“Yes, I think that’s the way it happened. But so much occurred that evening, it’s hard to remember exactly…and I was exhausted and probably had too much scotch on an empty stomach. I think I had a bit of a buzz on. But for the most part, that’s what happened.”
“Mr. Wudbine, we have a witness who seems to think they saw you under the picnic shelter before the first scene ended. Is that possible?”
Wudbine looked down at the typed copy on the desk, nervously moving pages around. Finally he looked up at Ray. “Like I was telling you, I had a bit of a buzz on, and my back was killing me. I needed to get up and out of there. Maybe some of what I remember was based on things Jill told me. You know how memories sometimes get fused together.”
“Alyson Mickels told us that she moved the golf cart down to the picnic shelter. Our witness says soon after that she was joined by a man. Any chance that was you?” asked Ray.
Wudbine was slow to answer. “I think that’s possible. Given the rain and thunder and all, I was probably worried and went to check on her.”
Sue caught Wudbine’s eye. “Our witness said that it was quite the romantic encounter.”
Wudbine reddened. “We’re friends. I’m sure I only hugged her to show my concern.”
“And the two of you left immediately, heading back into the colony. Where were you going?” she pursued.
“Does this make me a suspect?”
“Quite the opposite,” said Sue. “It takes you out of the area at the time of the crime.”
“I was walking Alyson back to her cottage. She uses the one we keep for flight crews. I had brought an umbrella with me. She was soaking wet. So we got under my umbrella and went over to her place so she could change into some dry clothing. Not too long after we got there, Jill called, asking me to come backstage and get her.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this the first time?” pressed Sue.
Elliott stammered a bit. “Ah, well, I was afraid you’d get the wrong impression.”
“New Topic,” said Ray. “I understand that Pepper Markley is no longer with the firm.”
“That’s an HR matter. I don’t know anything about it.”
“Nothing?”
“Jill mentioned it in passing. With my father’s death, we no longer needed her services. Pepper was probably the highest paid barista in America,” he added. “My father was generous, perhaps foolishly so. Is she a suspect?”
“When are you going back to Chicago? We may need to talk with you again,” said Ray.
“I’d like to be there in time for the business day on Friday. My father’s body, when will it be released? We need to finalize our plans for a funeral or memorial service. I’m losing patience with your bureaucratic bumbling.”
Ray stood. “Thank you for coming in. We will be in touch.”
Wudbine pulled himself out of his chair, looked as if he was going say something, then hastily turned and pushed his way through the screen door. He stopped on the porch, lit a cigarette, looked back at Ray, then marched up the path away from the building.
“If looks could kill, you’d be dead,” said Sue. “We gave him just enough rope for the proverbial hanging.”
“How about his account of his encounter at the picnic shelter?”
“Chivalry runs in the family, distressed maidens are a Wudbine specialty. I wonder if he was good enough to help Alyson out of her wet things,” scoffed Sue.
“So where are we?”
“You can take Elliott and Alyson off the list of possible perpetrators. Whether they were part of a broader conspiracy is another question.”
“When you look at the transcript of the Pepper Markley interview, you will note she suggested that Jill Wudbine insisted that she accompany Elliott on a long business trip abroad in June. When they returned, Pepper felt her relationship with Jill had changed. There was the suggestion Jill thought Pepper might have designs on her husband.”
“Does she?” asked Sue.
“I don’t think so. And now it looks like he’s taken with Ashley.”
“Oh, Ray,” said Sue, “Elliott is probably like the source of his seed, smitten with anything that wears a dress. They are both very attractive women. Does Pepper stay on the list?”
“For now, but I don’t see a motive.”
42
Ray washed the tomatoes, removing the last bits of earth from multicolored fruits. Carefully slicing through the flesh, he arranged the slabs by size, the largest on the bottom, the smallest on the top, a medley of colors, shapes, and textures. After sprinkling course gray Mediterranean salt over the top, he added a dusting of freshly ground pepper. He picked through some fresh basil leaves, selecting only the most perfect ones, and arranged them at the center. Turning his attention to the smoked whitefish, he peeled off the blackened skin, and separated the meat from the spine, taking care to remove all the bones. He laid the fish out on a bed of thinly sliced lemon. Next Ray pulled a baguette from a low oven and started cutting pieces at an oblique angle.
“Did you read this?” asked Hanna, her back to him, papers spread in front of her on the table.
“I made a hard copy and glanced through the first few pages. Then I turned my attention to dinner. I wanted to have things on the table when you got here so we’d have the maximum hours of daylight on the water.”
“Tell me how far you read.”
“In layman’s terms, I know Wudbine died from a severed spinal cord. I also know the insertion point and the dimensions of the part of the blade that penetrated beyond the skin. That gives me a good sense of what we should be looking for. Although, by this point, I think the weapon is long gone.” Ray made several trips from the counter to the table with the bread, fish, and tomatoes. “Ice water?”
“Yup,” she responded, her attention glued to the report. “Did you read the toxicology?”
“Didn’t get that far.”
“You didn’t see the note on the pressure marks and the anterior bruising to the neck?”
“No. Anything else there?”
“Yes, but not definitive. The pathologist speculates, based on the pattern of bruising and fingernail marks, that the victim’s neck was held from the front by a right hand, helping pull the posterior part of the neck and spine into the penetrating object. The pathologist further speculates that the perpetrator was left-handed.”
Ray walked behind Hanna. He reached around with his right hand, gently grabbing her neck. Then he put his knuckles of his left hand against her spine just below her head.
“You got it,” said Hanna.
“Feels awkward,” Ray commented. “I’d want it the other way. But it makes sense.”
And the arsenic, you don’t know about the arsenic?”
“Arsenic, you’re putting me on. His blood was loaded with….”
“No, not a trace. His exposure happened a few months ago. Traces were found in an analysis of the hair. The time frame isn’t too precise, six or eight weeks ago. And the exposure was short term, but at a fairly high level. There’s a note that they can order some more sophisticated tests to better estimate the duration and level of exposure. You should have the complete analysis done. Also, they can do a similar study on the fingernails to verify the hair data.”
“Note those things in the margin. I’ll make sure they are done.” Ray dropped into his chair. “What would that mean, medically? What would be the symptoms of arsenic poisoning? If you wanted to poison him, where would you put the arsenic? Mashed potatoes, oatmeal? Refresh my memory.”
“Ray, this is way outside my area, I can only speculate. And there are lots of ways he could have been exposed. The fact that it’s present in his hair doesn’t mean someone was trying to poison him. For example, if he was downwind from an orchard that was being sprayed with an arsenic-based insecticide, if that is still done, he could have inhaled it. Arsenic is a common chemical in the environment. There are often trace amounts in water supplies and food.”