The Cliff House Strangler (5 page)

“Why have you come?” Madame Karpova asked in Tizoc’s voice.

Silently, the figure raised unearthly arms and began gliding slightly farther to the medium’s left, until it hovered directly behind Lieutenant Ahern. It gave a low sigh and seemed about to speak, but when the room was lit by a brilliant flash of lightning. Several women at the table squealed in fright, and I heard the medium gasp as she was startled out of her trance. Then, as suddenly as the trumpet and balalaika had disappeared, the ethereal apparition was gone. Without the candle, or the strange glow that had accompanied the specter, the room was once again thrown into total darkness.

Although I could no longer see her, I heard Madame Karpova moaning softly. “Someone, please,” she murmured, once again speaking in her own voice, “light the candle.”

To either side of me, I felt Robert and Senator Gaylord rummaging through their pockets for a match. Across the table, Nicholas Bramwell beat them both to it. I heard the strike of a match and saw him lean forward. Once again, a pale, flickering light illuminated the table.

There was a general murmur of relief, followed by a few nervous giggles, when Mrs. Bramwell suddenly screamed. She was on her feet, one hand clutched to her heart, the other pointing across the table in horror. Mrs. Reade followed her gaze with bulging eyes, then with a shocked gasp, she silently crumbled into a dead faint. Luckily, Nicholas Bramwell was able to reach around his mother and catch the elderly widow before she struck her head on the floor. Next to Lieutenant Ahern, Nora Ahern’s chair crashed over as she, too, jumped up and backed hastily away from the table.

All eyes followed Mrs. Bramwell’s pointing finger. To the left of Mrs. Ahern’s fallen chair, his thick body sprawled back in the seat, lay Darien Moss. The reporter’s head had dropped onto his chest, and for a moment it seemed as if he had merely fallen asleep. The stream of blood flowing from beneath the reporter’s chin onto his starched white shirt and brown woolen jacket, however, quickly shattered this illusion.

Carefully, Lieutenant Ahern lifted Moss’s chin, revealing the victim’s grotesque and darkened face. The eyes, which had exuded such arrogance and contempt only moments before, now bulged from their sockets in a blank, unseeing stare. A trickle of blood dripped slowly from his nose, and below this his tongue protruded through swollen lips. A deep red gash ringed the dead man’s neck. I could just make out the glitter of wire embedded inside the wound. Evidently, this had been employed to snuff out the reporter’s life.

On the floor behind Moss’s chair lay the balalaika. One of its three strings was missing.

I
t took Lieutenant Ahern an hour to deal with the aftermath of our gruesome discovery. Theodora Reade had been carried into the saloon and settled on a sofa. Nora Ahern, who had recently nursed her own mother through a long illness, kindly offered to stay with the elderly woman until she recovered.

Additional candles were lit, along with some kerosene lanterns, and the police lieutenant performed a cursory examination of the body and the balalaika. Outside, the wind continued to howl and a torrent of rain beat upon the roof. Ahern ordered the Japanese screen I’d noticed earlier to be placed in front of the séance table, blocking our view of the body. As several men moved the screen from its place by the wall, I saw that it had indeed concealed a second door—which opened into the dining room—one that I guessed led to the kitchen.

Eddie Cooper, the Cliff House cook, and Dmitry Serkov were summoned to join us, after which we were directed to take seats in chairs placed along the wall farthermost from the body.

“Cook told me a feller was killed by a ghost,” Eddie said breathlessly, taking a seat between Robert and myself. “Is that him behind the screen? Was there lots of blood? Do they know who
done it? Dad-blame it! I wish I’d been here when the bloke made a die of it!”

“Eddie!” I admonished, drawing breath to give the lad a brief lecture on the evils of cursing. Then, noting the glare Lieutenant Ahern was directing toward us, I quietly informed the boy that we would discuss the matter later.

But before the police officer could take control of the gathering, Madame Karpova rose from her chair with an air of regal self-importance.

“If you think to find the villain in this gathering, Lieutenant, you are doomed to fail,” she announced in sonorous tones. “The spirits recognized Darien Moss as a man of great evil. He was a malicious, disruptive force. I warned you that those who have gone beyond the pale do not take kindly to skeptics. Unfortunately, Mr. Moss ignored me.” She swept an arm out toward the screen. “Now see what has happened.”

Lieutenant Ahern looked confused, as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the woman or to order her back into her seat. “Are you implying, madam,” he asked in a controlled voice, “that Mr. Moss was strangled by one of your so-called
specters
?”

Madame Karpova regarded the policeman levelly. “You, too, tempt fate by making light of such matters, Lieutenant. Of course the physical instrument used to extract punishment was of this earthly plane. But the spirits guiding that instrument cannot be found in this room.”

“What’s she goin’ on about?” Eddie asked, eyeing the clairvoyant as if she’d just escaped from Bedlam. “I ain’t never heard of any kind of whiskey what could strangle a man.”

“She’s not referring to that sort of spirit,” I told the boy, hard-pressed, even under these grim circumstances, to suppress a grin.

“The lad’s right,” Robert muttered with a snort. “The woman is mad as a March hare.”

Purposefully ignoring Madame Karpova, who sank back onto
her chair as if washing her hands of the proceedings, Lieutenant Ahern turned his attention to Senator Gaylord and his wife, Maurilla.

“Mrs. Gaylord,” he said in a more conciliatory tone. “You were seated across the table from Mr. Moss. Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary when the candle went out?”

“Good heavens, man,” Senator Gaylord exploded before his wife could answer. “This entire evening has been out of the ordinary. Floating trumpets, phantoms, ghouls—white smoke billowing out of this charlatan’s dress. Everything we’ve witnessed here tonight has been nothing but a blatant attempt to lighten our pocketbooks and deceive the gullible into believing in ghost stories!”

Ahern flushed in anger, and I noticed his Irish brogue had become more pronounced. “We’re not here to be judging Madame Karpova, Senator, but to find out who’s behind the killing of Darien Moss.” He sucked in a deep breath, then went on in a calmer tone. “Listen to me, all of you. There’s no way anyone’s going to leave here tonight, what with the storm going on the way it is. Now, we’ll get to the bottom of this business a good deal faster if you answer my questions honestly and to the best of your recollection.”

Senator Gaylord’s face darkened, but he managed to answer more or less civilly, “Yes, all right, I understand the severity of the situation. But why must you involve the ladies? Forcing them to remain in the same room with
that
”—he pointed an arm toward the screen—“is obscene!”

“Begging your pardon, Senator,” Ahern replied with strained courtesy, “but it seems to me that the fairer sex often sees things that we men miss.”

There was a titter of nervous laughter at this comment. Senator Gaylord looked about him, tight-lipped, then, muttering under his breath, fell resentfully silent.

Ahern waited until the room was again quiet, then turned back
to the senator’s wife. “All right, then, Mrs. Gaylord. Think hard now. Did you hear or see anything when the room went dark?”

Maurilla Gaylord darted quick, frightened eyes at her husband, but when he merely gave an irritated shrug, she replied in a small voice, “No, Lieutenant. I was—I’m afraid I was looking at Madame Karpova. I heard the noise of the storm outside, of course, but that’s all.”

Looking disappointed but not surprised, Ahern turned to Nicholas Bramwell. “Mr. Bramwell, you were also sitting across from Moss. Are you sure you didn’t see anyone go near the man during that last flash of lightning?”

“I wish I had, Lieutenant,” the young man replied. “Unfortunately, as with Mrs. Gaylord, my attention was focused on Madame Karpova.” He gave her a self-conscious smile. “It was a remarkable experience.”

Madame Karpova nodded at him graciously, as if such acclaim were no more than her due.

“And you, Mrs. Bramwell?” Ahern asked the young man’s mother. He did not look as if he expected a helpful response, which was just as well, since the matron answered him with a decisive shake of her stiffly coiffed head.

“I hope I know my duty, Lieutenant,” she replied, not bothering to hide a note of disdain in her carefully modulated voice. “If I had noticed anything unusual, you may rest assured I would have mentioned it forthwith.”

I sensed Ahern’s irritation as he turned to Robert, repeating the same question he had asked the others. As he’d been sitting to Moss’s left, Robert said he thought he’d heard the reporter give a little gasp when the candle went out, but he had thought little of it. For my part, I was embarrassed to admit I, too, had been watching Madame Karpova and the specter she’d been conjuring, so, unfortunately, I could offer nothing new to the investigation.

With a look of mounting frustration, the lieutenant addressed Yelena, Madame Karpova’s daughter. “What about you, miss? You
must be used to these, er, get-togethers. Did you notice anything strange?”

The young girl lowered her lovely chocolate brown eyes. Her voice, though tremulous and bearing a strong Russian accent, was sweet and pleasant to the ear. “I am sorry, sir, I see nothing.”

“Come now, miss. Seems to me you’d be curious how the others might be reacting to your mother’s, er, conjuring act.”

An uncomfortable murmur rippled through the room. Over it, Madame Karpova could be heard saying something in rapid Russian. By the tone of her voice, I was sure the words were not meant to compliment Lieutenant Ahern, nor his loosely veiled criticism of her psychic abilities.

Ignoring her outburst, Ahern doggedly continued, this time trying a different tact. “We were told to hold hands during the séance, Miss Karpova. Tell me now, can you say for sure you held tight to your mother’s hand throughout the entire, er, performance?”

The girl looked startled. “Yes.” Her wide eyes turned to her mother, then shifted quickly—and a bit guiltily, I thought—back to the lieutenant. “Yes, entire time.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Ahern looked us over in irritation. “Can each of you swear you didn’t let go of your neighbors’ hands, not even once throughout the entire séance?”

I was surprised when everyone began shaking their heads. I knew for a fact that both Senator and Mrs. Gaylord broke the circle when the woman began sobbing about her lost child. I, too, had broken off holding Robert’s hand when the candle went out.

Before I could admit to this, however, Robert said, “By the horn spoons! I’d forgotten all about that silly business of holding hands.” His broad forehead creased in concentration. “As a matter of fact, we did let go, at least toward the end of the séance. That Moss fellow had hold of my right hand, but when the candle went out, he jerked it free. All of a sudden, too, as if my skin had suddenly caught on fire and was burning his fingers.” He turned to
me. “You released my left hand at the same time, Sarah. Remember?”

“You’re right, Robert, I do remember.” From the stir of those seated around me, I gathered that just about everyone else at the table had broken the chain of hands at roughly the same time. Even Senator and Mrs. Gaylord were nodding their heads now in the affirmative.

Ahern turned back to Yelena, his voice conveying a note of scorn. “Now then, young lady, are you asking me to believe that you and your mother were the only ones at that table who kept hold of each other’s hands without once breaking contact?”

“The girl has already answered you, Lieutenant,” Nicholas Bramwell interjected. “Stop badgering her.”

His mother gave him a warning look. “Nicholas, you must allow Lieutenant Ahern to do his job. I’m sure Miss Karpova understands.” She gave the girl a thin smile, then addressed her as if she were speaking to a simpleminded child. “You do understand the seriousness of the situation, don’t you, my dear? This is not Russia. In America, you must respect your betters and tell the truth when asked to do so.”

The girl’s face colored. Her wide eyes, which had been regarding Nicholas Bramwell, as if she was unsure why he had come to her defense, dropped back down to stare at her lap.

“Well, Miss Karpova?” Ahern asked yet again, his eyes fixing on the Bramwells lest either of them should once again decide to interrupt.

“I—I maybe break off hand when light go out,” the girl responded in a small voice. She did not raise her eyes to look at the policeman.

“Finally, the truth!” Ahern said, throwing up his arms in satisfaction. “Now, is there anyone here who
did not
let go of his neighbors’ hands when that white ghost thing appeared?”

From the general response, it seemed no one had remained holding hands. Ahern sighed. “That’s what I thought. So it seems
anyone could have left his seat during that time, with no one else being the wiser.”

His voice took on a harder edge as he turned to Madame Karpova’s brother. “Now, Mr. Serkov, where did you go after Darien Moss arrived? Mind now, I want the truth.”

Like his niece, the Russian did not meet the lieutenant’s eyes, but instead stared down at the floor. I wondered if, as a foreigner, he automatically distrusted the American police, or if he had something to hide and feared it might be read on his weathered face.

“I go to kitchen,” he replied tersely, and I realized this was the first time I’d heard the man speak. His voice was deep and coarse, not at all pleasant. His speech was also heavily accented. “I have cup of pitiful drink you call coffee.” The man pursed scornful lips, as if he were about to spit, then seemed to think better of it and fell silent.

“You stayed in the kitchen the entire time?” Ahern persisted. “Until you were called back to the dining room?”