by R. J. Lee
“Is that it?” Ross said finally.
“Isn’t that enough? Didn’t the lights go out and didn’t someone hit that Mr. Ogle over the head with that pestle thing? That’s what Carlos told me, anyway, and it was in the paper, too.”
“All of what you say is true,” Ross said. “So you wanted us to know that Carlos was frustrated and angered by Mr. Ogle. We already knew that. Mr. Galbis told us that himself. He also told us that he did not kill Mr. Ogle by bashing him over the head with the pestle.”
“And you believed him? Of course he’d say that, wouldn’t he? How many killers actually come up to you and confess?”
Ross tilted his head to one side quizzically. “You’d be surprised when push comes to shove.”
Berry’s hostility seemed to have morphed into sarcasm. “Well, excuse me for doing my civic duty and volunteering something I bet you didn’t know. I coudda kept my trap shut and maybe let Carlos get away with murder, then.”
“I assure you, your visit has not been wasted, Miz Passman. We’ll call Mr. Galbis in again and get his side of the story.”
Now Berry’s anger was back with a renewed fervor. “His side? There’s only one side. We had an affair, and he told me what he told me. If you want my opinion, I think he did it, and if someone had treated me the way Carlos said that man had treated him, I’d ’a bashed his head in, too. So, make of it all what you will.”
“That’s our job, Miz Passman. That’s our job.”
* * *
“So what do we make of Miz Passman and her impassioned testimony?” Ross said, turning to Bax after she had walked out of the room in somewhat of a huff.
Bax, who had been totally silent throughout the interrogation, suddenly erupted with erudite observations. “The way I see it, it’s likely one of two things. We have on our hands either a Hell Hath No Fury scenario or an Occam’s Razor scenario. The first is obviously that Miz Passman is a woman scorned and will stop at nothing to muddy the waters and hope that Carlos suffers dire consequences as a result. That was the first thing that came to mind while she was rattling on and on about her motivation for coming forth. I assume that occurred to you, too?”
“It did,” Ross said, nodding agreeably. “I may have even gone a bit too far with the wedding ring bit.”
“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t hurt her feelings, and she gave it right back to you with that comment about you judging her.”
“So she did.” Ross gave Bax a sideways glance. “As for the Occam’s Razor comment . . . uh, I think I recall what that’s about. But go ahead and refresh my memory anyway.”
“Gladly. I’m sure it’ll all come back to you quickly enough. Occam’s Razor is a philosophical principle that says that all other things being equal, if there are more than two explanations for an occurrence, the one requiring the least speculation is usually the better one. Another way of putting it is that the simplest explanation is often the right one.”
Ross considered for a while, his face clouding over, and said, “So as that would apply to Carlos Galbis, we would go back to our very first hypothesis when he was our prime suspect because he had easy access to the weapon, motive, and opportunity. Carlos was the one who did it would be our simplest solution, despite his denials. And now we have this further testimony that he had actually uttered the words bash his head in where Brent Ogle was concerned.”
“If Miz Passman can be believed. She could have put the words in his mouth. It’s strictly a ‘he said, she said’ proposition when you come right down to it,” Bax told him. “Remember that the Hell Hath No Fury scenario has not been dismissed yet. In fact, I think it’s very much in play.”
“So, what if we have a combination of both of those scenarios at work here, Bax? What then?”
Bax put his hands on the table with a firm thud, and the effect was to add gravitas to his words. “Well, it seems to me that our job is no tougher than it’s always been from the get-go. All these suspects milling around the RCC with motivation and opportunity, but nothing more than circumstantial evidence at best to put this thing to bed.”
* * *
“Just look at you. Something out of a fairy tale. You look beautiful,” Ross said after he showed up at Wendy’s door in his police uniform, holding a hang-up bag. But before she had a chance to respond to his outpouring, he quickly explained himself. “I’ve got my costume in here. I hadn’t changed into it yet when your daddy called me about the last-minute interrogation. So just let me do a quick change, and we’ll be ready to head on out.”
She gestured toward her bedroom and said, “I thank you for your kind words, sir. Be my guest. I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with.”
Minutes later, he emerged to her cute little shriek, followed by light applause. “I love it. My white knight.”
“Exactly,” he said, taking a bow. “Here to whisk you away to some good vittles.” He glanced at his watch. “And by my calculations, we have just enough time to make our reservation.”
During the drive from Wendy’s bungalow to The Toast of Rosalie, Ross brought her up to date on the interrogation of Berry Passman with her father and his mentor by his side.
“About what went on here tonight with this Miz Passman. You know Wendy will get it out of one of us sooner or later,” Bax had told him just before he had headed out to the parking lot to pick Wendy up. “In all the many years I’ve leaked things to that daughter a’ mine, she’s never betrayed my trust.”
So Ross was completely comfortable with painting a detailed picture of Miz Berry Passman and her relentless pursuit of the role Carlos Galbis may have played in the murder case, all the while keeping a careful eye on the road.
“How did she really strike you?” Wendy said after he had finished.
“As vengeful, mainly. That was the overwhelming impression that I got the second she opened her mouth. I’m thinking this may not amount to very much in the end. But we’ve got Carlos Galbis coming in tomorrow for another round of questioning, of course. We’ll see if he changes his story at all.”
“Occam’s Razor,” Wendy said as Ross masterfully handled the curves of Lower Kingston Road. Then she repeated the words, this time more slowly. “I happen to remember it quite well from Philosophy One-oh-one at Mizzou. I kept thinking to myself during that particular lecture, ‘Will something like that ever actually come up during my lifetime?’ And now, here it is, big as life, staring me in the face. But even if it’s true that Carlos Galbis as the murderer fits the definition of Occam’s Razor, you still have no proof of anything, unless he just up and confesses. Do you think this so-called revelation by this Passman woman would be enough to do the trick?”
“Right now, I’m leaning toward ‘no,’ because it still goes against the grain of who I think Carlos really is. I can’t match any of that up with the man who says he goes to Mass every week and loves his family with every ounce of his strength. It’s a misfit in every sense of the word.”
Wendy knew that that was her cue to tell Ross about her meeting with Mitzy and her surprising backstory and then introduce to him the concept of someone preempting who they really were and what they had actually done. When she had finished with it all, Ross sounded overwhelmed. It had even caused him to slow down a bit.
“Wow! That’s a lot to take in all at once, especially on the heels of Berry Passman turning up with her story.”
“They all can’t be lying to us, though,” Wendy said. “That would imply that they are all guilty.” Wendy paused for a moment. “Is that even possible? That they all had a role in this?”
“That would take some extraordinary planning,” Ross told her. “Who would be capable of masterminding something like that?” He managed a shrug. “Perhaps the director of the RCC? Not to cast aspersions on your bridge club cohort.”
“I’m afraid you did just that. Why Deedah Hornesby?”
“Well, her profile doesn’t fit Occam’s Razor. Miz Deedah as the culprit is far from the simplest solution. She
’d have to take a number in line behind some of the others,” Ross began, his eyes shifting as if he were reviewing every suspect in turn.
“Besides, Bax and I have discussed multiple people being involved when he brought up the idea to me a while back of at least two people teaming up together to pull this thing off. No matter what, though, who could count on the power outage? I can never get past that part. Who could rely upon an act of nature like that? And even though they all had a motive to take out Brent Ogle, it goes against my experience that they would all have agreed to participate in such a risky criminal activity. I’m more inclined to give some weight to your intriguing idea about just one of them being devious enough to throw us off the scent. Preempting, as you say. I like the idea. Maybe I should take up bridge after all. Do you think your little group would agree to admit a novice like me? Or would they be afraid I’d chase the skeletons out of their closets?”
Wendy pointed to the steering wheel as they hit a pothole and the laws of physics disturbed everything inside the car. “Very funny. Pay attention to the road. As for the bridge club, if I have anything to say about it, you’re golden. After all, I’m one of the founders of the Bridge Bunch. We haven’t actually made up any rules yet for membership. Deedah and I should probably do that soon. But mostly, I think we’ll fall back on the tried and true—that the only thing you need to get in is the desire to play . . . and socialize a bit. At this point, all we’re really looking for is more warm bodies.”
“I’ll let you know if I’m truly interested in joining,” Ross said. “Because I do think I fit the definition of warm.”
“I can vouch for that,” she said, patting his leg a couple of times. Then she withdrew her hand quickly so that he could give all his attention to his driving. “But back to the idea of the murder being planned and lots of people being in on it. Suppose there really was a ringleader, and suppose people were to play different roles in such a plan. Perhaps all that planning could have taken place in advance at a different place and time, and all the power outage did was make it easier to execute. I’ve had the strange sense all along that something about the murder had a theatrical flair to it.”
“Are you pointing a finger at Hollis Hornesby by any chance? ”
“No, I didn’t mean theatrical in that way,” she said. “Although I have to admit, Hollis seems to be playing a role every time he opens his mouth. I think he missed his calling. He should have been an actor instead of an artist. I was just suggesting that this murder may not have depended upon the power outage to work. That would remove your objection that no one could count on something like that. As I mentioned, perhaps the darkness made everything a little easier.”
“Let’s file that away for later, shall we?”
They had finally arrived at the Toast of Rosalie lot, which offered valet parking. When the young, uniformed valet who looked like he was trying to grow a mustache handed Ross his ticket, he actually stepped back and applauded their costumes.
“Excellent,” he told them. “If we had a competition going on in the dining room tonight, you two would easily win the prize because everyone else just came as themselves so far.”
“Thanks,” Ross said, as Wendy waved her wand at him with a smile.
“M’lady,” the valet said in return with a bow of his head.
“I know you’re bound to be hungry,” Ross said, as they entered the restaurant quickly to get in out of the chilly Halloween night air. “I’m starving, even though I’ve been given a lot of food for thought tonight.”
“We both have, so that means we’re in this together.”
* * *
In the midst of savoring their shrimp and grits with glasses of champagne, along with the continuous smiles their costumes were eliciting from diners as they either entered or left, Wendy remembered something she had been meaning to discuss with Ross but kept forgetting.
“I was having a conversation with Lyndell not long ago,” she said, “and I read between the lines. She wants to meet Daddy soon, and I think in more than a professional capacity.”
Ross swallowed a sip of champagne and then gave her a quizzical glance. “You mean they haven’t met already? The editor of the Citizen and the Chief of Police? How did that happen? ”
“I don’t know, but it turns out they haven’t. So I was thinking about having a little to-do at the bungalow sometime soon. Maybe just the four of us. Don’t you think that’d work? ”
Ross’s skepticism was showing as he pointed a finger at her. “Depends on what you’re trying to accomplish. Sounds like you wanna be a matchmaker. Has Bax told you he’s even in the market?”
“I honestly don’t think he knows what he wants when it comes to women. He’s told me from time to time that he’ll never get over losing Momma and that she was the one and only love of his life, but he hasn’t said that much lately on the subject. I mean, what could it hurt to introduce him to an available woman who’s expressed a little interest in him? It would just be a simple dinner with witnesses. If they don’t click, they don’t click.”
Ross seemed genuinely amused now. “I love the way you put that—‘witnesses.’ Well, I have only one thing to say. I’m glad I’m already sold on you, because you’re pretty persuasive about justifying the things you do. Hey, it’s fine with me if you want to throw this small dinner party.” Then he leaned back and laughed out loud. “I’ll be there as Bax’s wingman.” He pointed to her wand, which she’d put down to the right of her plate. “But just remember, you can’t wave that thing and make them fall in love.”
“O ye of little faith,” she said, batting her lashes at him.
CHAPTER 15
To say that Carlos Galbis had the frightened look of a wild animal trapped in a corner was an understatement. Unlike during his earlier interrogations, he now seemed filled with a certain nervous energy, unable to look either Ross or Bax in the eye as he took a seat across from them the next morning at the station.
This time, it was Bax who took the lead in the questioning. “Mr. Galbis, we thank you for coming in so promptly today. But we need to ask you some questions about information given to us last night by a Miz Berry Passman. Do you acknowledge that you know her?”
Carlos shifted his weight and continued to avoid eye contact, speaking hesitantly. “Yes . . . I . . . I know her.”
“In what capacity?”
There was a prolonged silence.
“Mr. Galbis,” Bax continued. “Please answer the question. You do yourself a great disservice by prolonging this. Your best strategy would be to tell us the truth and let us take it from there.”
Finally, he spoke up, continuing to look down into his lap. “I’m ashamed to say that . . . I was having an affair with her.”
“That’s what she told us in no uncertain terms. But that’s not what primarily concerns us now—”
Carlos interrupted with great urgency in his voice. “Things aren’t the same, though. You need to know that I have gone to confession and told my priest everything that happened. I am no longer seeing Berry. But please . . . please don’t tell my wife about this. She would fall to pieces, and I could not bear the thought of the pain I know that would cause her.”
“We have no intention of doing that,” Bax told him. “That is not in our job description. It’s up to you and your conscience. But as I was about to say, we are concerned with something Miz Passman told us that you said at some point during your affair with her. She revealed to us that you said you wished you could bash Mr. Ogle’s head in. Do you remember ever saying something like that to her? Or was she making that up?”
The distress on Carlos’s face became even more pronounced. “I . . . I may have. I can’t remember everything I said to her. Pillow talk of any kind is what it is. But . . . but she really meant nothing to me. I realize that now. She came on to me so strong and made herself so available, and then the next thing I knew, we were . . . well, you know how these things go.”
Bax drew himself up w
ith a determined glint in his eye. “Actually, I don’t, Mr. Galbis. I was always faithful to my wife in the precious years we had together. But that’s not the point here. This isn’t about me. You’ve told us previously that Mr. Ogle humiliated you time after time. He never left you a decent tip. He treated you like you were his slave. We believed you then and we will believe you now if you say that you hardly wished him well, human nature being what it is. You had that in common with practically everyone else out at the RCC. The question is, though—did you follow through on your desire to bash his head in? You understand why we have to ask you this.”
“I’ve told you before, I did not do such an evil thing. It’s one thing to stray from your marriage. That is sinful enough, especially when it means the world to you. But to murder someone in cold blood—there is no absolution for that. You will carry that with you to Hell, itself. Can’t you see what Berry—uh, Miz Passman—is up to here? I did the right thing, finally came to my senses and broke up with her. Meanwhile, she took off her high heel and threw it at me when I told her we couldn’t see each other anymore—that it was definitely over. I’m thankful she missed because she was aiming for my head. That could easily have ended up being the murder weapon for her. I might not even be here, talking to you, if she’d had better aim.”
“She didn’t mention that.”
“No, why would she? Of course she wouldn’t mention anything that put her in a bad light. This was all about getting back at me any way she could, but I set myself up for this.”
“Good point.” Bax then turned to Ross and said, “Do you have anything you’d like to ask Mr. Galbis, Detective?”
“Yes, I do,” Ross said, leaning in with authority as he did so well. “The impression I got from our previous interrogations with you, Mr. Galbis, was that you were a devoted family man and churchgoer. There was a sincerity to your statements that I could not deny, and I still believe that that is who you truly are. But tell me why you think you strayed. I’m not trying to be your priest, but it will help me believe in you again. It might make all the difference in our investigation.”