Goodnight Irene

by James Scott Byrnside

“Jesus,” whispered Williams. “That’s a bit harsh.”

  Paul Daniels tried to focus their attention on the painting. “It’s a fascinating story. Judith was a widow who took it upon herself to seduce the general and kill him. She chose to behead him in order to impress her fellow Jews. Nothing quite succeeds like excess.”

  Rowan’s eyes were on the painting, but he was not listening to Daniels. His ears were focused on the noises emanating from the office.

  “Robert, if this house is searched, what will they find, I wonder?”

  “Just watch it, Bernie. Don’t forget, you’re my guest.”

  “It’s your home, Robert. You can bring in whatever trash you see fit.”

  Ruth’s voice was now affected by tears. “Madame Lasciva, I hoped we could be friends.”

  “How dare you talk to me like this? You are nothing but a servant. Robert, I demand your help treat me with respect.”

  “Ruth, perhaps you’d better leave. You can finish the letters later. Go and clean the floors. They’re wet from all the traffic,” said Lasciva, a hint of desperation in his voice.

  “Clean the floors?” asked Ruth.

  “Yes. Be a good little girl and clean the floor. Versuchen sie nicht auf dem weg gefickt zu warden.”

  “That’s not my job,” said Ruth.

  “Just go.” said Robert.

  There was a clanging sound in the room and then Ruth Martice came out with a bucket and sponge, her face fiery red. She stormed past the three men into the dining room.

  Lasciva came out looking sheepish. “Christ this is embarrassing, huh? I mean damn. I’m sorry I—”

  Rowan held up his hand. “No need to explain. We all understand the situation.”

  “When people get a certain age, they get cranky.”

  Daniels and Walter nodded in silent agreement. Ruth emerged from the dining room wearing a smock over her black dress and went straight into the library without looking Robert’s way. Lasciva sighed and turned back toward his office. Before entering, he made eye contact with Rowan and gave him a grin. With the closing of the door, no sound could be heard from inside.

  After this public display of drama, no one knew quite what to say.

  Thunder grumbled from outside and Daniels audibly cleared his throat. “The rest of the paintings aren’t as exciting as this one but I’d be happy to show them to you.”

  Rowan pointed to Walter. “Williams is the art connoisseur.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes I am. I adore… art.”

  “If you will both excuse me, perhaps I can interest Mr. Tellum in a game of billiards.”

  Rowan left Daniels and Walter to the paintings in the hallway and made his way into the billiard room.

  Jack Tellum was struggling to stand next to the table. His Kingsman suit was now drenched in sweat and the pink skin on his face had developed blotches of sickly white.

  Rowan watched him for a few moments. Tellum did not seem to register the detective’s presence. The toad grabbed a ball and banged it a few times on the table while staring at nothing. Rowan finally approached cautiously.

  “Are you feeling quite all right, Jack?”

  “Quite.” The bodyguard pushed his tongue against the inside of his mouth and circled it. “Where’s Bob?”

  “Mr. Lasciva is in his office with his aunt.”

  “So, it’s fine. It’s started.”

  “What has started, Jack?”

  Tellum urinated in his pants. “You’ll see. I…”

  The rain cascaded against the windows in waves as thunder boomed deep in the night sky.

  Rowan continued on his path. “Jack, focus on my voice. If something is wrong, I want you to tell me before it is too late.”

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me, Manory.”

  Rowan gambled. “What happened to Irene?”

  “Who?”

  Rowan was inches from him. “Irene Roberts. The girl, Jack. Dorothy’s daughter. Did you kill her?”

  “Go screw.”

  “Listen to me, Jack. Whoever wrote the threat to Lasciva must know what you did. Chip chop, chip chop. Why else would that be in the threat?

  “That’s… That’s impossible.” What began as a laugh quickly sputtered into a hacking cough and then a full-fledged effort to breathe. His bulbous body collapsed to the floor and began a nauseating spasm.

  “Williams!” Rowan tried to hold him still, but the sheer mass of Tellum stymied his efforts.

  Walter and Daniels barreled across the hall. They stood stunned just inside the doorway.

  Daniels said, “Good God, Jack!”

  Walter ran to the table of liquor and poured a glass of vodka. Daniels intercepted his path to Tellum and smacked it from his hand.

  “Don’t give him alcohol. Go into the kitchen and get some water. The jugs are in the pantry.”

  Walter nodded. Fleeing into the hallway he saw Ruth in the library doorway and hurriedly said, “Something’s wrong with Tellum.”

  Ruth ran into the billiard room and stood next to Daniels. “He’s having a seizure. Put something in his mouth or he’ll bite his tongue off,” she said.

  Tellum grabbed Rowan’s lapels and glowered at him with bloodshot eyes as frothy spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. Ruth knelt beside them and tried to put the wet hem of her smock in his gritting teeth.

  Walter came in with a glass of water, but tripped, shattering it on the floor.

  “Christ, I’ll get it myself,” said Daniels.

  “M-m-man-ory.” Tellum tried to vocalize the words, but every syllable was followed by ungodly howls of agony.

  “What, Jack?”

  “This isn’t right. It’s a… it’s a…”

  “It’s a what? Say it, Jack.”

  Tellum began to convulse. “Choke. Choke.”

  Ruth said, “Can’t you see he’s choking?” She forced the fabric into his mouth.

  The toad’s eyes widened as his muscles clenched. Then suddenly, Tellum ceased the struggle. The air hissed from his body and his grip on Rowan loosened. Blood oozed from his nose and drained off the sides of his cheeks as all his muscles slackened and the focus in his eyes deadened.

  Charles and Margaret entered the room, still dressed in their evening clothes.

  “Oh, God. What’s wrong with him?” said Margaret.

  “I believe he has been poisoned,” said Rowan.

  “It’s the panther piss,” said Margaret.

  Rowan turned around in a fury. “What on God’s green earth is panther piss?”

  “It’s the bootleg whiskey in his flask,” said Charles.

  “Did anyone else drink this piss?” asked Rowan.

  “Yes!” said Charles. He pointed to the doorway where Daniels stood, holding a glass of water. “He took the piss!”

  Ruth put her hand to Daniels’s forehead. “Do you feel ill?”

  He swallowed. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  Rowan searched Tellum’s pockets. He pulled out a note. It was written in the same handwriting as the threat Lasciva had received. He read it aloud.

  “Excellent work, detective. Two are now dead and without a single body as proof. Before the coming of the dawn, two more shall perish under this roof. Chip chop, chip chop.” Rowan clenched the note. “Lasciva.” He leapt off the ground and led the parade down the hall toward the office.

  The knob failed to yield and he pounded on the door. “Lasciva, open the door! Bernice!”

  Ruth said, “See if you can look through the keyhole.”

  Rowan knelt down. “I cannot. The key is in the lock.”

  Walter said, “Stand back.” He stomped his foot near the lock. On the fourth kick, the door gave way just a little and on the fifth, it gave off a splintering sound. Finally, the door flung open and they poured into the room.

  The suit of armor lay sprawled in the center of the office, bathed in a shallow but wide pool of blood. The top of the armor revealed th
e sinewy inside of a human neck. Three feet away, the helmet sat propped up with the ax by its side. Rowan crept toward it, the oak floor creaking under his feet mixing with the gasps of the witnesses behind him. He bent down and lifted the visor with his pinkie. Staring back at him, locked in an expression of utter astonishment, were the witless lime-green eyes of Robert Lasciva.

  Ruth covered her open mouth and began crying. Charles held Margaret’s head and averted his own gaze. Paul Daniels stood trembling near the desk.

  Rowan pointed at Walter. “Williams, check the door.”

  Walter pulled it halfway closed and there, resting in the inside of the door, was the key. “It’s here.”

  “His head is cut off,” said Daniels.

  “Where’s Bernice?” said Ruth.

  “His head is cut off,” the lawyer repeated.

  Charles fell to the floor, pulling Margaret with him. “I’m gonna be sick.”

  Rowan righted himself and began to roll a cigarette. “Everyone listen. You are all going to be calm, cool customers. I am a detective. Mr. Williams is my partner. We were hired by,” he motioned to the decapitated corpse, “Mr Lasciva. We will get to the bottom of this and if you do as we say, no one else will get hurt.”

  The front door burst open and Willie Aikes’s voice rang through the hall. “Mr. Lasciva.”

  Rowan motioned for them to leave the room. After everyone had filed into the back of the hall, he pocketed the key and swung the door closed.

  Willie shouted as he stumbled toward them, his red raincoat trickling water all along the floor. “The bridge is out. There’s no way to get into town.”

  Rowan lifted his hand. “William—”

  “He prefers Willie,” said Walter.

  “Willie, what do you mean?”

  Aikes saw the shocked faces in front of him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “You first, Willie. Go slowly and tell me everything.”

  He panted with his mouth open for a few moments and then began. “Mr. Williams was right. I couldn’t see a damn thing out there. I’m always worried when I get to that little bridge after the loop, the Caddy’s so heavy and all. She eased onto the first plank and then I knew I was in trouble ’cause there was no traction. I thought flooring it was the best idea. The whole thing gave way.”

  Charles backed against the wall. “It collapsed? There must be another way out.”

  “Quiet, Charles,” said Rowan. “If the bridge collapsed, how did you survive?”

  “I thought I was done for but I’ll be goddamned if the car didn’t fall perfectly. There are two rocky points in the crevice. The front end fell on one and the back on the other. I was just hanging there. I opened the door and climbed on the roof. Scariest thing I’ve ever done. I made it up the side of the ridge and when I looked down the Caddy slid off and disappeared. God musta been looking out for me.”

  Daniels pounded a cigarette on his case. “Musta been God. He’s bent.”

  Aikes backed away. “I’m not… I’m… Why is everyone looking at me? Where’s Mr. Lasciva?”

  Rowan lit Daniels’s cigarette. “How do we get out of here, Paul?”

  Ruth answered. “We don’t. That road is the only way out.”

  “Oh, God, we’re stranded with a murderer,” said Margaret.

  “Who’s a murderer?” asked Aikes.

  Walter said, “What about visitors? If someone tries to come here they’ll see the bridge is out and send help. Is anyone else coming? A mailman, a delivery boy, anybody?”

  “There’s a manager from the bank scheduled to come,” said Ruth. “But—”

  “But what?” asked Charles.

  She flinched. “He’s not coming until Tuesday.”

  Aikes screamed, “Someone tell me what’s happening!”

  Rowan placed the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “Mr. Lasciva no longer requires your services. He has been murdered.”

  “Mr. Lasciva? Murdered? Are you sure?”

  “Sure as Sunday, Willie.”

  chapter 9

  the right questions

  Rowan stood next to the office wall and pressed his ear against it. He raised his left hand and gave two precise knocks on the wood. After waiting a few seconds, he shuffled two feet to the left and repeated the action.

  In the fireplace, the embers glowed brilliantly through shadowed ash before receding. Red highlights bled along the logs’ skeletal frames like lava oozing along the cracks in rock.

  In the middle of the room, Lasciva’s thirty-seven million cells continued to slowly break down.

  Walter opened the door and set Tellum’s flask on the desk along with a glass. “I parked them in the library. They’re not thrilled with the arrangement.”

  “Neither am I. Did you find the gun?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you did not. If you had, you would have brought it with you.”

  “You’ve still got it, boss. Can’t get anything past you.”

  “I suppose there’s no sign of Bernice.”

  “Right again. I looked through all the upstairs rooms. Either she left the house or she’s invisible.” He pointed at the walls. “What are you doing?”

  “Now and then, a mystery can be solved in seconds with very little work. I was hoping to find some walkway. I’m checking for a hollow sound.”

  “A secret passage?”

  “Yes, a locked room without windows begs for another access point. Alas, there appears to be nothing.”

  “The situation is dire, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all. All mysteries are unraveled through concatenating. One action follows another and logically or illogically everything is linked.”

  Walter nodded his head a few times and then began shaking it. “The biggest mystery is why you keep me on as your assistant. I’m really no help to you. My head is swimming with questions right now.”

  “Applesauce, my friend. You are essential to my work. I have known it since our first collaboration and I am sure that this time will prove to be no different.”

  “You think I will solve this case?”

  “No. I will solve this case. Your deduction skills are quite raw and you have a tendency to come up with pat conclusions, baffling motivations, and, quite frankly, backwards logic. But when I am struggling you always say something innocuous, a random thought that has nothing to do with the case. When you say this random thought, you light a flame inside of me. The flame burns and eventually it explodes into a brilliant realization. Every time this happens. It is uncanny.”

  “Have I lit your wick yet?”

  “No, but you will. If you want to do something helpful in the meantime, you can look through Lasciva’s desk.” Rowan poked the ashes of the fireplace, searching for the remains of burned evidence.

  While he flipped through the papers and other contents of the desk, Walter asked the questions he could no longer keep to himself. “If there is no secret passage and if there are no windows, how was the room locked from the inside? Where did the murderer go? Where is Bernice Lasciva and how did she leave this room? And why in God’s name is he in a suit of armor?”

  “Far too many questions to answer at once. Make it easy for me, my friend.”

  “Fine. Let’s start with the locked door.”

  “The explanation of how the door was locked from the inside is not nearly as important as the fact that it was locked from the inside. Nevertheless, we shall amuse your curiosity. How do you think it could have been done?”

  “Right.” Walter cracked his knuckles. “Lasciva and Bernice go into this room and he locks the door.”

  “Did he lock the door?”

  “I have to assume he locked it. It was locked when we tried to enter.”

  “Assume is a dirty word.”

  “What word should I use?”

  “Asses assume. Detectives deduce.”

  “All right, I deduce he locked the door.”

  “It could have been lo
cked by anyone at any time after he closed it.”

  “Fine, they enter and at some point the door is locked by someone. Bernice somehow vanishes and Robert Lasciva is beheaded in a suit of armor.”

  “Too many details. Simplify. There is a dead man in a locked room. What could be the explanation?”

  “Suicide.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “Faked death.”

  “Highly unlikely.”

  “Monkeys.”

  “Monkeys?”

  “Oh, yes. Monkeys can be trained to do anything. You’ve read Poe. You know, in Morocco, they train monkeys to—”

  “I have been to Morocco. Monkeys did not chop off this man’s head with an ax.”

  “The killer could still be in this room.”

  Rowan nodded. “This is a far more reasonable explanation. While you escorted our guests into the library, I performed a cursory search of the room. No one is under the desk or under the sofa or in the closet. There is no one here except our sundered host and us.”

  “He could have been killed after we entered the room.”

  Rowan wrinkled his nose. “Could he have?”

  “Not in this case. I’m saying that in general it is a possibility. I read a story called The Big Bow Mystery where that happened. In the story, the detective breaks down the door and quietly slits the victim’s throat.”

  “Williams.”

  “Did you do it, Manory?”

  “This is one of those times I told you about.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Focus! What other solutions are possible?”

  “I don’t know. Ghosts?”

  “A little bit of mystery and you head straight for the supernatural? Please, Williams, not on the first night.”

  “Do you know the answer?”

  “I have better theories than yours.”

  Walter slapped a folder on the desk. “Do you care to share them with your partner?”

  “I will wait until I have interviewed the guests. Then I can be sure.”

  “I see. Do you have a theory about where Bernice went?”

  Rowan found nothing in the fireplace and sat opposite Walter at the desk. He opened the flask and poured two fingers’ worth into the glass. “That is a much more troubling question. When Aikes told me that he had never heard mention of Bernice before, I was a bit suspicious of her. But everyone else seems to have met her. Lasciva himself said that he had known her since childhood. I do not believe people disappear, nor do I believe they walk through walls. I must deduce that Bernice is in this house, dead or alive. As for where she is or how she escaped this room, I am currently at a loss.”