Death at King Arthur's Court

by Forrest, Richard;

  ‘When do you get the ballistics results on Ernest’s rifle?’

  ‘We don’t,’ Rocco responded without removing his eyes from the lens.

  ‘Wrong caliber?’

  ‘When I got back to headquarters the gun wasn’t in the car.’

  ‘Ernest took it while the ladder was getting me down?’

  ‘He denies it and says a small crowd gathered to watch the festivities and anyone could have taken it. He says he’s going to sue me for the cost of the rifle. As if I didn’t have enough problems. It probably won’t make any difference if this is the guy we want.’

  ‘What do you see?’ Lyon asked as Rocco continued staring at the motel’s upper units.

  ‘Not a damn thing.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not here,’ Lyon said.

  ‘According to the motel manager, there’s only three units that have been rented continuously this week. Two of those rooms are occupied by single mothers with children, whose charges are paid by the welfare department. The third is rented to what he calls a weird guy who hardly ever goes out. He checked in the night before Morgan was killed.’

  ‘That sounds solid,’ Lyon said.

  ‘Uh huh,’ Rocco replied. He swept the upper tier of the motel again with the binoculars. ‘Now, let’s figure out how we’re going to take this guy.’

  The intention was to blow the bitch to hell. It must be certain that there would be enough high explosives in the bomb to completely destroy the car. The initial explosion would disintegrate the vehicle into twisted metal shards. Hopefully there would be enough additional force for her body to be hurled a hundred feet. That little involuntary aerial event would guarantee that there was no possibility of her survival.

  There were no more risks to be taken. Care and protection were the new bywords. A remote bomb, unsatisfactory as it might be, would have to suffice.

  The device was a model of simplicity, which made it easy to construct. The dynamite was stolen from the construction site next to the Wentworths’ home. The detonating caps had been purchased out of state. The complete bundle would be wrapped in heavy tape and inserted under her car hood, where it would be wired to the starter motor. When the bitch turned the ignition, the car battery would send a spark of electricity to the starter motor and ignite the cap. The resulting explosion would flip off the hood and push the engine block back through the fire wall into the lap of the driver. Her body would be flung back through the rear of the car. There should be sufficient force to expel her either through the shattered rear window or right through the car roof. Her body would pinwheel through the air in a disjointed awkward dance until it fell to the ground with all the grace of a dead bird.

  It would be a glorious sight. Pity that it would not be seen.

  Lyon Wentworth sometimes viewed terrain in a military manner. This habit annoyed him for two reasons: his brief military career had been in intelligence and not as a line officer, and he preferred to avoid war-like emotional baggage. Nevertheless, the trait often popped up unbidden and he found himself considering fields of fire, possible avenues of concealment, and potential flanking movements. As he sat in his rusting pickup, next to an absorbed Rocco Herbert, he found himself viewing their objective in such a manner.

  The Acorn Motel was set twenty yards back from the highway and built in an L which partially surrounded a swimming pool and patio. Bright yellow stucco disguised cement-block construction. A large neon Acorn on the roof also welcomed salesmen. The second tier of rooms was reached by a central stairwell whose enclosure contained an ice machine and soft-drink dispenser.

  The room nearest the top of the center stairs was occupied by a man identified by the manager as, ‘the guy who paid cash for a week in advance and talks in twenty-five dollar words.’

  ‘You’ll want marksmen deployed on the roof and also positioned over by those trees,’ Lyon said. ‘You’ll need men covering the front and rear, and hopefully you can infiltrate the surrounding units and clear the area. When everyone’s in place, there are two ways to go in. Either have men repel off the roof and swing through the unit’s front picture window, or else use stun grenades followed by a frontal assault behind a battering ram. A command post can be set up in an unmarked van parked down the highway around the curve, and—’

  ‘Nope,’ Rocco said sharply to cut him off.

  ‘You want your command post in the motel office?’

  ‘Nope means no troops, I’m taking this guy myself.’

  ‘That’s only not necessary, it’s poor police procedure, and happens to be against your own back-up rules. This guy may be a trained terrorist, which means that you are around the bend if you consider anything less than a maximum effort.’

  ‘You’ll cover me,’ Rocco said. ‘That should be adequate.’ He reached under the seat to retrieve the .12-gauge shotgun he’d placed there when they’d changed vehicles. He worked the pump to throw a shell into the chamber. ‘You don’t even have to aim.’ he said. ‘So we won’t need your vaunted marksman’s eye. Try and not blow away any civilians or me when I’m in your line of fire.’

  Lyon reluctantly grasped the weapon by its pistol grip. ‘I’m not sure about the legality of this.’

  ‘If we succeed, no one will ask,’ Rocco said. ‘If we don’t, it won’t really matter to either of us.’

  ‘That instills a great deal of confidence in me,’ Lyon said.

  They drove the pickup two hundred yards further down the highway to the entrance of a graveled road. Another quarter of a mile down the side road and they started across a fallow field with the truck groaning and creaking at each jounce of the uneven surface. They parked behind an unused barn near the motel and ran in a crouch to the side of the building’s windowless wall.

  Rocco pressed against the stucco as he slowly worked his way toward the rear of the units. When he reached the end of the building, he knelt on one knee to peer around the corner. He motioned for Lyon to join him and whispered, ‘It’s clear. We’re going up the stairs. The unit next to his is vacant and I have a master key. I’m going in that way and will break through the connecting door. You’ll cover the front of his room and block any escape route from that direction.’

  ‘What about windows?’

  ‘There’s only two. A small one in the bathroom at the rear, but it’s too small for anyone to squeeze through. The second is the picture window with the drawn drapes next to the front door. You’ll be able to cover both the door and window.’

  Lyon nodded. ‘Got it.’

  ‘OK. In exactly four minutes I break through the connecting door.’ Rocco looked at the wide diver’s watch strapped to his wrist. ‘At the mark the time is exactly—’

  ‘I’m not wearing a watch,’ Lyon said.

  ‘Damn it, Wentworth! How am I going to make a raid if you can’t synchronize your watch with me?’

  ‘To be honest, Rocco, when I left the house this morning I didn’t exactly dress for an attack against a Brother of Beelzebub.’

  Rocco sighed. ‘We’ll have to make do. I’ll break through in three minutes. Count it off mentally or something. Just be at that front door when I need you.’

  Lyon nodded again as Rocco left. He waited for what he estimated to be a minute and a half and then rushed around the corner and climbed the steps two at a time. At the top of the landing he pressed against the wall in the narrow space between the unit’s front door and the wide picture window with its drawn drapes. He continued his internal count while tightly gripping the shotgun.

  Wood splintered inside the motel room. ‘Freeze, you son-of-a-bitch! Police!’

  A woman screamed.

  ‘Damn it!’ Rocco yelled. ‘Get away from her! I’m warning you, get away!’

  As Lyon reached for the door knob to go to Rocco’s aid, the picture window behind him shattered. A man entangled in the window drape smashed though the glass and rolled across the walk. Lyon spun around and raised the shotgun to a firing position.

  The man rolled out of the d
rape and sprang to his feet holding an Uzi in both hands. The assault weapon’s barrel swept toward Lyon.

  Lyon’s finger tightened against the trigger as he pointed the shotgun at the man’s head.

  ‘I’ll shoot you,’ the man with the Uzi said, ‘and I’ll cut you in half.’

  Lyon’s instant of supremacy passed. That single golden moment when his weapon dominated the situation disappeared. Each man held a weapon aimed at the other. Each was capable of killing the other. It was probable that involuntary muscle contractions could cause either of them, although shot dead, to fire and kill the other.

  ‘Drop it,’ the other man said.

  The shotgun clattered to the cement walkway. The man pressed the assault weapon’s short barrel against Lyon’s neck.

  Inside the unit, Rocco ripped the latch chain from the door and threw it open.

  ‘Make funny moves and your partner dies,’ said the man.

  ‘Put your hands behind your head and lie face down on the concrete,’ Rocco said as he assumed a shooting stance.

  ‘You do not understand,’ the man replied. ‘Make another move and I will fire. At this range your friend’s head will explode.’

  Rocco shook his head. ‘You’re the one who needs to understand. I don’t give a damn about him. I need you and it doesn’t matter if you are alive or dead. In fact, it’s neater if you’re dead. I am going to kill you in three seconds.’

  Lyon was surprised at the conviction in his friend’s voice. ‘I believe him,’ he said.

  ‘I believe him too,’ the man with the Uzi said as his weapon clattered to the walk.

  A woman appeared in the doorway behind Rocco. Lyon recognized her as Lorretta Bing, who worked at the motel as a chambermaid and who also supplied some of the male customers with more than just linen. ‘Does this mean the party’s over, Winston?’ she asked petulantly.

  Thirteen

  Winston Crawford was sullen as he sat on the cracked leather couch in Rocco’s office. His arms were handcuffed in front of him and the cuffs were manacled to a metal waistband. He glared at Rocco. ‘This arrest might add to your glory, Herbert, but I’m getting screwed to the wall.’

  ‘When I’m through with your list of charges,’ Rocco said, ‘you’ll be part of the wall.’

  ‘I’ve seen you somewhere before,’ Lyon said. ‘Weren’t you a graduate student at Middleburg University?’

  ‘An adjunct teacher without a future,’ Winston replied. ‘Thanks to the way Professor Morgan sabotaged my application for a full-time position. His well-chosen words gave the death sentence to my academic future.’

  ‘And you’d really kill to avenge a bad college reference?’

  ‘It’s about time these so-called intellectuals took the disenfranchised seriously. We mean to make the world pay attention to the abuse of power.’ Lyon realized that the man’s thwarted intellect had honed him into an instrument of hatred.

  Patrolman Jamie Martin grunted as he carried in a large cardboard box that clanked when he lowered it to the desk in front of Rocco. ‘This is heavy stuff, Chief,’ he said. ‘And there’s more to come.’

  Rocco nodded an acknowledgment as he began to carefully remove objects from the box and neatly align them across the desk. ‘We confiscated this little collection from Crawford’s motel room and van,’ he said to Lyon. ‘Look at this crap. Hand grenades.’ He held one up. ‘You have your choice: percussion, smoke, or phosphorus.’ He shook his head. ‘Six automatic pistols, including a Glock, army .45 and Magnum .44. There’s enough ammunition for a small war of indeterminate length and knives in assorted sizes. God only knows what else that we haven’t inventoried yet.’

  ‘How about this baby, Chief?’ Jamie Martin said as he re-entered the room carrying an M60 machine gun in both arms. Belts of ammunition crisscrossed his chest like a Mexican bandit. ‘Found it stowed under a blanket in the van.’ He stood the machine gun in the corner and draped bands of ammunition over a file cabinet.

  ‘Jesus, Winston,’ Rocco said. ‘Did you intend to line us up on the green and annihilate the town?’

  ‘I’m a collector,’ the manacled man said.

  ‘Obviously, and you’re having a going-out-of-business sale.’

  ‘Why do you anarchists always seem to get baby carriages in the line of fire?’ Lyon asked.

  ‘Because they don’t give a damn who gets in the way,’ Rocco said.

  ‘You think your badge gives you indemnity for hypocrisy. An hour ago you were perfectly willing to let me blow your friend’s head off in order to capture me for your own glory.’ He grimaced at Lyon. ‘How do you like being cannon fodder?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible to consider the situation Rocco faced as a problem in game theory,’ Lyon said. ‘I’m sure he evaluated the alternatives. If you shot me, he shot you. If he didn’t shoot you, you might kill both of us. If he hadn’t done what he did, the question was, would you have fired? The situation dictated that you would. Rocco took the only course of action available that might save everyone’s life.’

  ‘If any man had sacrificed me like that, I would never rest until he died.’

  ‘If there are any sacrificial lambs in this room, you’re the only one bleating,’ Rocco said. ‘Suppose we get a stenographer in here to take down your confession? I’d like to hear all the lowdown on this Armageddon crap.’

  ‘Not much to kick around, Chief. I wrote a few letters and then basked in the bloody limelight. I couldn’t have asked for better circumstances, starting with a death by sword.’

  ‘You could look at it that way,’ Rocco said with good humor. ‘Let’s see, you knocked off Morgan, the dancer Bambi, and now Skee. You did do Skee, didn’t you?’

  ‘Ski who?’

  ‘The bodybuilder. The musclebound friend of Rina’s?’

  ‘If he’s connected to Morgan, I did him. I’ll get a letter off as soon as I learn the details. I’ll do that first thing in the morning, if you’d like.’

  ‘A simple confession should be enough.’

  Winston shrugged. ‘I hope you liked my letters. I tried to work in the proper attitude.’

  ‘They had a rather bloodthirsty ring to them,’ Rocco said.

  ‘I was really quite lucky to arrive here and find Morgan already dead. Of course I took the credit. When the woman died, it was bonus time. They seem to be dropping like flies around here.’

  Rocco’s chair rocked forward as his benign smile faded. ‘What in the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘I really fell into a good thing here. I came to do Morgan and I turned up roses.’

  ‘You didn’t kill Morgan?’ Lyon asked.

  ‘What do you mean, he didn’t murder Morgan?’ Rocco yelled.

  ‘I’m going to confess, of course,’ Winston said. ‘And you’ve got all these weapons. I assume you’ll plant the ballistics evidence on me, and maybe I could help you phony the fingerprints? It will do nothing but put the spotlight on Middleburg University’s abuse of power.’

  ‘Are you trying to create an insanity defense here, Crawford? Doing in a professor who blighted your college job application? I’m asking you once more,’ Rocco said. ‘Did you kill those people?’

  ‘Of course not. I merely took the credit. It was rather convenient to get all the glory without having to do the bloody work. The beauty of it all was that the real killer didn’t seem to mind.’

  ‘I do not believe this is the man who attacked me with the sword,’ Lyon said. ‘An attempt was made to frame me and implicate him. Someone else killed those people.’

  Rocco catapulted to his feet with a velocity that slammed the desk chair back against the wall. ‘We’ve been had! While we’ve been fooling around with this clown, the perp is getting away.’

  Winston took a quick step across the room and bent forward so that his manacled hands could snatch a fragmentation hand grenade from the desk. He retreated clutching the weapon. ‘I might be a number of things, Chief, but I am not a clown! Get on the floor before
we’re all blown to hell.’ He pulled the grenade’s pin but continued to clamp the lever against its body so that it did not pop off and complete the arming. ‘Back off!’

  ‘Give me that damn thing!’ Rocco said as he reached for Winston’s hands.

  The defrocked intellectual released his grip on the lever, which immediately spun off the grenade and allowed the striker to hit the cap and activate the four-second fuse.

  ‘For anarchy!’ he screamed as he gripped the live grenade.

  ‘For Lyon!’ Rocco answered as he snatched the grenade from the man’s fingers and flipped it over his shoulder.

  ‘For the hole!’ Lyon yelled as he scooped the grenade from the air. He turned without looking and rammed his hand through the closed window. He released the live hand grenade outside into a cellar window receptacle as they all dropped to the floor. The grenade exploded at the furnace-room window below ground level. Several pieces of shrapnel ricocheted up through the flooring, missed the three prone men, and buried themselves in the ceiling.

  Bea Wentworth was extremely angry. She stood in front of Rocco’s desk with her fingers curled over two .30-caliber ammunition boxes which she occasionally thumped together to emphasize a point.

  Lyon sat on the couch nursing his hand. Crawford had been thrown into a cell.

  ‘This is a confrontation not a discussion, Rocco,’ Bea said as she thumped an ammunition box.

  ‘The guy was on a mission of revenge and grabbed a hand grenade,’ Rocco said with a shrug. ‘You have to expect that sort of behavior when a man gets thrown out of the ivory tower.’

  ‘Come on!’ Bea said. ‘You allowed an unguarded prisoner in the office a few feet away from live weapons. And he almost blew you both up. Suppose someone had been in the yard when Lyon dropped that bomb out the window?’

  ‘We expect risks in police work,’ Rocco said without a great deal of conviction.

  ‘You both went into that motel room after an armed man without proper back-up.’

  ‘Damn it all, Bea! The circumstances dictated that.’

  ‘You would not allow your brother-in-law any credit on the bust,’ Bea said.