Death in the Secret Garden (24 page)

‘Come to think of it, I do believe I made a note of the numbers in my study.'

Lyon hurried through the house and into his study down the hall from the kitchen. Sitting at his desk in front of the computer console, he pulled out the secretary drawer. Years ago he had taped a piece of yellow typewriter paper on the pull-out and had made a practice of jotting down serial numbers there that he never seemed able to remember. These included their car and truck marker plate numbers, his social security number, their safe deposit box number, and the other useful numerology of their life. Scrawled in the far right-hand corner was an unlabeled series he had recently written. He remembered the sequence as the RV's door combination. He glanced at it and hurried back to the drive.

‘Got it,' he said to Rocco as he punched the numbers into a combination panel to the right of the door. ‘Have it open in a sec.'

The door swung open and Rocco stepped inside and stopped. His body blocked the entrance. ‘Good God!' he said in a low voice.

‘What is it?' Lyon asked, suddenly aware of the alarm in his friend's voice.

Rocco stepped back out of the Winnebago and leaned against the side of the vehicle with both hands pressed against the metal. Lyon started inside until Rocco's hand grasped his shoulder. ‘Don't,' the large chief said. ‘You don't have to. I do.'

Lyon shook off the restraint and stepped into the RV. Once inside, he saw what Rocco meant. The chief re-entered and stood by his side.

‘He's been butchered,' Lyon said.

‘And that sword you dragged across the lawn is what probably did it,' Rocco said.

‘This is impossible,' Lyon said in an attempt to deny the undeniable. ‘There was no way for anyone to get inside to do this.'

Two

Lyon Wentworth sat on a wrought-iron chair on the patio by the parapet at Nutmeg Hill. He looked, without seeing, at the hills bracketing the Connecticut River as it wound its way toward Long Island Sound.

‘This is impossible, you know,' he repeated to Rocco, who sat nearby on the parapet wall. ‘There was no way anyone could get inside that van to murder Morgan.'

Rocco looked past his distraught friend, toward the rapidly filling driveway. The accumulation of cars and vans was in response to his radio call to the town dispatcher. Near the drive entrance a second Murphysville cruiser was parked on the grass while its driver directed traffic at the secondary highway below the house. An ambulance passed several state police cruisers, a state forensics lab truck, and the medical examiner's car before stopping near the RV. Two uniformed attendants exited the ambulance and casually opened the rear doors to pull out a folded gurney. They weren't in any hurry, since they knew it was a homicide.

‘You're the ones who always say there's an explanation for everything,' Rocco said as another state police cruiser occupied by two corporals and a captain turned up the drive with an impatient honk. ‘Oh, Christ,' Rocco mumbled. ‘Here comes my brother-in-law the Lone Ranger with his two Tontos.'

Lyon stood so abruptly that his chair fell backward on the fieldstone with a clatter. ‘There's got to be a way someone got into that RV and I'm going to find it.' He started off the patio toward the driveway.

Rocco took two quick strides. His hand curled over Lyon's shoulder. ‘Let the pros handle it.'

Lyon abruptly halted and turned toward Rocco. ‘Is that a suggestion or a command?'

‘A little bit of both. You can't go in there now. It's a crime scene.'

‘Am I allowed back in my own house?'

‘There's a uniform in the doorway who will keep all unauthorized persons from the premises until it's released.'

‘You're beginning to sound like an official manual,' Lyon said.

‘These guys seem to have a pretty good handle on things,' Rocco replied. ‘They'll wrap it up as quickly as possible and depart.'

‘What I'm beginning to wonder,' Lyon said, ‘is whether I'm going to be required to go with them when they leave.'

‘That depends,' Rocco replied

Both men watched the medical examiner leave the RV and give the signal to the two ambulance attendants to remove the body. A forensics tech came out the front door, carefully carrying the sword cradled in his arms. He had fashioned a large evidence bag from several smaller ones until the weapon was completely encased in transparent acetate.

Captain Norbert of the state police followed the medical examiner out of the RV. Both men examined the encased sword in the tech's arms until the doctor gave an affirmative nod.

‘Looks like the sword was it,' Rocco said softly.

‘If that blood on my clothing matches Morgan's …' Lyon left the remainder of the thought unspoken.

Norbert, deep in thought, walked slowly toward the patio steps. He was followed by a corporal. He nodded at Rocco. ‘Chief Herbert.'

‘Captain Courageous, I presume,' Rocco replied.

‘Cut the crap,' the captain snapped.

Norbert was a bantam-size man. He had barely qualified for the trooper height requirements, but, as the years passed, he compensated for this lack by increasing the girth of his upper body. He now appeared to be slightly top-heavy. His forward momentum had matured into a minor strut that seemed necessary to propel his pyknic physique forward.

‘Here they are, Captain.' The second corporal hurried to the captain's side and handed him the acetate bag containing Lyon's bloody clothing. Norbert took it with a grimace and thrust it toward Lyon.

‘This your clothing, Wentworth?'

‘Yes.'

Norbert handed the evidence back to the corporal. ‘They tell me you were wandering around the woods carrying that sword.'

‘Yes.'

‘The medical examiner informs me that it might be the murder weapon. Lab tests will or will not confirm that.' The last remarks were directed directly at Rocco. ‘His prints are probably smeared all over the damn thing.'

Lyon seemed oblivious to the remarks. ‘Since the death threats against Morgan began—'

‘That's Warren Morgan, the victim,' Rocco said.

Norbert snapped his fingers and the first corporal began to take rapid notes.

‘Morgan,' Lyon continued, ‘has recently been living in his recreational vehicle. It's a radically modified Winnebago. It's those structural changes that complicate matters.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘I was never quite sure what kind of attack he expected,' Lyon said. ‘He had modified it until the whole thing became a rolling fortress.'

‘There was absolutely no way to get into that vehicle when Morgan had it buttoned up,' Rocco said. ‘And on the night of his death it was shut up tighter than a Sherman tank. Theoretically there was no way anyone could get in without his permission. And since he always locked the door when he left, if Morgan came outside voluntarily and was killed in the open, there would be no way to get his body back inside.'

‘But you somehow managed to open it and find the body?' Norbert said skeptically.

‘Morgan had installed a combination lock on the Winnebago's side door,' Rocco said. ‘He changed the number settings yesterday and, as far as we know, Lyon was the only person who had the combination to that lock. He's the one who opened it for me.'

‘How cooperative of him,' Norbert said. ‘Getting this down?' he snapped at the corporal.

‘Yes, sir. Every word.'

‘Let's proceed with the matter of the death threats. Exactly who was threatening Morgan?'

Lyon looked out over the hills. ‘It's a rather extensive list. I suppose you might start with two literature professors from Middleburg University, and include his half-brother and sister.'

‘Then there's the Satan crew,' Rocco said. ‘They call themselves the Brotherhood of Beelzebub. We understand from the broadsides they posted that a few dozen of them have sworn a sacred vow to kill Morgan.'

‘Satan worshipers?' Norbert asked. ‘Do we know who or where they are?'

‘We haven't been able to track them down yet,' Rocco said. ‘Probably a bunch of disgruntled college dropouts. The broadsword fits rather nicely into their ritualistic beliefs. The chief mucky muck of the Brotherhood of Beelzebub, whatever they call him, recently placed a hundred-grand bounty on Morgan.'

‘The brother and sister were after the control of the trust fund,' Lyon added. ‘But I don't know how much money is involved there.'

‘Tell me about these Beelzebub characters. Why were they so upset?' Norbert asked.

‘Their leader was displeased, and that's putting it mildly, with a series of articles that Morgan wrote for
New Forward
magazine. That really set them off,' Lyon said.

‘Some sort of pungent postmodern criticism, I suppose.'

‘It began with a literary pastiche called “Bloody Rights or Bloody Rites”. It satirized them as being all puerile bluster and no action.'

‘They were not amused,' Rocco added.

‘What are the faculty members after?' Norbert asked.

‘Morgan was chairman of a department, and there's a battle over the appointment to a new endowed chair,' Lyon said. ‘The faculty takes that sort of business rather seriously.'

‘Captain,' the second corporal said. ‘There's a civilian van coming up the drive.'

Norbert snapped around to see a television remote unit with a satellite dish on the roof approaching. It was stopped fifty yards from the house by a Murphysville police officer.

‘Oh, Christ!' the state police captain said. ‘How do these paparazzi do it? If we were that efficient, the crime rate would drop thirty per cent.' He went through the open French doors that led into the living room. When no one followed, he gave an impatient signal to Rocco. ‘Come on, let's get a rough statement down before we get buried by the reporters. Keep the media away from the house!' he yelled to one of his corporals. He put his arm around Lyon's shoulder. ‘I hope there is a logical explanation for everything that's happened here, Mr Wentworth. By the way, where is Senator Beatrice Wentworth?'

‘She's out of town,' Lyon said.

‘Let's get your feedback on what we've got so far,' Norbert said. He read from his corporal's notes and made slashing checks at each item. ‘The deceased was Warren Morgan, chairman of the English department at Middleburg University. He was evidently a man of exceptionally poor social skills. The deceased was under some sort of ritualistic sentence of death by some cult of the devil. Two days ago he parked his modified Winnebago in the Wentworths' drive. Last night, prior to the murder, there was a small gathering for drinks and barbecue at the Wentworth home. Present were two teachers from the university, Morgan's half-brother and sister, along with the sister's boyfriend. The victim, Morgan, and the host, Wentworth, were also present.

‘At some point during the night or early morning, Wentworth was possibly drugged. While in a confused state of mind he was pursued by a hooded individual waving a large sword.' Norbert looked up at Lyon and slowly shook his head before continuing. ‘Wentworth evidently passed out during this attack. He awakened at about the time Chief Herbert arrived to check out a phone request from Mrs Wentworth, who was not present during these activities.' He gave a baleful look at Lyon. ‘You are evidently a very sound sleeper. Morgan was last seen alive when he retired to his armored vehicle parked in the Wentworths' drive. He was observed closing and locking the combination door that led into the vehicle. This morning Chief Herbert discovered Mr Wentworth dazed and wandering toward the house wearing blood-smeared clothing and carrying a large antique sword. The medical examiner states that the deceased's injuries could have been made by that type of sword. Forensic tests on the blood spatters are yet to be performed. The deceased's body was found inside the armored vehicle. Access into said vehicle was gained by the only other person besides the victim who possessed the combination to the door, Lyon Wentworth.'

Lyon nodded. ‘That seems correct. I know this all sounds rather bizarre,' Lyon said tiredly.

Norbert glared at Rocco and gestured toward the hallway. Both men stepped into the kitchen. As soon as the senior police officers left the room, the attitude of the remaining corporals moved from attentive note-taking to guardianship. They shifted positions and seemed alert to any abrupt movements by Lyon.

‘You know, Herbert, I don't really need this,' Norbert said. ‘This guy's wife is one of the most prominent state legislators in Connecticut. She's a friend of the governor, at least one of our US senators, and my commissioner. On top of that, this guy comes up with a story that makes me want to believe in the tooth fairy. Jesus, I can't win on this one.'

‘He happens to be my closest friend, Norbie,' Rocco said.

‘The guy, Wentworth, he's not in local politics or connected to the financial community, is he?'

‘No. He's still writing children's books, mostly about things he calls his Wobbly monsters,' Rocco said.

‘I hope he's not a goddamn intellectual.'

‘He's a trustee of Middleburg University.'

‘Jesus, why did you involve me? A hell of a brother-in-law you are. In the past you've always been the one to fight for your jurisdictional rights to keep us out of a case.'

‘I couldn't take jurisdiction this time, Norbie. I'll do anything in the world I can to help Lyon, but my conflict of interest is so obvious the media would hang us both if I stay on the case. That would do more harm than good for Lyon.'

Norbert sighed. ‘God. I'm stuck with a no-win deal here.' He shook himself as if to ward off further onslaughts. ‘We're knee-deep in barn droppings, Rocco. You neatly disqualified yourself, but how long do you think it's going to take for the media to find out that you and I are related by marriage? About ten seconds, that's how long. So, I'm warning you. I want any information you have, or your conduct goes straight to a one-man grand jury. What else do you have? And I mean really what else!'