Bermuda Schwartz (24 page)

Bill Belleville sees them, too. He edges back to the transom alongside me.

“Is that the cops, man?”

“Appears to be,” I say.

Worley and the patrolmen hop aboard
Miss Peg
before we even have a chance to tie off. The patrolmen head straight for Teddy. One of them takes him by the arm.

“We need you to come with us, Sir Teddy,” Worley says.

“Whatever for?” Teddy says. “What is this all about?”

“Please, just come with us.”

Teddy jerks away from the patrolman.

“I demand an explanation.” He looks toward the boathouse. Other policemen step in and out of it. “They have no right to go in there. This is an outrage.”

“We have a warrant, signed by the magistrate.”

“What for?”

Worley doesn't reply. He gives the patrolmen a nod. And they usher Teddy off the boat.

 

Two hours later, we are sitting in the parlor at Cutfoot Estate, listening to Daniel Denton speak with one of his associates on the phone. The associate is doing most of the talking. Denton hangs up, his face grim.

“Officially, he is being held as a person of interest. No charges have been filed,” says Denton. “But they appear to be imminent.”

“Charges?” says Aunt Trula. “Charges for what?”

Denton looks at Fiona. She sits ramrod straight in a ladderback chair, hands folded in her lap, jaw set.

“For the murder of Miss McHugh's brother,” Denton says.

Aunt Trula's face registers the shock. She tries to speak, no words emerge.

Fiona takes the news impassively, as if it came as no great surprise.

“The police have seventy-two hours in which to formalize the charges,” Denton says. “Until then Sir Teddy can be detained without bail.”

Aunt Trula shakes her head in disbelief.

“There must be some mistake,” she says. “This can't be happening.”

She slumps back in the sofa, plainly stricken by what we've all just heard. She closes her eyes, puts her face in her hands. Barbara drapes an arm around her, pulls her close.

I look at Denton.

“Has your associate spoken with Teddy?”

“No, apparently the police are still questioning him.”

“Doesn't he have the right to an attorney?”

“Yes, but apparently Sir Teddy waived that right. He agreed to the questioning before my associate arrived and is cooperating with the police.”

“Well, of course he is cooperating,” says Aunt Trula. “Because he has nothing to hide!”

I don't say anything. Neither does anyone else.

Aunt Trula shoots a look at Fiona.

“Surely you don't believe this, do you? Teddy did not murder your brother. That dear, dear man is not capable of such a thing.”

Fiona takes a breath, measures her words.

“I can imagine how difficult this must be for you, Mrs. Ambister,” she says, getting up from her chair. “But, right now, I'm afraid you must excuse me. I have some calls to make back home.”

As she steps out of the parlor, one of the butlers appears in the doorway.

“Beg pardon, Mrs. Ambister.”

Aunt Trula looks up.

“Yes, Fredrick, what is it?”

“The caterer is on the phone,” he says. “A question about the canapes.”

 

That evening I sit on the terrace, no glass of rum in my hand. I've been wanting a drink for hours, but I keep thinking we might get a call to visit Teddy Schwartz. Better that I remain sober for that.

Barbara returns from checking on Aunt Trula.

“She won't come out of her room,” Barbara says.

“What about the party?”

“She won't talk about it. But I'm proceeding as if it is still on. At this point, it would be far more difficult to notify all the guests and cancel with the vendors. I've OK'd the canapès, upped the number of cases of white wine for the bar, and signed off on the playlist for the band.”

“Did you request ‘Jailhouse Rock'?”

Barbara looks at me.

“Not funny,” she says. “You want a drink?”

“Yes, I do. But no, I won't.”

“Well, I'm having one,” Barbara says.

She steps inside, comes back with a gin and tonic. She sits down beside me. She takes a sip of her drink. Then another one.

“So,” she says, “what's your take on all this?”

“Same as everyone else. I'm floored.”

“You think he did it?”

“Killed Ned McHugh?”

Barbara nods.

“No,” I say. “I don't.”

“Then what could possibly lead the police to believe that he did it?”

“Because they know something we don't,” I say.

“Thanks for sharing, Sherlock.”

“Plus, there's the fact that Teddy knew Ned McHugh, but never saw fit to mention it—not to Aunt Trula, not to Fiona, not to anyone. He even went by Ned's house looking for him on the day Ned was murdered. He's obviously trying to hide something.”

“What?”

“Don't have a clue, but if I were a betting man …”

“Which you are.”

“… I would wager that there is something inside that boathouse of his.”

“Like what?”

“Again, no clue. All I know is that Teddy didn't like it that Boggy and I walked in there on the morning we went out on his boat. And when I dropped by yesterday with Fiona, he made sure we didn't get a glimpse of what he was working on inside.”

“What do you think he might have been working on?”

I shrug.

“Beats heck out of me. I mean, I saw him at his workbench wearing one of those jeweler's loupes. So it's close, detailed work of some kind. He's got all kinds of lumber and woodworking equipment in there, too.”

“Which he used when he was working to rebuild the roof at the chapel in Graydon Reserve.”

“See, that's just it. Teddy's a good man. He's got a good heart. You know from the moment you meet him that he's a decent guy. And that's what it all comes down to: I just know in my gut that he didn't do it.”

There's a footfall behind us.

“If it helps any, I don't think he did it either.”

We turn around. Fiona stands in the doorway to the terrace. She's holding her suitcase.

I get up from my chair. So does Barbara.

“Please, stay where you are,” Fiona says. “I just wanted to tell you that I am leaving.”

“Leaving?” I say. “You don't mean back to Australia, do you?”

“No, no. I'm checking into a guesthouse. I found one in downtown Hamilton with a vacancy, sounds nice enough. I mean, it's no Cutfoot
Estate, but …” She stops, smiles. “Look, with everything that happened this afternoon, it's better that I leave. My being here creates an awkward situation all around.”

Barbara says, “I'm sure Aunt Trula would not …”

Fiona puts up a hand.

“Please, I've made up my mind. But I thank you just the same,” she says. “Now, all I have to do is call for a taxi.”

“Forget that,” I say. “I'll drive you.”

“No, Zack, thanks for the offer, but …”

“Please, I've made up
my
mind,” I say. “I signed up for the job, if you remember. Plus, I'd like to think there's a good reason why I'm still on the wagon after a day like today.”

 

“
So what did you tell your parents?” I ask Fiona on the drive to Hamilton. “I told them exactly what happened,” she says. “That the police have detained Teddy Schwartz as a person of interest.”

“And did you tell them that you have your doubts that Teddy killed your brother?”

She shakes her head.

“No, I didn't. It would just confuse things for them. They need some closure, even if it's only for the short-term.”

“So why don't you think Teddy did it?”

She shrugs.

“For all the same reasons you mentioned. Gut feeling. A cop's instinct. He's just not a killer. He's not someone who could torture someone like my brother was tortured.”

“OK, but if not Teddy, then who?”

“That's where I draw a blank,” she says. “But that Belleville bloke might deserve a look.”

“Yeah, he might. He came on all buddy-buddy with me last night.”

“I noticed.”

I look at her.

“Like hell you did. You only had eyes for Michael Frazer.”

She smiles.

“Well, he is pretty easy on them,” she says. “Matter of fact, Michael called this evening. Asked me to have lunch with him tomorrow.”

“Oh, really.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Aha!” I say.

“Aha? Aha what?”

“Aha, so that's why you're checking into your own digs, so you can have a little love nest all your own.”

Fiona makes a face, takes a swat at me.

“Let's get back to Belleville,” she says. “Did I overhear you asking him where he got that gash on his face?”

“You did. But he didn't give up much in the way of details. Just said something about how he had done something stupid, a hazard of the trade.”

“Could be anything.”

“Could be.”

“But my brother was not a lightweight. If someone tried to take him down, he'd give them a fight.”

“Maybe take a poke at them, give them a gash on the face?”

“No maybe about it,” Fiona says. “Plus, there's that whole thing with Belleville and Polly, how he asked her out and she turned him down.”

“Yeah,” I say. “There's that.”

“But it's a long way from that to murder,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”

We whip through a roundabout and take the road into downtown Hamilton.

“It's the Oxford House, on Woodbourne Avenue,” she says. “Shouldn't be too hard to find.”

Her cell phone rings. She takes the call.

“Why thanks, I appreciate that,” I hear her say. “Zack is with me, that OK?”

She listens, smiles, cuts her eyes my way.

“Yes, he's that, all right. See you in a few …”

She flips the phone shut.

“Let me guess,” I say. “Michael Frazer?”

“No, it was Worley. Says he'd like a few minutes with me.”

“So it's to the police station then?”

“If you don't mind.”

I pull onto Front Street, looking for Parliament Street.

“What did Worley say about me anyway?”

“Why, what makes you think he said something about you?”

“Because he did. You told him I was with you. Then you listened and you smiled and you said, ‘Yeah, he's that, all right.' The ‘he' you were talking about was me. What did Worley say?”

Fiona smiles.

“He said, ‘That Chasteen. He's a hard man to shake.' And I agreed, that's all.”

“Well, you know what I've always said.”

“What's that?”

“A hard man to shake is good thing to find.”

She looks at me.

“Is that supposed to make sense?”

“Try not to overthink it,” I say.

 

Policemen are milling around in Worley's office when we arrive. Worley shoos them away and closes his door.

He looks at Fiona.

“I don't want to be accused of leaving you out of the loop,” he says.

“I appreciate that, Inspector.”

He looks at me.

“Although I've got some serious reservations about including you,” he says.

“Why's that?”

“You complicate things, Chasteen.”

“But, Inspector, I am just a simple man.”

Worley lets it roll, carries on.

“On the one hand, you are assisting Miss McHugh in seeing to it that her brother's murderer is brought to justice …”

“In a purely unofficial capacity.”

“… and on the other, I would suspect that you might also be looking after the best interests of Teddy Schwartz.”

“Why would you suspect that?”

“Because your girlfriend is the niece of the woman who is sleeping with him.”

“If you don't mind, Inspector, that's really not an image that I like to conjure up.”

“But you can understand why I have my reservations when it comes to speaking frankly about this case with you.”

“Then we're even,” I say. “Because I have some reservations, too.”

“Reservations about what?”

“About exactly how good a case you've got.”

Worley makes a temple out of his hands, rests it under his chin.

“It's a good case,” he says.

“That right?”

“Oh yeah, matter of fact, it's about as good a case as you can get.” Worley gives it a beat. “Found the murder weapon in the suspect's boathouse. At the bottom of a pile of towels, sitting just inside the door.”

I lean back in my chair, let out some air. Wasn't expecting that. Neither, it appears, was Fiona. She's speechless.

“Ice pick,” Worley says. “A blood match with your brother's, Miss McHugh. Found some needle nose pliers, too. In the same pile of towels. Another match on them.”

He doesn't find it necessary to mention what the pliers were used for. Thoughtful of him.

“Questions, comments, observations?” he says.

“It just doesn't make sense,” Fiona says.

“Now why is that, Miss McHugh?”

There's a tinge of facetiousness in Worley's voice, as if he is playing us. Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure he's playing us.

“It doesn't make sense that Teddy Schwartz would kill my brother, dump his body in the ocean, and not get rid of the murder weapons while he was at it. It's counterintuitive.”

“Hrnm. Interesting observation.” Worley looks at me. He seems to be enjoying himself. “How about you, Mr. Chasteen? Anything you'd like to know?”

“Yeah. Why did you decide to search Teddy Schwartz's boathouse in the first place?”