Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 14 - Murder in a Casbah of Cats (10 page)

From the backseat, Wehring whined. “Poor little PI.”

The front door of the mansion opened and Henry, in rain gear and carrying a covered tray, hurried to the car. “Coffee and homemade doughnuts, officer,” he said when Fenster rolled down the window. “Warm you up.”

“Thanks.” Fenster took the tray through the window and passed it to me while Henry scurried back inside. “Nice of him,” he said.

He was right. They’d bent over backward to make me comfortable, even though one of them might have been responsible for the rock and the spiders. Of course, I was jumping to conclusions. I knew that, but I couldn’t help how I felt.

I passed out the coffee and doughnuts. Another crash of lightning lit the grounds. “Talk about a gully washer.”

Wehring griped. “And I got to get back out in it.”

“You said you worked with Dutch on the case, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah. Well, I was the junior. That old man was a whiz when it came to homicides. I was tickled to work with him. He taught me a lot.” For the next few minutes, he talked about his apprenticeship under Dutch Weiman.

Wehring interrupted, “If you don’t need me, Lieutenant, I’ll get back on the job.”

I looked back at him. “There’s more coffee and doughnuts.”

“Thanks, but I’ve had enough. Got to watch my waistline.”

Fenster nodded. “Thanks, Ross. Talk to you later.”

As we watched Wehring slog back through the rain to his cruiser, the lieutenant said, “Yeah, that case really puzzled old Dutch. Me, well…” He shrugged. “I’m a dedicated cop, but I try to keep my perspective. Not Dutch. He was obsessed with the job. It drove him up the wall if any gorilla beat a rap. Me, I accept the reality that some of those thugs will weasel a way out, the law being so strict on those of us who enforce it. My only comfort is that sooner or later, we’ll nail the scuzz.”

I agreed. “Any ideas how the killer made it out?”

Light from the porch cast his craggy face in shadowy relief. Pursing his lips, he glanced toward the mansion. “Not a glimmer. Collins was our best suspect, but there were a hundred witnesses who said they saw him leave the library. We couldn’t check the chimney because of the roaring fire, but after we turned it off, and it cooled down, we did. No one could have gone up through there. We drilled holes in the walls and even removed some paneling to make sure there were no passages behind them. This is an old house, you know.”

“Yeah. They said it was built in the 1850s. From what I’ve heard, some of those old houses had hidden passageways and tunnels.”

A foolish grin spread over his face. “You remember those old Edgar Allen Poe stories we had to read in high school? At least I think it was Poe. Anyway there was the one story about a nail driven through the window frame into the wall, except it had been cut in two.”

“I remember. To look at it, you figured it was nailed shut.”

“Well, we got so desperate, we even decided to check the windows for something like that.” He paused. “Problem was, the window frames were made out of metal.”

“I know. I thought the same thing.”

He grunted. “Great minds think alike, huh?”

The streetlights came back on, casting their yellow glow over the grounds of the estate.

Before I could reply, the lieutenant sat upright, squinting through the windshield. “There! Someone’s out there.”

I jerked around. “What!”

A dark figure raced across the grounds to the hedge bordering the fence surrounding the estate.

“Come on,” Fenster slammed open the door and dashed into the stormy night.

I jumped out. “I’ll cut him off from the gate. That’s the only way he can get out. If he climbs the fence, we’ll spot him.”

The figure disappeared into the hedges.

Slipping and sliding through the mud and water, I sprinted toward the gate, making sure I gave the hanging live oak branches a wide berth. By the time I reached the gate, I was gasping for breath, but at least I’d cut off that bozo’s escape.

I squinted into the rain, spotting Lieutenant Fenster about a hundred yards down the fence. I waved, and he waved back, gesturing for me to make my way toward him. With a grim smile, I started easing along the fence, separating the branches of the hedge every couple of feet, certain we had the goon between us. With the streetlights back on, we’d spot him if he broke and ran.

With each step, my muscles grew tenser. Each second I expected a figure to burst from the hedge in a desperate effort
to escape across the grounds. But with each passing second, he failed to appear. I grew more concerned. Where was he?

By now, I was within twenty-five feet of the lieutenant. I shouted. “Anything?”

Keeping his eyes on the hedge between us, Fenster shook his head. “Not a thing.”

“He’s got to be there. Watch out.”

But he wasn’t. A few seconds later, we met, staring at each other in disbelief.

Fenster cursed. “Where in the blazes did he go? He couldn’t have slipped through the fence. The bars are only six inches apart and buried in the ground.”

“Maybe there’s an opening somewhere. Let’s go out on the sidewalk and see.”

There were no openings, no possible way for even a child to wiggle out.

But he did.

Lieutenant Fenster shook his head. “He must have slipped past you behind the hedge and out the gate. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“No way. I looked behind the hedge. Every foot of the way.”

With a skeptical curl to his lips, Fenster said, “You got a better explanation?”

Slowly, I shook my head. “No.”

“I’ll be back later to talk to the staff. Eight o’clock,” the lieutenant said as he drove away. “Right now, I want some dry clothes.”

Henry was waiting for me at the door with a towel and robe. “I’ll put your clothes in the washer,” he said.

Standing on the mat in front of the door, I stepped out of my trousers and shirt, then donned the robe. “Just point me in that direction. I’ll put them up.”

“In the kitchen and to the right. Can’t miss it. The door Gadrate went through with the fresh laundry.”

“Thanks.” I gathered my wet clothes and padded through the kitchen and into the laundry room. I glanced around. Built-in shelves, upon which fresh laundry was folded, filled half of one wall. On another wall sat three top-loading washers. The door was open on one. After emptying my pockets, I started to toss my clothes into it, but I noticed someone had already deposited wet garments.

I pulled one piece out. It looked like the white blouse Edna had worn that day. Under it were the designer jeans with horseshoes on the back pockets. I stared at them a moment, then tossed them back in along with my own. I couldn’t help remembering the three figures I had seen fighting.

I lay awake an hour, baffled not only by Edna’s wet clothes but also Henry’s sudden appearance as well as Gadrate’s soiled clothes, clothes that looked like she had been rolling in the mud. And if that weren’t enough to stave off sleep, I puzzled over just what Al Guzman was doing on the grounds, and how the guy Fenster and I had spotted slipped away from us. The only way was as a puff of smoke, and that was just as impossible as making cheese from chalk, just like the trick Old Man Watkins’s killer had pulled.

No question in my mind, if he had revealed that trick on YouTube, he’d have picked up ten million hits in the first hour.

Finally, I grew drowsy while wondering just how Dutch Weiman would react when he heard Al Guzman had been murdered.
Next morning around the breakfast table, I informed everyone the lieutenant was coming back to interview them. Filled with morbid curiosity, they seemed eager to talk about the murder, firing question after question at me.

Frank Creek grunted. “No telling what all goes out on these grounds at night. I still think we ought to have us lights all around and keep ’em on at night. Wouldn’t cost nowhere as much as Miz Watkins spends on them worthless cats.”

Edna shushed him. “Don’t say that. Skylar loves them cats.”

Gadrate cleared her throat. “Do you know who he was?”

I lied, not wanting to provide any information Lieutenant Fenster might want kept quiet. I didn’t even tell them about the vanishing man we’d chased. “No.”

“Oh.” She seemed relieved, and I couldn’t help wondering why.

Edna burbled, “Henry said he was stabbed.”

“Yeah. In the chest.”

“He was dead when we got there,” Henry said. He looked at me. “Right?”

I looked at the printing on his red T-shirt, “The Worst Is Yet to Come.” “Right.” I took a bite of eggs Benedict and washed it down with coffee. I licked my lips. “This sauce is delicious, Edna.”

She blushed. “It’s my secret recipe.”

I took another taste of the sauce and scrunched up my face in concentration. “It seems a little fuller than other hollandaise sauces.”

Her brow wrinkled. “You a cook?”

I winked at her. “Most Cajun boys know how.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Like I said, it’s a secret.”

Taking another taste, I rolled it over in my mouth. “Lemon. You didn’t use lemon.”

She beamed. “You are a cook. Yep, two tablespoons of white wine,” she whispered, glancing furtively at Gadrate and Henry. “That’s why Frank is here for breakfast this morning. He always has seconds and thirds when we have eggs Benedict. It’s the wine that does it.”

We all laughed.

Frank grunted. “Yeah, well, besides, I had to bring the gas cans up for Curtis. Figured I might as well save myself the trouble of cooking breakfast.”

A round of skeptical grunts greeted his reply.

The thin little cook looked at me curiously. “You say you know about cooking.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Grew up with it over in Louisiana. I make a wicked gumbo and étouffée.”

She clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. “You’ll have to make us one.”

I winked at her. “Just say when.”

Henry took another bite of his breakfast. “Any idea what he was doing out there?”

“No. The rain probably washed all the evidence away, but the criminalists are coming back out today.”

Gadrate looked up. “Criminalists? Who are they?”

I explained. “They’re guys who work in the forensic labs. They come out and collect all the physical evidence they can find, then take it back to the lab and analyze it.”

Her brow furrowed. She ran her hand through her short hair. “What kind of evidence?”

“You name it. All physical evidence, a piece of clothing, bloodstains, drugs, even a vapor in the air.” I took another bite and shook my head. “They can analyze just about everything today. But,” I added, “the rain last night probably destroyed anything they might have found.”

“Oh.” She glanced toward the front of the house.

Edna pushed back from the table. Over her shoulder, she said, “I’m just glad the rain’s over. I got soaked after supper last night when I went out to the pool to pick up after Karla.”

I sighed with relief. She’d answered one question that had been nagging at me.

Henry paused in sipping his coffee. “Slept OK last night, huh? No more spiders?”

I shivered. “No, thank the Lord.”

Frank whistled. “Those big black hairy ones can get mighty scary.”

With a wry chuckle, I agreed. “Tell me about it.”

Promptly at eight o’clock, Lieutenant Fenster rang the bell. Henry showed him to the library, where we’d all gathered. He introduced himself and briefly informed everyone of the crime.

A voice from the open door interrupted him. “What’s going on in here?”

Wearing a rumpled house robe and a frown on her heart-shaped face, Karla looked at each of us.

Fenster said, “Who are you?”

She stiffened her back. “Who are you? I live here. This is my house.”

I broke in, “This is Karla Simpson, Lieutenant. Her aunt owns the estate. She adopted Karla. Karla, this is Lieutenant Fenster. He’s investigating a crime that took place here last night.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Crime. What kind of crime?”

“Please come in and have a seat, Miss Simpson. This won’t take long.”

She glared at him in defiance. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet.”

“You can have it later. Like I said, this won’t take long.”

“I’ll have it now, and then you can talk to me.”

All I could do was roll my eyes.

His voice cold as ice, he replied, “You’ll have a seat in here, or you’ll have your breakfast down at the station. And you won’t like what we serve.”

I suppressed a grin as the two locked eyes. Karla wavered first, then meekly came over to sit beside Edna on the couch.

After she sat, he looked at me. “Anyone else in the house, Boudreaux?”

“No. Sorry about that, Lieutenant. I didn’t think about Miss Simpson.”

He grunted, a skeptical look in his eyes, and then, with practiced efficiency, Lieutenant Fenster questioned everyone as to their activities the night before, what time they went to bed, rose, and if they’d ever heard the name Al Guzman.

All responded appropriately, none having heard of Guzman. He passed a mug shot around. No one recognized the thug.

He turned to Henry and Gadrate. “Boudreaux says you were at the scene with him. Why?”