked up the carafe, and reached over and filled his mug. “It may be a bit tepid. Do you want me to put it in the microwave?”
“No. Let’s go over the same territory again. The night of the performance and during the weeks leading up to that time, did you see anyone around who didn’t seem to fit here?”
Verity was not quick to answer. “Like I said, lots of people come through here, visitors and whatnot, but I can’t say I saw anyone suspicious lurking about.”
“Elliott, your son, how did he and his father get on?”
“Do I have to answer questions about family members?”
“No. And if you know anything incriminating, I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me.”
“I won’t say Elliott adored his father, but they seemed to have a good working relationship. I was almost a bit jealous of how close they were.”
“And the daughter-in-law, Jill?”
“She was Malcolm’s right-hand person. He’s been obsessed with his legacy, as if good acts now would compensate for all the crap he’s pulled over the years. Jill has been the key player in his foundation. She’s the person that’s made it all work.”
“How do you get on with her?”
“Like I think I told you in one way or another, we don’t really have a relationship. I don’t understand why. I’ve tried. We’ve never clicked.”
“You told me you were reviewing your lines before the second scene. Do you remember seeing her about that time?”
“Yes and no. There was a swirl of activity in the green room. I probably saw everyone unconsciously or…well, you know what I mean. I don’t remember having a conversation with anyone during that time. I can’t say that I saw her or didn’t see her.”