Transposition

by Gregory Ashe

  “Where were you?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  “Not a soul.”

  “And you?” Somers asked Adaline.

  “I stayed down here.”

  “Did either of you leave the house?”

  She shook her head, and Columbia copied the gesture.

  “Ran has been shot,” Somers said. “He followed us to the gun range, and someone shot him there. Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to kill him?”

  “Ran’s dead?” Adaline lurched to her feet. The flush drained from her cheeks, and she trembled like a puff of air would carry her across the room. “That’s not—he couldn’t—”

  Columbia drew Adaline back to the sofa. Her words, when she spoke, were delivered in an even huskier voice than usual. “This is some kind of joke.”

  “Who would have wanted to kill him?” Hazard snapped.

  “Nobody.” Columbia pressed her hands to Adaline’s cheeks; the mousy secretary breathed rapidly, her eyes dilated.

  “There’s not anyone you can think of?”

  “For God’s sake, Adaline, breathe.” Columbia shook her head at Hazard. “Will you go? Can you see how you’ve upset her?”

  As Hazard followed Somers out of the room, he noticed that his partner was shaking his head. His perfect features were cast in frustration.

  “Don’t say it,” Hazard growled.

  They found Leza in the dining room. She sat at the table, her arms crossed on the table, her head down. She wasn’t crying—or at least, she wasn’t sobbing—but she was very still. Hazard held himself back at the door, allowing Somers to approach the woman.

  “Ms. Weaver,” Somers said. “Can we speak with you?”

  “God, it’s my fault,” Leza said. Her voice had a crumbly quality, like the edges of burned paper, but her face was composed when she raised her head. “I sent him out there. Put the idea in his head and let him go. I knew it was dangerous. I knew it was. But—but I was desperate.”

  “Why?”

  Something shifted in Leza’s face; Hazard wasn’t quite sure what he saw, but he knew Somers would recognize it. When the woman spoke, her voice still had its crumbly edge, but it was stronger. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’m making a huge mistake.”

  “If you mean about the guns—” Somers began.

  “Yes. Yes, about the guns. Ran was absolutely wild about them, and I knew if he didn’t go, he’d make himself sick—or do something even worse.”

  Hazard felt an eyebrow go up, but Somers, to his credit, didn’t change expression. When he spoke, it was with the same calm, easygoing charm as always. “What were you afraid he’d do?”

  “Harm himself, of course. The boy was prone to panic attacks. He was working himself up for a real fit, and I knew if I didn’t say something, he might lose it. He might even hurt himself.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “Well, I told him he’d better do something before he lost his mind. He was going on and on about the guns, so I said, ‘Ran, you can’t sit there like a lump. Get up and do something about it.’ And he did, and now he’s dead because of me.” Leza paused long enough to blink tears from her eyes. “Everything’s insane. Nobody can live like this, nobody. It’s got to end, doesn’t it?”

  Somers shifted in his seat. He looked ready to spout more of his charming, comforting, ease-the-truth-out-of-them-slowly magic. Something about his face right then made Hazard want to break his jaw. What right, Hazard wanted to know, did Somers have to get so pissy—and about a damn compliment?

  Before Somers could open his mouth, Hazard charged into the dining room. Both Leza and Somers turned towards him—Leza with apprehension, Somers with irritation. Hazard ignored Somers and said, “Ran said you were both at the range yesterday and that you both handled the guns. He said you came up with the plan to wipe the guns down because you were afraid the police would frame you. Now, either you and Somers can dance around each other all day, or you can start telling the truth.” Hazard took another step forward, close enough to invade Leza’s personal space. Flattening herself against the back of her chair, Leza tried to put as much distance between herself and Hazard as possible. Hazard leaned forward, locking eyes with her as she craned her head. “I suggest,” he added in that low voice that, for some reason he still didn’t understand, worked wonders, “you start right now.”

  For a moment, the muscles in Leza’s jaw worked, and then she spat, “Fine.”

  Hazard leaned back, giving her space—but not too much. “You were at the range.”

  “Yes, I was at the range. And yes, before you ask, I touched those damn guns. Christ, why does Ran have to be such an idiot? I could really use a—” She changed whatever she had been about to say. “A drink.”

  “You were the one who told Ran to clean the guns.”

  Leza was scanning the dining room, most likely for something to drink, and after a moment she dropped back into her chair with a sigh. “Yes. It’s not like Ran ever had foresight about anything. That boy lived his life from moment to moment. When you’re young, when you’ve got good money coming in, you can do that.”

  “And you can’t?” Somers said.

  “No, I can’t. I don’t have that luxury anymore. Not that I ever did, really, I suppose, but it’s different when you’re young.” A calculating look came into her eyes as she studied the two detectives. “You’re wondering how old I am. Almost fifty. Does that surprise you?”

  “You’re in very good condition,” Somers said.

  “Condition?” A sneer raised the corner of her mouth. “Yes, like an antique, I suppose. Do you know what it’s like, trying to get a job in tech—or in finance—as a woman my age? Oh, they’re very interested in hiring women. Young women, minority women, anything, it seems, except old, white women. And that’s what I am. If Strong, Matley, Gross is sold, I’ll be fine—straight into retirement. Maybe I’ll move somewhere in the Caribbean. But if I lose my job, I’ll end up . . . God, I don’t know. In New Jersey, most likely, working for some sort of dying middleman company.”

  “Did you kill Thomas Strong?” Hazard asked, his voice cutting the air.

  “What? No. God, no. I won’t lie, it’s very much an unlooked for good turn, but I didn’t do it. That’s not my style. I’m a survivor, gentlemen. Not a predator.”

  “Why don’t you run through your activities yesterday, Ms. Weaver?” Somers said. “Just so we have everything down.”

  Again, the calculating look came into Leza’s eyes. Then she seemed to come to some sort of decision, and she leaned towards the detectives. “All right. The truth, then. I’ve already thrown in most of my chips. You know about Thomas’s text. You know who I suspect.” She pursed her lips, her eyes never leaving Somers’s face. “Yesterday. We woke up. We got our roles assigned to us by that obnoxious young man.”

  “The host?”

  “Yes, Colonel Fitzgibbon. As soon as everyone knew their part, I had to change clothes and go straight to the kitchen. You saw that slinky maid’s outfit yesterday—I’m sure Thomas enjoyed getting an eyeful, never mind that I’m not his type—and I had to start getting lunch ready.”

  “Except the food is already prepared,” Hazard said. “I saw the lasagne. All you had to do was unwrap it and pop it in the oven.”

  “That’s right. And thank goodness, too, since I can’t even make burned toast. The point of the game isn’t for me to do all the chores, at least, not entirely. It was to humiliate me. Put me in my place. Just like it was with Ran.”

  “Why you two?”

  “We weren’t the top dogs,” Leza said with an elegant shrug.

  “Since lunch was already prepared, what did you do?”

  “I still had to get everything ready—picnic lunches for Colonel Fitzgibbon, Thomas, Meryl, Adaline, Benny, and Columbia, and then something hot for me and Ran here at the house. I didn’t do that, of course. I made picnic lunches for me and Ran too. I wa
sn’t going to play maid in the house all day just because Thomas likes to play god.”

  “So you were in the house until when?” Somers asked.

  “Around noon. I took the picnic lunches out to the others, ate with Ran, and then we did some exploring. The conservatory, the river, all of that. When we heard the gunshots—”

  “Shots?”

  “Oh yes,” Leza said. “Two or three. It’s hard to tell because of the echoes, and I’m really not an expert on the sound.”

  Hazard felt a prickle along his spine. Two or three. “Where did the shots come from?”

  “The river. That’s where they staged the murder.”

  “You could tell that?” Somers said. “I thought they included that information in the character packets.”

  “Yes,” Leza said slowly. “You’re right. I didn’t think about that. I assumed the shots came from the river because I expected them to come from there. I think they did come from that direction.”

  “Not from the house?” Hazard said.

  “No. I see what you’re thinking, but no. Thomas couldn’t have been killed at that time, Detectives. You saw the text message. And he talked to Adaline. He was working long-distance, and she had to do some work for him.”

  Hazard traded glances with Somers. “I thought Adaline was at the range. Or taking a walk.”

  “In the morning, she did something like that. But in the afternoon, she was at the house. I’m sure of it. I heard her upstairs, taking dictation from Thomas.”

  “You’re sure?” Somers asked.

  “And I saw him,” Leza said, as though just remembering.

  “What? Who? When?”

  “Yes, I’d almost forgotten. Thomas, he came out of the house and started towards the main road. He’d changed out of his costume by then—you heard about the fit he threw, I assume—and he was wearing his walking clothes. He had an umbrella too—the on-and-off rain, you see.”

  “Did he seem upset?”

  “Oh, God yes. He was sulking under his umbrella, practically crawling inside his own coat, but he made sure we saw him and saw how angry he was.”

  “Did you do anything else yesterday?”

  “After starting dinner, Ran and I sneaked out to the range. We knew it would be empty. Neither Ran nor I know the first thing about guns, but it was a matter of principle. I wasn’t going to be kept in a kitchen on Thomas’s account. When we’d finished looking around, we both came back to the house. Does that match up with what Ran told you? I’m afraid he’s my only witness.”

  “I think that’s all we need from you, Ms. Weaver,” Somers said, getting to his feet. “One last thing: have you left the house at all today?”

  “No,” Leza said. “Not once. Now, I’ve been honest with you. Be honest with me: we’re all in danger, aren’t we? This is more than it seems.”

  Somers glanced at Hazard.

  “Somebody killed Ran,” Hazard said with a shrug. “Who would want to do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Leza said.

  “Then I’d say we’re in a lot of trouble.”

  IN THE HALLWAY, THE LIGHT from the windows had turned blue, and it gave everything a marine aspect, as though the house were sinking into dark waters. The dying light and its oceanic color fit their situation, Hazard thought: it papered the house in the right shade of morbid futility. In contrast, though, the smell of hot mozzarella and the bubbling zing of tomato sauce came from the kitchen, and nobody on a sinking ship, Hazard was pretty certain, had ever stuffed themselves with hot lasagne.

  “This really isn’t right,” Somers muttered.

  “Yeah, the whole thing has been screwed up from the start.”

  “What? No, I mean—lasagne? On Thanksgiving?”

  Hazard managed to swallow what he wanted to say, but only barely.

  “What now?” Somers asked as they moved down the hallway. “Do we confront Adaline about her lie?”

  “If it was a lie,” Hazard said. “Nobody seems to be keen on details here. Lots of vague times and vague itineraries. Leza might be wrong. Or she might be lying.”

  Somers didn’t respond, but he shook his head slightly.

  Although Hazard saw the gesture, he refused to engage. He had tried employing—and complimenting—Somers’s intuition earlier, and it had blown up in his face. He wasn’t going to try it again.

  “Let’s talk to Benny and Meryl first,” Hazard said. “Get the first version of the story from everyone before we go at them again.”

  They found Benny upstairs, in his room, stretched out on a chaise longue with his slippered feet propped on a pillow. He wasn’t reading or using a phone or iPad. He just lay there, staring into the darkened corner of the room. The slightly stinging aroma of pot lingered in the room.

  “That’s smart,” Hazard said from the doorway. “Use drugs with two detectives trying to find a murderer in the house.”

  “Blow me,” Benny said in a voice so loose that the vowels sounded like they were going to slide out from between the consonants.

  “Let’s talk, Benny.”

  “Blow me,” he repeated, and then a grin stole across his face.

  Hazard and Somers took up position on either side of Benny’s chaise, and Somers began. “What were you doing yesterday, Benny?”

  “Lots of stuff. Got something particular in mind?”

  “The whole day. Tell us about it.”

  “Woke up, got my role, had breakfast. Conservatory, trust games, nature walk, shooting range, murder.” The same grin stole across his face again. “The first murder, I mean. The fun one.”

  “And after that?”

  “Spent most of the afternoon at the murder site trying to find clues. That’s the game.” He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Such a stupid game, now that I’m living it.”

  “And after working the murder scene?”

  “Is that what you call it? Working a scene?” He threw an arm over his eyes, as though there were still too much light getting through his closed lids. “Back here for dinner. Then you two showed up, and everything got ruined.”

  “You seemed upset to hear that Ran had been killed.”

  “Upset? Jesus Christ, this kid thinks I’m upset. Yeah, good work, Detective. You figured it out. I’m upset.”

  “Have you left the house today, Mr. Prock?”

  “Not one fucking step. I’d tell you to check the snow for footprints, but you’d probably screw that up.”

  “Uncover your eyes,” Hazard said, leaning down to grab a handful of Benny’s pajama top. “And sit the fuck up.” When Benny didn’t move, Hazard jerked on the pajamas, heaving Benny into a sitting position.

  “You son of a bitch,” Benny shouted, his arm coming down and his eyes flicking open. “When this is over, I’m going to make sure both of you lose your badges. What you just did, what you—”

  “Ran talked.” That was all Hazard said before he shoved Benny into the chaise. Then, folding his arms, he stepped back and glanced at Somers.

  Benny had fallen silent. The whole house seemed to have fallen silent. Through the windows, that bruised, blue-black light washed over the room, bleaching color from everything.

  “We know what Ran did to the investment software,” Somers said. “And we know that you confronted Ran and blackmailed him. What we don’t know is where you were last night after nine-thirty.”

  It was difficult to tell in the murky light, but Benny’s face seemed to take on color. His eyes, which looked small and yellow in his puffy face, hardened. He looked at Hazard and said, “You’re the faggot, right?”

  Somers was already taking a swing at Benny by the time Hazard could move. He caught Somers by the shoulder and shoved him back a step.

  “Say that again,” Somers said, wrestling to get past Hazard.

  “Leave it,” Hazard said.

  “Yeah, I’ve been doing some reading. Still get cell service out here. Can you believe that? Middle of God’s asshole, this place, and y
ou still get cell service. This little shit-hole of a town got real excited when you came back. All worked up about the local boy who made good—except for the fact that you’re a cocksucking faggot, right?”

  Hazard planted his hand on Somers’s chest. “I said leave it.”

  “You solved that murder last month. That was big, real big, at least in a small place like this. But you don’t have a fucking clue, not when it comes to the outside world.”

  Somers, somehow, had managed to bring himself under control. He nodded at Hazard, and Hazard released his partner. “We have Ran’s recording,” Somers said, “of a conversation between the two of you in which you threaten—”

  “I threaten his mother and that LARPing troll of a girlfriend of his. So what? That doesn’t prove anything. He’s dead, and without real, solid proof, you can’t do shit with what you’ve got.”

  “You’ve got a buyer.” The words popped out of Hazard’s mouth before he could stop them. The pieces seemed to fall together: Benny’s manipulation of Ran, his long-term plan to undermine Thomas, and his behavior now. “You’ve had a buyer lined up for a long time, and now that Thomas is dead, you think you’re going to be able to pawn that software and get rich.”

  Benny sneered, but his eyes were wide and sallow. Snow clinked against the glass, hundreds and hundreds of granules tinkling against the panes. The storm had swallowed everything, even that blue-black underwater light, and everything outside Windsor was darkness. Benny’s room, too, was darkness, and only the light from the hall revealed Benny’s features.

  “Who is it?” Hazard asked.

  “Fuck you.”

  “What does the software do?” Hazard asked.

  “Fuck you,” Benny said again, softer, but more harshly. His breath carried the pot-stink.

  “Where were you last night?” Somers said.

  “In bed. Alone. Now get the hell out of my room.”

  For a moment, Hazard and Somers traded glances. Somers gave a faint nod, and Hazard followed his partner towards the door. As they reached the diagonal slash of light at the hall, though, Benny’s voice called to them out of the smoky darkness.