1635: Music and Murder (71 page)

Byron looked at the empty floor, and nodded. "Agreed."

"So, I gave the ceiling a visual inspection. Without going over every square inch with a magnifying lens, from down here I see no evidence of a hole, a trap door or a secret panel of any kind."

Byron looked around, pursed his lips, and nodded again. "Also agreed."

"So now I'm looking for secret doors in the walls."

"Any luck?"

"No. I'm starting to get both bored and depressed."

"So where did you start?"

Gotthilf pointed. "At that corner, and I've worked around to here."

Byron nodded. "I'll start there and work the other way. We'll meet somewhere in the middle."

And some time later, they indeed met somewhere in the middle with tender finger tips and knuckles. What they did not have, however, was evidence of a hidden door.

"Okay," Byron muttered, "now I'm getting frustrated. Bünemann was alive until after lunch. He locked the door. Someone strangled him, but according to the front office men no one entered or left the office by the locked door. We have no reason to doubt them, so . . . how did the murderer get in? There
has
to be another way into this room. It's against all the rules of mysteries for there not to be another way in."

Gotthilf rolled his eyes. Crazy up-timer books. "
We
just have to find it. And I still want to see that list when this is over."

"Yeah, yeah." Byron waved his hand as he frowned at the offending walls that would not give up their secrets.

Gotthilf looked around. Had they checked every bit of the wall? A light dawned in his mind. No, in point of fact, they hadn't. "Byron."

"Hmm?"

"Did you check the walls behind the furniture?"

A sheepish look came over his partner. "No."

"Neither did I. Let's try again."

"I don't see any reason to," Byron said. "If it blocks the wall, it would block a door."

More time passed. Gotthilf checked behind two tables, a wine rack and a wardrobe before he came to a heavy coat rack. He shifted the coat rack out into the room and tapped on the wall behind it. It sounded solid, but something didn't feel right. He lifted the lamp up and looked at the wall. There were two hooks mounted on the paneling of the wall, but they weren't quite level with each other. He reached up and grasped the left hook. It was solid, well anchored, didn't move.

The right hook, on the other hand, moved as soon as he touched it. It seemed to slide down a bit. What really caught Gotthilf's attention, however, was the
click
that sounded from inside the wall. He pushed on the wall; nothing budged.

"Byron."

"What?"

"Come look at this."

With his partner watching over his shoulder he went back to the right hook and pulled on it. It swiveled at the top away from the wall, the
click
sounded again, and the wall moved toward him a fraction of an inch.

Gotthilf pulled on the hook, and the wall became a narrow and short door. He stuck his head through the opening, and saw what appeared to be a narrow hallway with doors at each end. It must be part of the warehouse area, he thought. Byron squeezed beside him. "Okay, I know where we are. That door goes to the warehouse, and the other one goes outside. I wondered why the inside door to the warehouse was there, and now I know."

They ducked back into the office. Byron slapped Gotthilf on the shoulder. "You were right."

Filled with warmth, Gotthilf lifted the lamp high and examined the door and its frame. It didn't take long to see that it was well made. The hinges in particular were hidden with artifice and cunning. He ran his hand along the top of the opening, stopping when he felt something brush his fingers. In the lamplight he saw what looked to be hairs waving by the edge of the opening. With care he reached up and grasped them, pulling them down and holding them before his face.

They weren't hairs. They were threads, fibers from cloth, all of the same dark color. He held them close to the lamp, and discovered they were green. He knew that color.

Gotthilf stood and looked at the very slight rough spot they had been caught on, and pondered. After a moment, a smile began to grow on his face as he understood what their presence meant.

Gotthilf pushed the secret door closed with his foot, hearing the
snick
as the latch caught, then moved out to the desk in the office. He set the lamp down and pulled one of the waxed paper envelopes that he always carried now out of his pocket. Moments later, the fibers were carefully captured and preserved.

Byron's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "So, what is it that's got you grinning like a Cheshire cat?"

"A what? Never mind." Gotthilf waved the thought away. He held the waxed paper envelope between the fingers of both hands. "I have the second piece of real evidence in this crazy case."

"Nice work," Byron said. Gotthilf felt a surge of warmth at the compliment from his partner. "But what do you think they mean?"

"I think they are how the door was opened from the other side."

Gotthilf unveiled his suppositions.

Byron took them in without comments, spent some obvious time chewing on them, and at length said, "I can buy that. I can see how that would work. And no one would probably ever have known about it if the door had just latched tightly the last time it was used."

"Probably not," Gotthilf agreed.

"So," Byron declared, "we're pretty certain we know how it was done. Do you know who our killer with the deformed left hand is, though? No one we've looked at matches the hand prints."

Gotthilf shook his head. Left hand, left hand. Hadn't they seen every left hand of everyone involved in the case?

Something seemed to strike Byron. He stood up straight and his eyes widened. Gotthilf noticed the change in posture. "What?"

"I think I know who did it. Even more importantly, I think I know why"

"Who?" Gotthilf was anxious. He hadn't been able to figure it out.

"Mmm, you should be able to see it. The pieces of the puzzle are all there."

Gotthilf felt a bit of resentment. "I do not see it."

"Think about it," Byron replied. "Meanwhile, I've got to figure out how to bring the killer in."

"What about confronting him with the evidence?" Gotthilf asked.

Byron sighed. "Yeah, I'm thinking about that. If Gericke wants this thing wrapped up quickly, that may be the fastest way. Okay, let's do it. Set it up for tomorrow, here, in this room."

"Right."

The next day

They arrived early, just as Gerhard Lutterodt was unlocking the front door to the office space. Georg was already there, and they exchanged nods. Once the door was open, they followed the accountant in. Johan appeared just as the door was swinging to.

"Herr Lutterodt," Byron called out as Gotthilf headed over to unlock the door to the inner office.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"We'll be having a meeting here this morning with Magistrate Gericke and Frau Diebsin to discuss what our investigation has determined. We will need some of your time and Johan's as well."

"Very good. We are certainly available."

And soon the other meeting attenders began to trickle in. Master Gericke showed up first, soon followed by a burly man of middle years who turned out to be Master Jacob Köppe, the dead merchant's attorney. The two obviously knew each other and at once fell into conversation. After a few minutes, Master Schardius appeared and was shown into the inner office.

They were still waiting for Frau Diebsin. Byron drifted over to Gotthilf. "Just like a woman; always late."

"Do you say that about your wife?" Gotthilf grinned

"Not in her hearing." Byron looked around with guilt on his face. "Did you tell her to bring the maid?"

"No." Gotthilf shrugged. "You didn't tell me to."

At that moment, Frau Diebsin' carriage arrived in front of the warehouse. Her man Philip set the brake, then dismounted to open the door and help his mistress out of the carriage. No maid followed her.

"Okay," Byron muttered, "that's not good. I need the maid. You head out and get her while I take the good Frau in and keep the others occupied."

"Right." Gotthilf was out of the office and through the front door so fast that Georg barely had time to move out of the way.

He hit the street. "Cab!" The driver looked up; it was the same man that had driven them around several times in this case.

"Good morning, sir. Where to?"

"Bünemann house.
Schnell!
" Gotthilf jumped in and slammed the door.

****

Gotthilf jumped out of the cab before it stopped rolling. "Wait," he shouted. He ran for the front door and pounded on it as if a horde of demons was after him.

The door opened and Anna the maid appeared. "Herr Hoch?" She sounded surprised. "Frau Diebsin is not here."

"I know that," Gotthilf said. "I'm here to see
you
." Now the surprise showed on the maid's face, and a touch of wariness as well. "We need you at the meeting your mistress has gone to."

"Me? Why?"

"Don't ask questions, and come with me."

The cab made the trip back to the warehouse even faster. Gotthilf again dismounted from the cab before it stopped rolling and threw a pfennig to the driver. Georg got out of his way again as he almost dragged the maid through the outer door. He did manage to slow down so that they entered the inner office at a walking pace. He held up his thumb and found the maid a chair behind her mistress. Byron nodded and looked around at everyone.

"I believe we're ready to make our report now. We promised Magistrate Gericke and Frau Diebsin that they would know the results of our investigation as soon as possible.

"The facts of what happened begin in a straightforward fashion. Two days ago, Master Paulus Bünemann returned after lunch, having perhaps drunk more than he should have. He entered this room alone, closed and locked the door. He lay down on that sofa . . . " He pointed to the object in question. " . . . to take a nap. A few hours later, concerned about the welfare of the master, Herr Lutterodt had the door forced open, whereupon they discovered Master Bünemann dead. Do I have that correct, Herr Lutterodt?"

"Yes." Lutterodt coughed slightly.

The magistrate was seated behind the merchant's desk, and the others were in various chairs around the room. Gotthilf watched as Byron paced around.

"It was at that point that my partner and I were called in. And we discovered a puzzle. Master Bünemann was apparently alone in the room, yet he had been strangled, so he couldn't have been alone in the room. Our whole investigation has dealt with the problem of how someone else could have entered a locked room. We believe we now know how it was done, and we intend to demonstrate."

Gotthilf walked over and laid down on the sofa.

"My partner represents the sleeping Master Bünemann," Byron said as he walked toward the door, "and I shall represent the murderer. Please wait and watch patiently." He closed the door behind him.

Gotthilf kept his eyes open and his head turned slightly so that he could see at least part of the room. The magistrate was sitting without an expression with his hands clasped together on the desk. Frau Diebsin was pale and motionless. Master Köppe was frowning and tapping a finger on the arm of his chair. He couldn't see the others very well, but they seemed to be still.

It seemed like a long time but couldn't have been more than a minute when the secret door opened and Byron stepped through. He said nothing, just walked with silent tread over to the sofa and leaned over and placed his hands around Gotthilf's neck. Gotthilf gurgled and let one arm slip over the side of the sofa. Byron straightened and retraced his steps, just as silently as he had come. The door closed behind him.

"What . . . " Master Köppe began.

Magistrate Gericke held up a hand. "Wait and see."

A few moments later the main door opened and Byron stepped through. Gotthilf rolled and sat up on the sofa. "And that was how it was done," the up-timer announced.

"I take it that is a hidden door?" Gericke asked.

"Yes, and it took some very good work on the part of Gotthilf to find it."

"I can believe that," Master Gericke said. "So this is how you believe it was done. Do you likewise know who did it?"

"We know from the marks on his neck that Master Bünemann was strangled. We know from the size and severity of the marks that the killer was most likely a man. We also know that the killer had a deformed ring finger on his left hand."

Heads turned to look at Master Schardius. His face turned a little red, but his voice was even when he replied, "A not uncommon injury. There are probably tens, if not hundreds, of men in Magdeburg about which that can be said."

"True enough, Master Schardius, true enough." Byron started pacing again. "So we had to find some other information to help us determine who the killer might be." He stopped. "Fräulein Lutterodt . . . "

She straightened in shock. "Ye . . . yes?"

"Had Master Bünemann been making advances to you?"

This time everyone in the room jumped in shock, especially Frau Diebsin. The maid paled, and for a moment Gotthilf thought she would faint. She was made of stronger stuff than that, though, and gathered herself enough to give a convulsive nod. "Yes."

Lutterodt lurched to his feet, only to come to a complete halt at the sight of Byron's.45 automatic pointed at his nose.

The tableau lasted for several heartbeats. The magistrate's mouth was pursed, the lawyer's eyebrows were raised in surprise; Frau Diebsin' hand covered her open mouth and her eyes were wide. The picture broke when Johan tried to scoot his chair farther away from his fellow accountant.

Lutterodt began coughing—deep, rasping, barking coughs—and collapsed back into his chair. He fumbled the blood-spattered kerchief from his pocket and held it in front of his mouth as the paroxysms shook his frame. This time it didn't hide the left hand, and Gotthilf could clearly see the ring finger missing its final joint.

At length the coughing died down and Lutterodt sat slumped, eyes staring at nothing, fighting for breath. When his breathing had finally calmed, he raised his head.