Liturgical Mysteries 02 The Baritone Wore Chiffon (20 page)

"Just like superglue," said Nancy. "Anything new on the clown case?"

"We don't even know if it
is
a case. Unless we can prove foul play, I guess it'll be ruled an accident."

Nancy nodded. "Did you ever get any information back from the Chapel Hill police?"

"Not yet. We can't even find a next-of-kin."

•••

I called Hugh when I got back to the office. It was about two in the afternoon, England time, and he picked up on the third ring.

"Glad I caught you," I said. "I think I have it figured out. At least part of it. I should have thought of it before, but I was so sure the diamond was in the water."

"Well, you can't be right
all
the time."

"Sure I can. Anyway, one of the men you're looking for is the policeman whose daughter was singing a solo in the choir. I'm pretty sure he's involved – if not in the murder, then certainly in the theft."

"That would be Alex Benwick. But he's been with the Minster force for three or four years."

"Any problems at home?"

"He got divorced last summer. The missus ended up with the two children. It hasn't been an easy situation for him. I only know because I was counseling with him."

"I think the police should check him out. And maybe search his house."

"Why do you think it was him?"

"A few reasons. Number one. He was conveniently out of the office when the cameras were turned off. Number two. He had access to a key and could have easily given it to Kris. Number three. His daughter was singing the soprano solo in the Stanford
Magnificat.
That's the opening solo. She would have been finished by 5:15 at the latest, but he didn't return to the office until after evensong was over thirty minutes later. Number four – and this is what I should have caught earlier. I'm betting that the fake diamond was set back into the chalice using Dermabond."

"The surgical glue they used to stick your hand back together after you cut it?"

"The very stuff. They had a couple of small tubes of it in the Minster Police's first-aid kit. You can check it against the glue on the back of the CZ. I'll bet that the chemical makeup is the same."

"But why would he do it?"

"I don't know. Could be a lot of reasons, but he most probably did it for the money. Check on his debt to salary ratio if you can. If you do a little digging, it won't be hard to find the reason why."

"I'll alert the Minster Police and give you a call back if they find anything."

"Great! Talk to you soon."

•••

"Now I've got you, flatfoot."

I knew it would come to this as soon as I called the coppers, but I could see no way around it. Race was dead. Mackerel dead. Doornail dead. Abraham Lincoln dead. And he was in my office, a poisoned drink on his lips.

"Take it easy, Lieutenant. You know I'm not good for it. I'm the one who called it in."

"Looks to me like you're the main suspect." He pointed to the dead body. "An acquaintance of yours?"

"Never seen him before."

"Yea, sure. Then how is it that he's dead on your floor after drinking your booze? And why is he wearing an evening gown?"

That caught me by surprise. Race's trench coat had fallen open when he hit the floor. I looked again. A Versace knock-off. Not bad, I thought. Probably paid about three-hundred for it. It was strapless--a Basque waist with a straight cut bust line in a champagne floral print. Size 28.

"So, what can you tell me? Do you know him? Is this some kind of chintz?"

"Yea, I know him," I said. "He's a baritone. And it's chiffon."

•••

"At last," said Meg, skimming the page hanging half out of the typewriter. "At last we get to it. I wondered how long it would take you. The baritone wore chiffon. Another cross-dressing moment in detective literature."

I was grilling a couple of steaks in the kitchen and tossing Archimedes a mouse every once in a while. He was sitting in the window propping it open, and he seemed to be especially hungry this evening. While the steaks were sizzling, I rummaged around my bookshelf and found my favorite recording of Handel's
Messiah
recorded by St. Martin's in the Field. It was Holy Week, after all, and I planned to listen to all three hours of it tonight.

"You'll be glad to know," I called out, "that I'm pretty sure that I'll be finishing it up soon. Lent is almost over."

"We're all very relieved to hear it," Meg said as she came into the kitchen. My
Messiah
-thon had started, and the overture was echoing through the house.

"Are the interviews still on?" I asked.

"The first candidate – the man – is coming on the Friday after Easter. He'll interview, meet the vestry and then preach the next Sunday morning. Father Barna wouldn't let him celebrate communion."

"That figures."

"The woman will be here the week after that. Same schedule. She may be celebrating because Father Barna is scheduled to be gone. He might change his mind though and stick around."

I took the baked potatoes out of the oven, gave the salad a final toss, and helped Meg dish up the food.

"When are we going to start our Sunday after-church picnicking again?"

"How about after the last priestly candidate is here? I'd sort of like to be around for those," I said.

"That sounds like a plan."

We were just starting to eat when the phone rang. It was Hugh.

"A little late where you are, isn't it?" I said.

"About one in the morning."

"What did you find out?"

"Alex Benwick – you know – the Minster Policeman with the daughter – hasn't been into work for three days. He called in the first day and said he was ill. He didn't call in the second two days, but everyone assumed he was still feeling under the weather."

"Did you go by his house?"

"The Minster Police got in touch with the Yorkshire Police and went to his flat. I went with them, of course."

"Of course."

"He was there, all right. Drunk as a lord. Had been for days, I reckon. He was read his rights and he just started crying. Blurted out the whole story even though the police tried to shut him up. They thought that since he was drunk, his confession might not stand up in court. He wouldn't stop, though. Just kept sobbing the story out."

"Let's hear it then."

"He'd been up to his neck in gambling. It's why his wife left him in the first place. I couldn't tell you that the first time we talked. It was confidential."

"I understand."

"He got in trouble with some very bad people and he needed some money in a hurry. Then one night after services, he got to talking with Kris Toth over a pint down at the Golden Fleece. It seems that Kris had a plan to steal something out of the treasury. All Alex had to do was make sure the cameras were off and get Kris a key to one of the cabinets. Kris would take care of everything else. She'd steal the diamond – although, at that point, Alex wasn't told what would be stolen – replace the diamond with a fake and return the key to Alex. No one would be the wiser. The theft might not have been discovered for years."

"What was in it for Alex?"

"Kris told him that he'd get fifty thousand pounds once the diamond was sold."

"Let me guess what happened next," I said. "Alex got greedy, went down to the treasury, they had a scuffle for the diamond and Alex killed her."

"Not according to Alex. He says he didn't go into the treasury at all. Not until Kris was found dead. He says that Kris came to him in a panic right before Evensong that night and asked for some glue. Apparently she'd forgotten to get any. All that Alex had was the Dermabond in the first-aid kit, so he gave Kris a tube. The next time he saw Kris, she was dead on the floor."

"Did he know that Kris was a woman?"

"He says he had no idea."

"Did you search his house for the diamond?"

"He's in custody. They'll search his house tomorrow, but I doubt that they'll find anything. I'm a pretty good judge of confessions – God knows, I've heard enough of them – and this one rings true."

"I think you're probably right. This means that there's someone else involved as well. And I might have an idea who."

"Can you tell me?"

"Not just yet. Let me do a little more sleuthing."

"Are you coming over?"

"Nope. I think I can do it from here."

"Really? This is becoming most curious."

"It's more curious than you think," I said.

Chapter 17

"Dave," I said, as I walked into the office, shed my light coat, and poured a cup of coffee. "Would you get me the Ringling Brothers Circus Museum on the phone?"

"And exactly how would I do that?" asked Dave.

"Call information. I think the place is located in Sarasota."

"I'll give it a try."

I doctored my coffee, got a donut out of a day-old box and made it to my office by the time Dave called out, "Line two."

"Thanks," I said, picking up the receiver. "Is this the Circus Museum? Yes? This is Detective Konig from St. Germaine in North Carolina. I wonder if you have a circus historian at the museum? May I speak with him please?"

There was a short pause. Then a voice seasoned with age came on the line.

"Hello. This is Roger Watkins."

"Mr. Watkins, this is Detective Hayden Konig with the St. Germaine Police Department. I understand that you're the historian for the museum and I wonder if you can help me. I'm working on a murder investigation."

"Yes, Detective. I'll certainly help if I can."

"I'm looking for some information on an old circus family. The family would have been active in Europe at the end of the last century."

"Just a moment and I'll pull up our data base."

I waited a minute and the voice came back on the line.

"I have it now. What's the family you're looking for?"

"The name is Kaszas. Hungarian. Probably from Budapest."

"Ah, the Kaszas family. I won't even have to look that one up. Der Kaszas Kaiserlicher Zirkus. Or if you prefer – The Kaszas Imperial Circus."

"German?"

"Austrian actually. But in the late nineteenth century, it was an Austro-Hungarian empire. The circus was, in fact, based in Budapest but they were a favorite of Emperor Franz Josef and so spent most of their time in Vienna. They were a very famous troupe, playing everywhere from England to Russia and as far north as Sweden. All over Europe actually."

"What happened to them? Are they still around?"

"Well, presumably the descendants are. Hang on a second and I'll pull the history up. My memory isn't what it used to be. Yes, there it is."

"The Kaiserlicher Zirkus had its last official performance in 1918 at the end of the World War I. It was scheduled to play in St. Petersburg, Russia, but ended up going to Yekaterinburg, several days journey to the south. They traveled by train, of course."

"Do the records indicate which month?" I asked.

"No, but it would have been late spring or summer. The circus didn't perform in the winter."

"Yekaterinburg? That's incredible!"

"Yes. It would have been a dangerous trip."

"Is there anything else?"

"The circus disbanded because their train couldn't make it back. It was confiscated by the Bolsheviks and never returned. The circus went bankrupt. The performers that did manage to get back to Budapest joined other shows after the war. Several joined the Forepaugh-Sells Show. Others came over to America and joined P.T. Barnum."