This Little Piggy Went to Murder (5 page)

The doorbell sounded again. Christ! It was cook’s night off, too. And the night nurse wouldn’t be along until eight-thirty. lf the door was going to get answered, he would simply have to do it himself. Pushing away from the terminal, he steered his electric wheelchair out of the room and down the long corridor to the front door.

“Why am I not surprised to see you standing there?” he asked wearily,backing up and allowing his visitor to enter. “I suppose you might as well come in and join me for a drink. Come back into the study.” He wheeled around and headed down the hall. “Close and lock that door behind you. You can’t be too careful these days. One of my neighbors was burglarized last week.” Bumping to a stop directly in front of a long table filled with crystal decanters, he reached a shaky hand to lift the top off the ice bucket. “God almighty, Milda forgot to fill this before she left. That’s the third time this week.” He turned around. “You know whereto get more ice. And while you’re at it, bring that cold dinner tray she left for me on the counter. I hate to eat alone. You might as well join me.”

“I can’t stay. I just stopped by for a moment.”

“Hmph,” said Herman. “You came for a reason, didn’t you? Get that ice and my dinner and then you can make your pitch. I assume that’s why you’re here.”

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

Herman rolled to the terminal. He no longer had any interest in commodity futures. It was much more important to prepare himself mentally for the attenuated speech to which he was about to be subjected. Why did everything have to be such a pathetic struggle? He knew what was best. He’d always known. “Just set the tray over there,” he growled, pointing to a low table next to the couch. “And pour me a drink. Make it a rye and a little dry vermouth. Why don’t you have one yourself? You look like you could use something strong.”

“No, thanks,” said the visitor, slowly mixing Herman’s nightcap.

“I insist. And take off those goddamn gloves. You’re making me nervous. I’ve never seen you look so grim.”

“Do I look grim? That’s funny. It’s not how I feel.”

Herman grabbed the drink. “You came to talk about money, isn’t that right? Don’t bother answering. I was sure someone would come crawling out of the woodwork after my announcement this morning.”

“Money is apparently your only motivation in life. I feel sorry for you.”

“Screw your pity. I don’t need it. And anyway, by this time tomorrow, my accountant will have taken care of everything.”

“Yes, you’re right. It will all be over.”

Herman studied the drink in his hand. “I know what you’re going to say, so you can save your breath. My mind is made up.” He took a sip. “Why are you smiling?”

“Am I smiling?”

“Yes,” said Herman. “You are. What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“I guess I must think this is all rather amusing.”

“I don’t know what’s so damn funny about it. Hand me that plate of lefse and herring. I need to eat something.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I hate being ordered around? Why don’t you get it yourself?”

Herman watched with growing nervousness as his visitor stood. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting up. You look worried. I wonder why.”

“I … I’m not worried. It’s just that you’re so damn strange tonight. What’s that? Why do you have a gun?”

“I like guns. I’ve always liked guns. Didn’t you know that?”

“But … put it down! Put it away!”

The impact of the bullet caused Herman to arch back. He grabbed at his chest, momentarily amazed at the amount of blood filling his hand. Holding on tightly to the sides of his wheelchair, he had the terrifying sensation of falling from a great height. The last sound Herman Grendel was ever to hear was the clinking of his computer keyboard as the words
THIS LITTLE PIGGY STAYED HOME
were typed onto the screen.

“Christ, it’s the middle of the night,” groaned Jack, jamming a pillow over his face.

Nora reached over and picked up the alarm clock. “It’s nearly two A.m.”

She dropped the clock to the carpeted floor.

The front doorbell continued to chime.

“You better go find out who it is,” she mumbled, pulling the covers over her head. “It might be important.”

“Damn.’’ Jack rolled onto his side and sat up, feeling for his robe at the bottom of the bed. “Whoever it is. I’ll get rid of them. Don’t get up.”

“Do I look like I’m moving?”

He made his way down the stairway and switched on the front hall light. He hated being awakened in the middle of the night, hated having his privacy invaded. Sleepily, he wondered if, after he won the election, he would ever have any real privacy again. “Can I help you?” he asked, yanking open the door.

Two men stood there quietly. The taller of the two was dressed in a police uniform. The other was older, with a mild, forgettable face and thinning gray hair. He was wearing a dark raincoat over a pair of green sweatpants and a UMD T-shirt.

“Jack Grendel?” asked the older man. He peered curiously over his bifocals.

“Yes?”

“My name is John Wardlaw. I’m a detective with the Duluth Police Department. This is Sergeant Severson. I’m sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but it’s important. May we come in?”

Jack ran a hand through his rumpled blond hair. “Of course. Please.” He stepped back, allowing the two men to enter. “We can sit in here.” He switched on several lights in the living room. “What’s all this about?”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mr. Grendel. There’s no easy way to say this. Your father’s body was found earlier tonight at his home. He’d been shot in the chest at close range.”

Silently, Jack sat down on the couch.

“It happened sometime between six and eight-fifteen. The cook left at six. She said good-bye to him personally and confirmed that he was alone. The night nurse arrived early — around eight-fifteen — and found the body. There was no sign of a forced entry. Quite the contrary. It appears the person had been invited into the house by your father and the two were having a drink together. Well, actually, that’s not quite accurate. Your father was drinking. The other person never touched his … or hers. But it does suggest he knew his murderer and wasn’t the least bit concerned for his safety.”

Jack felt a numbness overtake his mind. “I … don’t know what to say. I can’t believe this. It’s … senseless.”

“I know it comes as a shock, but I’m sure it will make perfect sense when we fmd out who did it — and why.” Wardlaw and the sergeant exchanged glances. “There seems to be a connection between your father’s death and that of his business associate, Lars Olson. Were you aware of Mr. Olson’s death last night on the lift bridge?”

Jack looked up. “What’s the connection?”

“I’m sorry. That’s not something I’m at liberty to discuss right now. Please understand, I can’t state this for a fact, but it is possible someone may be planning another murder. I know you grew up here in Duluth and most likely you think of it as a quiet town. Generally it is. But this situation is very different from anything we’ve ever dealt with before. Both of these murders were well-planned, intentional acts. Since your family is involved, I recommend that you take precautions. No one can predict what’s in the mind of a murderer, Mr. Grendel. For all we know, you might be in some danger.”

Jack’s tongue felt thick and dry as he tried to speak. “Have you told my sister any of this?”

“No. We have her address —”

“I want to tell her. I don’t want her to hear this from strangers.”

Wardlaw nodded. “All right. That’s understandable. I’ll give you until eight A.M. If you haven’t spoken to her by then, I’ll have to.”

Annoyed at being issued an order, Jack glanced angrily at the other policeman. “Fine.”

“Now, Mr. Grendel. I have a few questions I need to ask.”

“Questions?”

The detective pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose and flipped open his notebook. “Where were you and your wife’earlier this evening, between the hours of six and eight-fifteen?”

Jack could feel his jaw tighten. “I see. I’m not onIy a potential victim. I’m now a suspect.”

“At this point, we can’t rule anyone out. Especially family members. If you wouldn’t mind answering my question?”

Slowly, he rubbed his temples, giving himself a moment to reflect. He had to exercise caution. “Detective Wardlaw, I don’t know if you realize this, but I’m a candidate for one of the highest political offices in the state.”

“I know you’re running for the U.S. Senate, Mr. Grendel. I have no interest in seeing your reputation or your campaign damaged. I might even say I’m a fan of your environmental policies. Of course, you have the right to consult an attorney before answering any of my questions, but, to be frank, your cooperation right now would be appreciated.”

Jack got up and moved to the bar at the end of the room, pouring himself a glass of bottled water. Upstairs, he, could hear the floor creak. So Nora had finally become curious enough to get out of bed. He looked at the detective. Nothing suggested that the man had heard the noise from above. “All right,” he said, taking a quick sip. “I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ll make this brief. Yesterday afternoon I spoke at a fund-raiser in Clouquet. It was at Hellermann Auditorium. I left shortly before five. My wife had a hair appointment downtown, so she took the car. An associate brought me back here.”

“Who was the associate?” asked Wardlaw.

“Ryan Woodthorpe.”

“President of the North Shore Coalition for a Better Environment?”

Jack nodded.

“Please. Continue.”

“Well, Ryan and I worked here for about an hour. Recently, he’s been doing some speech writing for me. While I was taking a shower, Nora called and said she was running late. We were supposed to be at the Gasthaus Rethenau by seven for the grand reopening.”

“I understand the restaurant has been in your family for many years.”

“Since 1923. Anyway, Ryan offered to drop me off there and Nora was going to meet me when she was done. I arrived around seven. I think she got there about seven-thirty.”

“Did she say why she was late?”

“No. And I never asked.’“

“Are there any witnesses who can verify her whereabouts between six and the time she arrived at the party?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack, taking a deep breath as he Iooked up at a portrait recently done of his wife. The artist had caught a feature in that beautiful Irish face that he’d never noticed before, yet he had to admit it was clearly there — a certain hardness about the jaw, just a bit of ruthlessness in the eyes. “I’m sure she didn’t think she needed any.”

“Is she here, Mr. Grendel? It might be helpful if —”

“She’s not feeling well, John. May I call you John? I’d prefer we didn’t wake her.”

“Of course.” The detective’s eyes traveled slowly to the top of the stairs. “I can speak to her later. Do you own a gun?”

“A gun?” Jack seemed surprised by the question. “No.”

“All right. Do you have any idea why someone might want to murder your father?”

Jack finished his water before answering. “He wasn’t well loved. I’m sure you’ll have no problem dredging up a fairly extensive list of enemies.”

“I was told he withdrew his financial support from your campaign yesterday morning.”

“Yes. That’s right. But I would hardly slink around killing people simply because they don’t support my political aspirations. I loved my father, Detective Wardlaw.”

“Yes. I’m, sure you did.” Stiffly, Wardlaw rose from his chair, rubbing the small of his back. “Thank you for your time.”

“A running injury?” asked Jack .

“Running? Me?” He smiled. “No. Just old age. What do they say? After fifty, if it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t work.”

They returned to the front hall.

“One other thing,” said Jack, stopping before he opened the door. “Have you told Chelsea yet?”

Wardlaw looked questioningly at the uniformed policeman.

“Chelsea Jorensen,” repeated the sergeant, paging through his notes. “Daughter of Luther and Amanda Jorensen. Granddaughter of the deceased.”

“Chelsea is my niece. She was very close to her grandfather. I believe she stands to inherit his shipping business.”

“Is that right? Well, we’ll make a note of it.”

“This is going to come as a terrible shock to her. To the entire family.”

“Perhaps not to everyone, Mr. Grendel. Good night.”

Luther carried a tea tray into the living room and set it on a low, antique table. Sitting down opposite Sophie, he placed a bone china cup in front of her and began pouring the steaming Earl Grey.