Murder at the Bomb Shelter

by Lee Strauss

  The tastefully decorated Spanish-tiled room had several large leather couches and wingback chairs along with finely upholstered lounge seats. The family members sat in a circle around a large glass coffee table.

  Orville Gainer occupied one of the button-back armchairs; his expression was of a man who didn’t like his time wasted. Sitting on one of the leather couches, Leo and Valerie Romano looked unsettled. Janet’s husband, Michael, sat next to Colin Monahan on the couch. Colin’s mother, Alice Monahan sat upright in the other armchair; her legs crossed at the ankles, her husband Frank standing behind.

  Walter and Patricia Gainer, along with Sidney Gainer and his fiancée, Debbie Romano, were also present.

  When Michael Gainer saw Janet and Rosa walk into the room, he approached them. “Everyone is waiting for someone to take charge of the meeting.”

  In a loud, raspy voice, Orville Gainer proclaimed. “For God’s sake, Janet. What is this all about? We already know about Dieter’s unfortunate demise. You’re not going to get weepy on us, are you? And why on earth did you bring your ‘friend’ again?”

  “I’ll be as clear and quick as possible, Dad,” Janet said. She accepted a drink Michael had brought her, took a sip, then started, “I want to thank you all for coming.”

  Sidney sniffed. “Get on with it, Mom. Debbie and I have plans.”

  “Patience, Sidney.” Janet was trying to sound authoritative, but her voice held a bit of quaver. “Today has been a very emotional day for me, and I am still reeling from all of this. There are things you are not aware of regarding Dieter’s death. First, I need to reintroduce Miss Rosa Reed. Most of you met her at our gathering last night, but what none of you know is that she is a private detective.”

  A murmur erupted.

  Orville Gainer’s blue eyes turned ice cold. “What kind of game are you playing, Janet?”

  Janet held up a palm. “Please, hear me out. Miss Reed has served for many years as a distinguished member of the London Metropolitan Police.”

  “We are naturally impressed with the young lady’s accomplishments,” Leo Romano said, “but what does she have to do with us?”

  A wave of discontent threatened to drown out Janet’s voice and end the meeting before it began. Rosa stood and clapped her hands.

  “Please, everyone. Let me explain.”

  The Gainers had enough social graces to quiet down, and Rosa was certain they were curious about her. Colin Monahan’s eyes flashed with amusement.

  “Janet came to me yesterday out of concern for her brother-in-law,” Rosa started. “Apparently, none of you thought to go looking for him.” Her gaze swept accusingly across everyone in the room. At this moment, she was glad for her London accent. It made her sound more like a schoolmarm scolding a classroom. “It’s a jolly good thing Janet decided to act. Otherwise, Mr. Braun’s body would still be rotting in the forest. Who knows how long it would have been before he was found?” The room grew deathly quiet.

  Orville Gainer looked thunderstruck—his mouth half-open in a speechless mask. His gnarly knuckles grew white from gripping the arms of his chair.

  Through tight lips, he said, “Get on with it or get out.”

  “Yes, I will, on both counts. I want to respect this family’s privacy,” she pronounced it prih-vah-cee, “and I don’t want to stick my nose where it shouldn’t be, but I highly suspect you have a bigger problem on your hands than you think. I’ll explain, and then you can decide how to handle the landslide of unwanted attention that will soon befall this family.”

  “What do you mean ‘unwanted attention’?” Frank Monahan asked.

  “Yes, and what do you mean by ‘bigger problem’?” Alice Monahan added.

  “It is my professional opinion that Dieter Braun was murdered,” Rosa said, “and I believe that the autopsy will confirm this.”

  The room became instantly electric. Everyone was either speechless with mouth hanging agape, or giving an exclamation of outrage or incredulity.

  “This is ridiculous,” Walter finally said. He beseeched Orville Gainer. “Dad?”

  All eyes zeroed in on the elderly man, Rosa’s included. Would he shut her down, or let her continue?

  It was as if everyone held his or her breath, waiting for Orville Gainer’s pronouncement. Then, the corner of his lip twitched. “We might as well hear the fairy tale she’s concocted.”

  For a moment, nothing was said, then Valerie Romano finally broke the silence. Her voice was quiet but firm. “If someone killed Dieter, I damn well want to know about it.” She scanned everyone’s face. “Especially if it was one of you!”

  “Now Val . . .” Leo Romano cut off his wife and patted her firmly on the back. To Rosa, he said, “Please, Miss Reed. Tell us what you know.”

  With one last glance around the room, Rosa picked up a leather briefcase she’d borrowed from Clarence and removed her notepad and a cream-colored file folder which contained copies of the photos she’d taken at the scene.

  “First, I have a question,” she said with her pen poised over a clean page. “Am I correct in surmising that Mr. Braun rolled his own cigarettes?”

  Alice flicked a hand, fingers heavy with jeweled rings. “Yes.”

  “Does anyone know what brand of tobacco he used?” Since Alice had answered the question, Rosa stared at her for the answer, but the lady tightened her lips, apparently not wanting to cooperate any longer.

  “Viceroy.” Patricia Gainer said. “I rolled them for him on occasion.”

  Her husband, Walter, shot her a look of surprise.

  “What?” Patricia Gainer responded. “He gave me a few in return. I can’t drink, but at least I can smoke occasionally.”

  “Which pocket did he usually carry the tobacco pouch in?” Rosa asked.

  Mrs. Patricia Gainer could hardly keep the contempt from her voice as she addressed Rosa. “His shirt pocket or in his overalls breast pocket.”

  “Very good,” Rosa said. “Thank you. Now I must warn you some of these photographs are graphic.” She leaned down, removed the first photograph, and flipped it over. It showed a picture of the fallen shelf with Dieter Braun’s body pinned underneath, the congealed blood from the head wound visible on the floor. There were several gasps from around the room. Janet cupped her mouth with her hand.

  Rosa continued, “At first glance, it looks like this heavy metal shelf fell on top of Mr. Braun and struck him on the head. I have no doubt there may also be several broken ribs. Perhaps a broken neck as well. As you can see in the photo, the shelf once contained several substantial items including a gas-powered air compressor, a box full of tools, and a small gas-powered generator.”

  With the tip of her pen, Rosa pointed to the items on the floor just beyond the body. Flipping the second picture, she highlighted the upended toolbox with tools scattered everywhere and the compressor lying on its side about five feet from the body.

  “The trajectory indicates that they were placed on either the middle shelf or near the top. The same for the generator, which landed a few feet further. This would make the shelf very top-heavy.”

  Rosa flipped over the next picture. “You can see the two bolts cemented into the wall and extending out by about two and a half inches. Each of the six shelves has these same bolts. The difference is that the other shelves are all fastened with chrome nuts and flat washers to prevent them from falling. The shelf that fell on Mr. Braun didn’t have any nuts attached. You’ll see from the first photograph that he has a socket wrench in his hand. I found two chrome nuts not far from the body along with two flat washers.”

  Orville Gainer growled in Janet’s direction. “I don’t see what we need this woman for. There was an earthquake a few days ago, and Dieter was caught in the moment of bolting the shelf to the wall when it hit. It very obviously crashed on top of him.” He spread his hands wide and shrugged his shoulders. “The socket wrench is in his hands; the nuts are lying close by on the floor. Case closed.”

  Rosa exhaled throu
gh her nose, reining in her impulse to put Mr. Gainer in his place. If he’d enrolled in detective studies in the Metropolitan Police Training School, he’d have just failed. Jumping to conclusions was the first thing they taught you not to do.

  Rosa forced a smile. “It’s not as simple as that, I’m afraid.”

  She leaned forward and flipped over the next photo. “This is a photo of the bottom shelf.” With her pen, she pointed to a faint square outline on the shelf surface. “Toolboxes usually get oily from the tools inside if they are not always cleaned properly. Even the toolbox belonging to a most fastidious mechanic will have a bit of dust mixed with grime on it. The outside of the toolbox that we saw upended on the floor next to the body was slightly grubby. This faint square outline you see here is a bit of grime. It forms the exact measurement of the bottom of the toolbox.”

  Rosa looked up at everyone. “This indicates that originally, the toolbox was placed on the lowest shelf, not on a higher shelf as its trajectory suggests. No one with any kind of mechanical sense places heavy objects on a high shelf, especially in an area that may be prone to earthquakes. The same is true for the compressor.” Rosa pointed to four small, round grime marks on the lower shelf. “These correspond exactly to the rubberized legs of the air compressor. By the way, I found several pneumatic tools in a closed cabinet, the kind powered by compressed air, which explains why Mr. Braun kept an air compressor in the shelter.”

  “What exactly are you saying?” Walter Gainer asked.

  Rosa glanced at each person in the room before answering. “I believe the scene was staged.”

  Rosa flipped over the next picture. “Here’s a picture of the interior of the cabin. Does anyone notice anything strange?”

  Everyone looked at the picture but said nothing.

  “If we are to believe that the earthquake caused Dieter Braun to lose his balance and that the shelf subsequently fell as a result, why aren’t things out of place in the cabin?” Rosa looked up at everyone’s blank face. “Not one item spilled onto the floor from the shelves. I would guess that the effects of the earthquake along the coast were hardly noticeable in the area of Lake Fairbanks. I’m willing to bet that the weather bureau that records seismic activity will confirm this.” She looked around the room. “Furthermore, I am not a pathologist, but I can assure you that Dr. Rayburn will rule that the gap between the time of death and discovery of the body will be at the most three days, perhaps four. It’s been two days since the tremor. I believe the killer was betting on the complacency of this family, because the more time that passed, the harder it would be to determine when Dieter Braun died.”

  There was silence in the room.

  “Shall I go on?” Rosa asked. She glanced at Janet, who looked sickly pale, and Rosa wondered if she now wished she hadn’t asked Rosa to stay involved. “I have more pictures.”

  With a faint voice, Janet said, “Please do.”

  Rosa consulted her notes and then flipped over another photograph. “This is a close-up of the head wound—probably the blow that killed him. Again, I’ll have to confirm this with Dr. Rayburn after the autopsy. At first glance, it looks like the rail from the shelf hit him, however, on closer examination of the wound, you can see two divots in the scalp that go quite deep.”

  “Yes, I see that,” Patricia Gainer said. She looked like she was growing more and more intrigued by Rosa’s detective work. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that a flat rail from a falling shelf did not make that wound.” The stunned family stared at Rosa, who stared right back. If the killer were in this room, he—and I’m now convinced it is a ‘he’—would probably get nervous about now. “In fact, it looks to me like the claw end of a framing hammer made these marks.

  “A framing hammer?” Janet’s voice was almost a whisper.

  “The kind of hammer a builder uses to build the frame of a house.”

  As if they were one organism, the Gainer clan shifted nervously, everyone focusing on each other with new suspicion.

  “I’m assuming Dieter Braun owned such a hammer,” Rosa continued. “Hammers are a natural part of any basic tool collection.”

  “Did you find a hammer?” Michael Gainer asked.

  “I did not, and I’m assuming the police will be looking for it when my suspicions are confirmed by the autopsy. Detective Belmonte, who will no doubt lead the investigation, is a crack of a detective.”

  “If Uncle Dieter was killed by a strike to the head with a hammer,” Colin Monahan said, “why is he under that shelf?”

  “It’s possible that Mr. Braun and the man who killed him had an argument that ended with a crime of passion involving the hammer,” Rosa said. “Then, the killer tried to make it look like an accident caused by the recent earthquake. I also think the murder did not happen in the bomb shelter.”

  Janet Gainer had hired Rosa to find Dieter Braun with an added request to explain to the Gainer family what had happened to him. Rosa had learned more about the case but felt it prudent to keep some information close to her chest for now.

  Sidney Gainer stepped up to look closely at the photographs. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  7

  Although Larry had offered to escort Rosa from the Forrester mansion to dinner, Rosa insisted it would be more expedient if she drove directly from the Gainer estate.

  Feeling satisfied with her performance, and particularly being one up on old Mr. Gainer, demonstrated by the perturbed look on his usually smug face, Rosa sang along to “Shake, Rattle & Roll”, while replaying the evening in her mind. She’d gotten her first client and had completed her assignment in good time. Working as a private investigator suited her just fine.

  Rosa checked her wristwatch after parking in the lot behind the restaurant. Exactly on time. Larry had made reservations at a restaurant called The Best Beach, which had a beachfront location. Unlike the cooler, moodier beaches common in England, California beaches were miles of white sand, lined with palm trees, and drenched with glorious golden sunshine or at this time of day, a dramatic sunset.

  A smooth jazz trio played softly in the corner of the patio, and Rosa acknowledged the musicians with a smile. Her kitten heels click-clacked lightly across the cedar-wood patio to where Larry sat.

  As soon as he saw her, he stood and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

  “How d’ya like it?” He gestured around him, first at the restaurant and then at the ocean.

  “It’s wonderful,” Rosa said.

  Larry pulled her chair away from the table.

  “Thank you.”

  Larry had proved to be a gentleman from their first date.

  “It’s my upbringin’,” he had explained. “We Texans ain’t nothin’ if not polite.”

  Larry handed Rosa a menu. “Everythin’ is delicious. This place reminds me of my favorite restaurant in Galveston. Overlooks the Gulf of Mexico.” He grinned, and Rosa couldn’t help but admire his southern charm. “I like to come here when I’m feelin’ a bit homesick.”

  Rosa commiserated. “I understand homesickness. Such an interesting phenomenon when you think about it. The absence of a place creating a physical pain.”

  “So true.” Larry closed his menu. “Homesickness can cause sleeplessness, lack of appetite, and headaches for some people,” he said as if speaking to a patient.

  “Do you get back to Galveston very often?” Rosa asked.

  “Not as much as I’d like. California is great, but there’s no place like home, is there?”

  Rosa simply nodded. She missed London but wasn’t ready to venture back there quite yet.

  “Galveston isn’t as far away as London,” Larry continued, “and not a replacement, to be sure, but I’d love to take you there someday.”

  Rosa blinked at the surprising invitation. She was thankful the wine had arrived, and to avoid replying, she took a sip.

  They both ordered steak dinners. After a few bites and comments on how delicious everything was, they sett
led into a comfortable conversation.

  “Tell me more about your parents,” Larry said. “I find it fascinating that they are both detectives?”

  Rosa smiled. “It is a fun story, especially in light of my own chosen vocation. My father, Basil Reed, went through the ranks at Scotland Yard and retired as a superintendent. My mother, Ginger, ran a detective agency she called Lady Gold Investigations.”

  “Ginger? What a great name!”

  Rosa laughed. “I agree. And no one suits a flamboyant name like that more than my mother. She’s the type of person who commands a room the second she walks into it. She also ran her own successful boutique dress shop.”

  “Your childhood must’ve been very interestin’.”

  “Well, they didn’t exactly tell me what they did from day to day when I was young, but after the war…” Rosa hesitated. She’d already told him that she’d lived with the Forrester family during that time, but she’d been purposefully vague in the telling. “After the war, my parents took me under their wings and mentored me in all aspects of their occupations.”

  “They must’ve seen your potential,” Larry said.

  Rosa was sure he was right, but she knew there was much more to it. After returning to London, Rosa had been emotionally broken, and her parents did what they could to help her heal—which for them meant keeping their daughter in sight and busy.

  Larry asked, “How does London compare with Santa Bonita?”

  “Well, London is damper, more crowded. The people are generally more formal and reserved, and the food is rather bland.” She grinned at Larry. “But it also has beautiful architecture, a rich culture, and history in every cobblestone. I love it.”

  “Sounds fascinatin’.”

  “Even more important, we have cricket.”

  “We have crickets in Texas too.”

  Rosa burst out laughing. “Not the insect, the game.”

  Larry chuckled, and Rosa appreciated his ability to be a good sport about things.

  “You mean that game that wishes it were American baseball.”

  Rosa smirked in return. “I do believe cricket has been around much longer than that adolescent game.”