“All those people,” Tretheway went on. “Taz, Father Cosentino, Miss Tommerup. And the others. Why did you do it?”
“Politics.”
“What?”
“You guys have a coal fight?” Dr Nooner appeared beside Tretheway.
“The conduct of war is political policy,” MacCulla said.
“What’s he talking about?” Nooner asked.
“It takes up the sword instead of the pen.”
“Would you mind checking him over?” Tretheway pointed at Mac.
“Why?” Nooner questioned.
“We must burn with a passionate hatred of one another!” Mac shouted.
“Because I’m taking him to jail,” Tretheway said.
“Jail?” Nooner questioned again. “He’s the killer!”
“All right.” Nooner seemed more sober than before. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Mac!” Mac blinked, but seemed to focus on Tretheway. “I want you to talk to Doc Nooner.”
“I talk to the others,” Mac said.
“What others?” Nooner asked.
“Clausewitz?” Jake suggested. “No, no,” Mac said. “Don’t be silly.”
“That’s something,” Nooner sighed.
“I am Clausewitz.”
Tretheway and Nooner exchanged looks.
“I talk to Marie.”
“Marie?” Nooner repeated.
“Mrs Clausewitz,” Mac said impatiently. “And sometimes to Scharnhorst. And King Frederick the Third. Or was it the Second?”
“That’s okay, Mac,” Tretheway said. “Take it easy.”
“And Machiavelli. Now there was a …” Mac’s voice dwindled off. He stared around the room. Everyone was watching him. He offered no resistance when Wan Ho handcuffed him.
It was ascertained that MacCulla was physically all right. He had just lapsed into silence. As Dr Nooner said, raising an eyebrow at Tretheway, “He’s just reacting to whatever happened down here.” Nooner also said that MacCulla was healthy enough to go to jail but, if possible, could questioning be postponed until tomorrow?
Tretheway nodded. “Unless he volunteers anything.”
Dr Nooner nodded.
Tretheway planned the logistics.
“Jake, you lead the way. Then two Scouts. Then you.” Tretheway pointed at Wan Ho’s men. “Then the other two Scouts. Wan Ho. Nooner. MacCulla and I’ll bring up the rear. Let’s go. Right to the cars.”
“Do we have to go up where everybody can see us?” Jake asked.
“You want to go up the coal chute?”
Jake started up the stairs without answering. In his excitement he led the file of men from the inner hall through the sunroom instead of unobtrusively out the back door as Tretheway had assumed he would. And by the time Tretheway got there, it was too late to change direction.
The merry-making crowd parted and stared while the procession of seven men, four boys and a dog—most streaked with coal, one handcuffed—passed through on their way to the entrance. When Tretheway looked back from the front hall, he was surprised to see that, except for one or two people staring after them, the party had resumed.
Tretheway decided that it was unnecessary for him and Jake to accompany everyone downtown. Besides, he realized, there wasn’t room. The three Scouts were put in the back seat of the first unmarked police car with two of Wan Ho’s men up front. Wan Ho sat in the back of the second car between MacCulla and the NCO Scout. Dr Nooner sat in the passenger seat beside the detective who had played at being bartender.
“You’d better get back to the party,” Wan Ho said. “You’ll have to mix your own drinks now.”
Tretheway nodded.
Wan Ho waved as both cars pulled slowly away from the curb. The NCO Scout had his head in his hands. MacCulla looked neither to the left nor the right. Tretheway watched with Jake as the two cars ran silently over the snow-covered road to the corner, gave two proper hand signals, then turned left and disappeared into the darkness.
Fred nuzzled Tretheway’s bare hand.
“Come in from the cold,” Addie shouted from the front door. “You’ll catch your death.”
When Tretheway came downstairs fifteen minutes later, he was clean in looks and smell. His smoking jacket, covered with black smudges and with one sleeve torn half-off, lay where he had dropped it, at the foot of his giant bed. He wore instead a comfortable canary yellow sweatshirt. This one carried the words, “Windsor/Detroit Police Games 1929”, with the appropriate city crests.
Controller Joseph Pennylegion was first to approach him. “It was MacCulla, wasn’t it?”
Tretheway nodded. He realized for the first time that Pennylegion was a teetotaller.
“He killed all those people,” Pennylegion said.
Tretheway wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected a hint of admiration in Pennylegion’s statement.
“And I never liked him.” Pennylegion walked away, shaking his wrinkled brow.
Jake appeared, also clean, but he hadn’t changed his sweater. “Did you tell Pennylegion?” he asked Tretheway.
“He guessed.”
“Did you tell the others?”
“Not yet.”
“Addie won’t.”
“I know.”
Tretheway looked into the sunroom. Bunny Berrigan’s record of “I Can’t Get Started” was background for what looked like a successful party. About half the people were dancing. The others chatted or drank. Morgan Morgan had taken over as bartender.
“Hate to break up a party,” Tretheway said.
“Maybe you won’t have to,” Jake suggested.
Tretheway went into the party. Jake followed.
“I think everybody’s smashed,” Jake said.
“God bless Gum’s Scouts.” Tretheway stopped one as he rushed by carrying an empty glass. “How’s the tooth?”
“Tooth?” The Scout ran his tongue along his teeth until it slipped into the space. “Oh. Fine, I guess.”
“Keep up the good work.” Tretheway let him go. “I think you’re right, Jake. Look at the Chief.”
“There’s something wrong with his eyes.”
“He hasn’t moved away from there all night.”
“Somebody said he fell off his chair at midnight.”
Tretheway waved at Zulp. He didn’t wave back. Mrs Zulp tried to read Tretheway’s sweatshirt.
The Mayor danced by. “Tretheway,” he said. “What was that uniform MacCulla had on? Dammitall. He looked smart.” Mrs Trutt backed up her husband’s opinion with a quick jerk of her head.
“I’m not really sure,” Tretheway said.
“Never mind. I’ll ask him tomorrow.” They danced away.
At the bar a small group had gathered. Tretheway signalled over their heads to Morgan. Morgan passed over a cold Molson Blue.
“Quite a night,” Tretheway said to everyone.
Mrs Pennylegion winked clumsily at Tretheway.
“You’re out of uniform,” Morgan reprimanded.
One of Pennylegion’s men was busily explaining the difference between Win, Place and Show to Gertrude Valentini. Neither noticed Tretheway or Jake.
Gum edged up to Tretheway. “What was all that with Mac?” he whispered.
“You noticed?” Tretheway whispered back.
“Certainly.”
“And you’re concerned?”
“Of course.”
Tretheway decided not to pussyfoot. “MacCulla’s the murderer. His Scouts are accessories. They tried to blow us up. House and all. Nitroglycerin. In the cellar. They’ve all gone to jail.”
Bartholomew Gum looked serious. He shifted his weight onto his other foot, started to say something, then went back to looking serious. Finally he shook his index finger under Tretheway’s nose. “Never trust a Sea Scout.” He bobbed his head once emphatically and turned back to the bar.
“Let’s go find Addie,” Jake suggested.
“Good idea,” Tretheway said. “I need to talk to someone sensib
le.”
On their way to the kitchen, Emmett O’Dell confronted them.
“We should be thinking about having a sing.”
Tretheway walked by without answering.
“In a few minutes, Emmett,” Jake replied.
Emmett started to hum.
They found Addie in the kitchen. She had made two more loaves of sandwiches and was starting a third.
“Addie,” Tretheway said. “We don’t need any more sandwiches.”
“Poor Mac.” Addie continued slicing. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Tretheway sighed.
“Too much Clausewitz?” Jake asked.
“Something like that. He must’ve fallen in love with old Germany. Or Prussia.”
“Hard to believe his influence over those boys.” Addie shook her head.
“I know,” Tretheway agreed. “But look what’s happening everywhere. In London. Europe. Sometimes I think the whole world’s going funny.”
O. Pitts pushed through the kitchen door. “I have a question.”
Tretheway grunted.
“Why was MacCulla dressed up to look like a lion tamer?” O. Pitts piped.
“Leave the kitchen,” Addie told him.
The party eventually ran down. Pennylegion and party were the first to go. “You never know,” he said to Tretheway on the way out.
The others left, mostly two by two, without learning any more of what had transpired one floor beneath their dancing feet.
“Wait’ll they hear the news tomorrow,” Tretheway said.
Chief Zulp tried to say something that sounded like “Good Night”, but he couldn’t manage it. Mrs Zulp drove home. Tretheway found out the next day that it was the first time she had driven a car.
Shortly after four a.m., Tretheway, Jake and Addie watched through the open front door as the last pair, Morgan Morgan and Bartholomew Gum, went down the steps arm in arm. Bartholomew had kindly offered Morgan the spare bedroom at his house to save him the trip home. “But don’t wake Mother,” he cautioned his new friend.
“Well, that’s the last of them,” Addie said.
“Who’s that?” Jake asked.
Tretheway yanked the door open. Dr Nooner was coming up the steps.
“Just stopped by to tell you everthing’s under control.” Nooner came inside. “They’re all locked up. I gave MacCulla a sedative. Mind you, only after he talked. Of his own free will. He told all.”
“He did?” Tretheway said.
“Yes. Wan Ho’s got it all down. MacCulla killed them all. Everyone on a different holiday. In a different way. Fascinating. Just to obscure the real motive. Politics. And according to his hero, Clausewitz …”
“War is a mere continuance of political policy by another means,” Tretheway interrupted.
“You mean, Mac was at war?” Jake asked.
“With us?” Addie asked.
“Exactly,” Dr Nooner continued. “Hitler against Churchill, King George against the Kaiser, Prussia against the world. The good guys against the bad guys. Only in Mac’s mind, we were the bad guys. He started out just admiring Germany. Specifically Clausewitz. Then he simply went over the edge.”
“An understatement,” Jake said.
Addie nodded. “He didn’t seem that unstable,” she said.
“He fooled us all, Addie,” Dr Nooner said. He cocked his head at Tretheway. “I have a feeling that this doesn’t surprise you. That you somehow … knew.”
“Surmised,” Tretheway said. “But it’s still a shock.”
Addie and Jake clucked sympathetically.
“There’s one thing,” Dr Nooner said. “The nitroglycerin. MacCulla couldn’t understand why it didn’t explode. And neither can I.”
Tretheway smiled smugly.
“Do you know something?”
Tretheway’s smile broadened.
“Did you do something to it? Earlier?”
Tretheway nodded. “I added an alkali. To neutralize it.”
“What sort of an alkali?”
“Ammonia.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Gertrude Valentini’s smelling salts.”
There was a pause.
“Where’d you learn your chemistry?” Nooner asked.
“From the Library. One day last week.”
There was an uncomfortable silence before Dr Nooner continued. He didn’t raise his voice. “It is dangerous to decompose an ester under laboratory conditions with exact measurements and pure chemicals.” He pronounced each word distinctly. “And you’re telling me that, under primitive conditions in your dusty cellar, armed with knowledge from a library book, you poured Mrs Valentini’s lumpy smelling salts into a container of nitroglycerine?”
Jake’s eyes looked like an owl’s. Addie hadn’t blinked for two minutes.
“I shouldn’t have?”
“No,” Dr Nooner said.
“It could have …?”
“Yes.” Dr Nooner clasped his hands together, then pulled them apart quickly to mime an explosion. He made an appropriate noise with his mouth.
The second uncomfortable silence was longer than the first.
Good Year For Murder Page 20