Cait Morgan 04-The Corpse with the Platinum Hair

by Cathy Ace

  Did her father know who his mother was? I don’t know about that.

  Her father recently killed himself. I wonder why?

  Tanya’s lived in the area her whole life; she might have discovered her father’s true identity and her own. So, yes, I cannot discount Tanya as a possible suspect.

  Why did she have her big purse with her at the bar? Habit?

  There are two more things I must focus on . . . the urn and the egg.

  Okay, the urn. I can see it as the lights come up. It has moved, twisted on its axis, and the handle is definitely missing. Also, the golden egg is still in its place atop the partition. I am certain of these two things.

  Did I notice when the egg disappeared?

  I allow the evening to play through, and I am sure I did not see it being taken.

  I finally settle myself to think through the fight scene that surrounded Carl and Art. I take another deep breath and screw up my eyes one more time.

  I can see Art shake his fist at Carl, and Carl push out his chest at Art. Bud is between the two men, one hand on each man’s chest. They calm down. Bud moves to be closer to me, and we talk. Suddenly, Carl and Art fly at each other. Okay, now I have to try to think things through very clearly.

  Who is where, when?

  Carl is close to where Clemence is sitting. Clemence shies away as Carl is almost pushed into his chair. I can see Clemence’s jacket is still on the back of his seat. Jack rushes to pull the two men apart. Julie wades in, helping Jack pull on Art, who is swinging at Carl. Tanya is being held back by Tom, but she pulls away and starts to move around the back of Clemence’s chair toward the melee. Ian is with her.

  I give my attention, momentarily, to Bud, so I do not see exactly what happens next. But when I look back, I see that Julie is now pushing Carl away from Art. Art has hold of Carl’s sleeve. As Julie pushes Carl, the sleeve begins to rip away from the rest of the jacket—I hear it and see it. As this happens, Carl begins to stagger back. Art also begins to stagger backward. Tanya is behind Art, beside Jack, and has her arm linked through Jack’s—she seems to be trying to pull him sideways.

  Ian is in front of Art, though Art and Carl are still connected by the jacket sleeve, and Ian is trying to catch Art as he falls back. Jimmy hasn’t entered the fight, though he’s very close by, since Svetlana is on her feet, almost cheering the action.

  Finally, Carl’s sleeve rips off. Art falls back, knocking Jack, who tumbles against the partition. I hear Jack’s head make contact with the hollow wooden structure. I wince as I hear it. The urn falls from the top of the partition and bounces with a dull thud onto the carpet, then splits asunder.

  Tanya and Jimmy help Jack to his feet, brushing bits of urn from his jacket. Jack puts his hand in the small of his back and arches it, like a cat, in both directions, then moves his head from side to side. Julie is rubbing his head, checking for blood, a lump, anything. They move away from the throng.

  What have I seen?

  I haven’t seen anyone pump Jack full of insulin, though Tanya, Jimmy, and even Julie would all have had the opportunity to do so. Though maybe only Tanya and Ian would have had a real chance to take the little red pharmaceutical bag from Clemence’s pocket during the flight.

  I have seen the whole thing in flashes because I was giving my attention to the main fight, the Diva, and Bud. I am annoyed with myself that I didn’t keep staring at the fight the entire time.

  I WAS JUST ABOUT TO return to Bud in the dining room, but stopped myself before pushing open the door of the stall where I had been sitting. There’s something else I want to recall.

  I think back, once again, to my first glimpse of the seat in which Miss Shirley’s body is sitting.

  The lights have just come on, I’m as far away from her as I can be, and I am looking at her dead body, in profile, sitting in her seat. I don’t know that she’s dead at this point, but why didn’t I notice the hilt of the sword poking out of the back of her chair? I think back . . .

  Ah—it’s not where my attention is drawn.

  My attention is drawn to her feet . . . As the overhead lights come on, a glint catches my eye—it’s the light reflecting off the thousands of red crystals with which Miss Shirley’s purse is covered. Her purse is on the floor, between her chair and the partition. The base of the purse is facing me. It glitters in the lights. There is no pink silk handkerchief on the floor. I can see right through the legs of Miss Shirley’s chair. I see the legs of the chair, I see the woman’s legs, and I see the purse—but nothing pink.

  How did Svetlana end up with Miss Shirley’s purse when she didn’t get that close to the body? Where did the pink silk handkerchief come from?

  “Cait? You done in there?” Bud knocked on the heavy outer door, pushing it open a little.

  “Coming,” I called back. “Out in a minute.”

  “Okay, but don’t be long. You’ll want to see this.”

  “Right-o.” I was afraid to ask what had happened. Surely things couldn’t get any worse?

  Medley for Two

  I ENTERED THE DINING ROOM with trepidation. What had Bud meant? What would I want to see? Then I saw it. The dessert table had been transformed. Gone was the unappealing heap of picked-over cheese, fruit, and white chocolate bread pudding. Even the puddle of what had once been ice cream had been cleared away. Instead there was an appetizing spread of neatly sliced pudding, fruit rearranged on a plate, chocolates wrapped in foil, jugs of water, bread rolls, biscuits, crackers, cookies, and a dozen or so cans of soda.

  “Where did you find all this?” I asked.

  Svetlana beamed. “Is my idea. Food is better when looks good. We clear, we choose best fruit—is still good. Ian have mints for after dinner behind bar, and I have candy in purse, I share.” She glowed with pride. I suspected that sharing was not something she did often, or naturally. “Tanya have candy in purse, she share also. Water from tap is cool. No bottles left. Cans from refrigerator—not cold, but not hot. Is good, yes?”

  “You’ve done a great job, Madame,” said Jimmy, his smile so wide it threatened to split his face.

  Bud called out, “I think we should all eat and drink what we can. It’s been a very long night, and we still have”—he looked at his watch—“four more hours before help can reach us.”

  “I know it sounds odd,” said Ian, “but we have some crème de menthe behind the bar. In case someone wants to, you know, kinda use it as a gargle, to have a minty flavor, without the chocolate.” He noticed the appalled expressions on everyone’s faces. “Well, I thought it might work. We don’t have coffee or tea, but we do have cola, and the chocolates might help. Sugar instead of caffeine. I can’t remember the last time I started a day without coffee. Like Svetlana said, the sodas are only a little below room temperature. The water from the tap is good, though—I tried it. I let it run, and it’s really quite refreshing. I guess that’ll have to do instead of coffee. Will everyone help themselves?”

  We all nodded. I whispered to Bud, “I’ll see if Julie wants anything, and we have to keep an eye on Clemence . . . by the way, where is he?”

  “He went to the men’s room a few minutes ago,” replied Bud quietly. “How about I see to Julie? She and I have built a sort of—rapport. I’m not sure it was of any comfort to her, but I was able to talk about losing Jan.”

  I felt a sad smile crease my face. Jan’s death would always be a part of our life together. There was no getting away from it. If it hadn’t been for Jan being murdered, Bud and I would still be work colleagues, nothing more. Whenever I thought about her death, I experienced a very complex, worrying set of mixed emotions. I did my best to set them aside as Bud continued to whisper.

  “Because I was able to talk to her from the point of view of someone whose spouse has been killed, I think she was able to cope with my questions a lot better. She still thinks he died because he hit his head. So, listen, you sort yourself out. I can’t quite bring myself to eat small squares of cold bread pudding, so
I’ll just grab a few after-dinner mints and some water.”

  I felt my expression brighten. “I’m glad it was such a huge pudding. Just as well Miss Shirley called for such a substantial birthday dessert. It’ll be fine cold. Better than nothing. And I’ll keep an eye open for Clemence when he comes back, so you can focus on Julie.”

  Bud started across the room toward where Julie was sleeping before I could tell him about my recollections. I caught up with him when he was quite close to her and pulled at his arm.

  “I’m surprised she can sleep,” I noted softly.

  “Different people take shock, grief, different ways,” replied Bud. “But you’re right—I hadn’t realized she was asleep. I don’t think I could just drop off, sitting on the floor with my back propped up against the wall like that. I won’t disturb her. I’ll let her sleep for a while. What did you want?”

  I looked around to make sure no one was listening before I spoke. “I’ve done my recollecting thing, as you asked, sir”—Bud almost managed a chuckle—“and I’ve come to some conclusions. If we’re working on the assumption that it has to be Ian, Jimmy, or Tanya who killed Miss Shirley because they know themselves to be her grandchild, then any one of them could have accessed the shashka, killed her, and been back in their position when the lights went up. My main concern is that, whoever did it, it was an incredibly audacious and risky way to kill someone. To act like that, on the spur of the moment, when the lights went off, is incredible to me. Also, I’ve recalled that Miss Shirley’s purse was on the floor when she died, but the pink silk handkerchief was not under her chair. And that Tanya and Ian both had the opportunity during the fight to get to Clemence’s bag containing his insulin pens, as well as that she or Jimmy could have injected the insulin into Jack’s back while he was struggling with Art and Carl. I don’t see how Jimmy could have got hold of Clemence’s insulin at that particular moment, but he might have been able to get to it sometime earlier in the evening.”

  “Well done, Cait. That’s really useful. Anything else?”

  “I want to find out more about Tanya’s father, and her upbringing, but I don’t want to ask her. I thought I’d pump Tom about it, okay?”

  Bud shrugged and nodded.

  “I’m also curious about why she had her big old purse with her when she left our table after dinner, but not when everyone took up their places again later on. Oh, and I need you to try to find out why Carl was standing near Miss Shirley’s body when the lights went up, but chose to seat himself at his table when we reset. Can you do that?”

  “You’re saying that everyone was in their correct places when we reconstructed the scene except Carl?”

  I nodded. “Pretty well, yes. Tanya and Tom had swapped places at the bar, but I’ll tackle that one with Tom. I’ll grab something to eat and get him away from Tanya. Could you check out the Carl thing? Or maybe pop to the men’s room to make sure that Clemence is alright first?”

  Bud nodded. “Clemence first, then Carl.” He looked at his watch again. “They should be here in less than four hours. I just hope that Clemence can cope without his meds for that long. He’s clearly not a well man in any case, and I know there’s nothing we can do to help him. If only we could find those insulin pens. They must be somewhere. Whoever killed Miss Shirley and Jack has one hell of an evil streak running through them, Cait. All those years I was working homicides, there was one thing I was very aware of—there’s always an alternative to killing someone. Always.” His voice was still low, but angry.

  I hugged Bud. It was all I could do. As I held him close I whispered, “Bud, this person is driven. Focused on their task. I believe they had a plan all along and took advantage of the circumstances to get Miss Shirley out of the way—” As I spoke, a thought occurred to me. “Though there is another possibility.” I pulled back from Bud, my mind racing.

  Bud’s expression changed from anger to hope. “What is it, Cait?”

  “What if the killer knew the security system would be forced into lockdown, and that the lights would go out? What if they planned the whole thing that way, so they knew there’d be a sword handy, that Miss Shirley would be where she was, and that they’d have the cover of darkness? Right at the outset I wondered how anyone could think they would get away with it. You know, hope to get out of the room without being interviewed by the cops? Maybe they didn’t. Maybe their plan hinged upon the cops arriving right after Miss Shirley’s death. The variable they didn’t expect was Miss Shirley changing the security codes. That’s the only reason we’re still here. If those codes had remained unchanged, we’d have been out of here and down at police headquarters, all being questioned and examined forensically, within an hour of Miss Shirley’s death.”

  The more I thought about it, the more this new idea made more sense than someone simply acting on the spur of the moment.

  I kept talking it through, which helps my thought process a great deal. “Maybe Miss Shirley’s murder was carefully planned. It has all the hallmarks of a bold killer taking advantage of circumstance, but it might not have been. It’s the subsequent action of Jack’s murder with Clemence’s insulin that’s the improvisation. Even if the killer knew they were Miss Shirley’s grandchild, they might not have known that Clemence was aware of their father’s existence. It’s only thanks to him, and that photo that Miss Shirley always carried, that we even know about that fact—oh! The photo from Miss Shirley’s purse! Where is it?”

  Bud looked puzzled. “I don’t know, Cait. I’ve kind of lost track of it. Maybe Clemence still has it?”

  I looked around. “And her purse. Where’s Miss Shirley’s red purse gone? It’s not on the bar where Julie put it earlier.”

  Bud glanced toward the bar, then the men’s room. “Let me go see how Clemence is doing, then I’ll help you gather all the bits and pieces that are clues, or possible clues, together in one spot. Meanwhile, how about you talk to Tom about Tanya?”

  “Okay, you go and see to Clemence. We’ll reconvene as soon as we can, right?”

  We both winked, rather than kissing, and headed off in opposite directions.

  Deceptive Cadence

  I ONLY HAD TO MOVE a few yards to be beside Tom, grab his elbow, and steer him away from the dessert table. I did it quite roughly because I was tired and had little patience remaining. He didn’t seem to mind. He’d been picking through the collection of apples, tangerines, and bananas on the table.

  “Can we have a few words, away from Tanya?” I asked quietly.

  “Sure.” Tom shrugged and looked around. “I can’t see her anywhere. I think she’s—you know, in the ladies’ room.”

  I couldn’t see her either, which was good. I didn’t waste any time. “Tom, I need you to know that Bud and I are doing our best to work through all this. I also have to be honest and say that Tanya is one of our main suspects.”

  Tom looked aghast. “Tanya?” He said it quite loudly, then noticed that he’d drawn the attention of people in the room. He stepped closer to me. “Tanya? How can you say that? What do you mean? She wouldn’t kill Miss Shirley. She couldn’t do it. She’s very placid by nature. Honestly. I know her really well. She just wouldn’t do it.”

  “Let’s move a little farther aside, Tom, and talk over here,” I suggested. We stood closer to the glass wall—as close as my creeping vertigo would allow. “We’ve all heard that Miss Shirley had two sons, and Tanya is just the right age to be a possible granddaughter. So, let’s not beat about the bush—tell me what you know about Tanya’s father. She said he recently killed himself.”

  Tom, quite rightly, looked rather taken aback by my abrupt questioning of him. I apologized before he had a chance to speak. Somewhat mollified he said, “Tanya’s had a pretty tough life, and she’s handled it all with patience and hard work. I think it’s unfair of you to believe she could kill someone, so, okay, I’ll tell you all I know about her and her family to prove it. Her father? Waste of space. She’s better off without him in her life. She dote
d on him, and with no cause. On the occasions I met him, he struck me as one of those people who—oh, you know, they act as though the world owes them a living. I wouldn’t say that to Tanya, of course, but the guy was just one of life’s losers.”

  “Can you be more specific?” I hoped he could be.

  Tom nodded. “You and Bud came to Vegas to have a good time. It’s a great city to do that. Loads of my friends come to visit, and they love it. It’s like there’s something in the air. An expectation that people bring with them that they’re going to have a wonderful, crazy time, and they do. But for some, it’s the worst place in the world. They don’t have a ‘flutter.’ They have a sickness that sometimes kicks in when they visit, then it goes away when they go home. But if they live here, it’s a condition they can’t escape. Tanya’s dad was a gambler. He had it bad. He’d have bet on anything, and often did, but mainly he played poker. He was awful at it. He’d lose a pile, then, amazingly, he’d show up at home with a bunch of money, from somewhere or other. When he won, he’d shower her with useless gifts she didn’t want or need. When he lost, she’d help him hide from the guys who’d be looking for him—telling them he wasn’t home, she hadn’t seen him. All while she was still just a kid. I suspect that was the life her mom got sick of, and that’s why she up and left.”

  “Have you ever met, or did she ever mention, grandparents? Specifically her father’s parents.” I was curious.

  Tom shuffled from one foot to the other. “No, we haven’t talked about either her mother’s parents or her father’s. Then again, I don’t think I’ve talked about everyone in my family to her, either. You don’t always, as a couple, do you, eh? Her mother hasn’t been in the picture for years. Took off when Tanya was thirteen. I can understand that the woman might have had enough of her loser gambler husband, but can you imagine a mother walking out on her kid? Awful. Tanya never talks about her, which is understandable. Before he . . . died, Tanya used to talk a lot about her dad. The worst of it was, he was a dealer, so he never escaped the atmosphere. Worked at the old Sunrise, when it was here, then came back when they opened Tsar! It was especially tough when Tanya went to university. She would have liked to have gone to MIT—she had the chance. But she stayed here, went to UNLV instead. Got a scholarship, but it was really difficult for a while. She was only fifteen. Brilliant girl. So clever. Then her dad got fired. I think, to be honest, that Miss Shirley had saved him a few times, but they finally had evidence of him doing something pretty bad at the tables, so he was out.”