Death at King Arthur's Court (11 page)

‘Did you do any G-string stuffing?' Rocco asked.

‘Bambi is a very loving and generous person,' Clay answered. ‘And that sums it up. All right, fellows, you forced your way in here, so what is it that can't wait?'

‘It's about Morgan,' Lyon said.

‘His murder was on the TV,' Clay said. ‘I assume those Satan nuts got him.'

‘We see that you are overwhelmed with grief,' Rocco observed. ‘And sleeping beauty on the sun deck is exhausted from her mourning.'

‘It would be hypocritical for me to pretend,' Clay said. ‘Lyon and others know how I felt about Morgan. As for Bambi, I have been able to make arrangements for her child, and she is most appreciative.'

‘Like how appreciative for what?' Rocco asked.

‘As soon as I heard about the murder, I worked out a solution with Bambi over any claims she might have against the estate.'

‘Then the baby was Morgan's,' Lyon said.

‘Of course. I've made arrangements with Bambi for Barney to get two hundred and fifty thousand dollars from the estate if she signs off without further legal hassles. That seems to be satisfactory with her.'

Rocco nodded. He stepped through the glass door and walked over to the nude woman. ‘I'm glad she's happy with that arrangement, Clay.' He lifted the portion of the folded towel that lay over her upper face. ‘Yep, real glad she's happy over that settlement, because this woman is dead.'

Eight

‘What in the hell are you talking about?' Clay took three running steps toward the deck before he stopped at Rocco's raised-hand command. Rocco lifted the woman's limp wrist and let it fall. The hand fell back against her body without resistance. ‘This is crazy. Ten minutes ago she was waltzing around the room peeling off her clothes in a sexy little dance.' He moved closer to the chaise lounge as Rocco stepped aside. ‘Come on, Bambi, quit the … Oh, my God!' Clay turned away and grabbed the deck rail with both hands.

‘I told you she was dead,' Rocco said, without taking his eyes from the stricken accountant. Clay nodded agreement.

Lyon found the grief-stricken man's body language very convincing. It either signified complete shock, or indicated that Clay was a consummate actor, or perhaps a complete sociopath. He knew that the amoral could don any emotional pose they desired in a manner so convincing that they could pass a lie-detector test given by the most experienced operator.

‘She must have had a massive heart attack,' Clay said. He ventured another quick look at the corpse. ‘Look, her body isn't disturbed and I didn't hear a sound.'

Rocco stooped by the chaise lounge and began to examine the area as much as he could without touching the body again. ‘You must have heard something, Clay?' he asked.

‘I swear, I didn't hear a sound. After she went out on the deck, I read the paper for a few minutes and then called my office. I told my secretary that I had to make arrangements for Morgan's funeral and wouldn't be in today. After the call, I returned to the living room and it was about then that you guys arrived … Don't you think we had better call nine-one-one or something?'

‘You had no intention of opening the front door until we forced our way in,' Rocco pressed.

Clay shrugged toward the intimate clothing strewn around the room. ‘Jesus, give me a break. It looks like we just had an orgy in here and you expected to find me in mourning.'

Rocco knelt by the body and gestured to Lyon. ‘Look at the back of the head,' he said.

Lyon's combat experience may have been limited, but he had seen gunshot wounds before. In fact, he had seen more torn and mutilated bodies than he cared to remember or could ever forget.

He theorized that the narrow entrance wound near the center of Bambi's head was made by a steel-jacketed round traveling at a high muzzle velocity. The lack of powder residue or burn marks on the scalp seemed to indicate that the shot was fired from a distance. Since Clay's unit abutted the project's artificial pond, it was probable that it was fired from the other side of the lake. A small amount of blood seeped from the entrance wound. The exit wound was revealed when the towel was completely removed from her face. A mixture of bone fragments, brain matter, and congealing blood were splattered on the wall. The bullet had spent itself against the deck flooring near the glass doors.

Lyon couldn't help but reflect on this feisty woman's death. The flamboyant exotic dancer, who boasted lustily of her relationship with Morgan with a twinkle in her eye, was now devoid of all animation. Her body, the voluptuousness of which was an enticement to eroticism, had been instantly rendered into useless inert matter. Her last theatrical display would be on an autopsy table. The little boy named after a dinosaur would be raised by others. It was an unfair event that had deprived this zesty woman of over half of her life.

Rocco examined the corner where the spent bullet was embedded. ‘We could dig this out, but I'll leave that up to the lab guys.'

‘Which way are you going to take this?' Lyon asked.

‘I've got no choice but to call in the state and let their boy scouts run it around. We have to assume that this woman's death is tied to Morgan's. That means that the whole damn case is getting too complicated, with a hell of a lot of lab work involved. We've got to have this bullet tested, and I want some ballistics on the shot's trajectory. And that doesn't begin to include the huge crew of investigators that should be working this.'

Lyon looked across the deck toward the lake punctuated with its small island. The island was to their right, which put it out of the line of fire for Bambi's entrance wound. On the far side of the water were a cluster of condominiums under construction. The structures had been framed, but their outer walls and interiors were still unfinished. He drew an imaginary line from the partially completed buildings to the gunshot wound.

Rocco searched for the phone and found a cordless unit in a book-lined room off the hall. He called the local assistant medical examiner and the state police barracks. He returned to the dining area to straddle a straight chair and wait.

Clay came out of the lav drying his face with a small monogrammed towel.

‘A woman had her head practically blown off twelve feet from where you were sitting,' Rocco said, ‘and you claim you didn't hear a thing?'

‘I did not hear a shot. What more can I say?'

‘It was very generous of you to offer her two hundred and fifty thousand dollars knowing it would never have to be paid,' Rocco said.

‘That's not the way it was, Chief.' Clay went to the kitchen, where he jerked open the refrigerator and twisted a can of diet soda off a six pack. He slumped into a chair across from Rocco and snapped the tab off the can.

‘Bambi was with you the night that Morgan was killed?'

‘Yes. We spent that night and last night together.'

‘Did she help you kill Morgan?'

‘No. After I made our deal concerning her baby, there would be no reason for her to kill Morgan.'

Rocco and Lyon exchanged quick glances. ‘Interesting,' Rocco said. ‘You made your financial arrangements with Bambi before Morgan died?'

‘No, of course not. But I intended to go to Morgan for it.'

‘A slip of the tongue?' Lyon suggested.

‘Yes, of course,' Clay said.

Rocco laced his hands behind his head and intently examined the ceiling. ‘Let's look at a possible scenario. You two returned to the Wentworth house and Morgan's RV. Between one and three a.m., you talked to Morgan through the door, or maybe Bambi whispered sexy nothings through a vent. Did she give him the sex talk? Did she offer Morgan a private showing of her special dance with a finale that he could really appreciate? Or did you offer to forget the trust argument? Something was said that convinced him to drop the gate. It's my gut feeling it was her talking dirty, because Morgan wouldn't believe a word you said. Once that door opened, you forced your way in, grabbed the sword, and suddenly it was French Revolution time.'

Two police sirens could be heard in the distance.

‘You know, Chief, you've really been lapping at the sauce one time too many. I think our conversation is ended until I have advice of counsel.'

A trio of state police cruisers halted in front of the condominium with a screech of tires and the despairing wail of dying sirens. Car doors slammed in alternating bursts as large troopers quickly exited and fanned around the building. A cautious pair donned wide-brimmed hats with one hand while the other gripped holstered pistol butts as they moved carefully toward the front door.

The approach of additional sirens infuriated Rocco Herbert. He rushed past the startled troopers to stand in the center of the cul-de-sac with hands on hips. Two town of Murphysville patrol cars hastily braked before they slammed into him.

‘I did not call you guys!' Rocco yelled. ‘Why in the hell would I want the town's entire day shift out here when I have enough smokies to begin World War Three?'

‘Dispatcher caught the call on the network,' Officer Brumby said, ‘and we thought …'

‘You thought wrong. Go on now. Brumby, you got school-crossing duty in ten minutes.'

‘They got to have back-up, Chief.'

More sirens approached. Another trio of state cruisers followed by a lab truck and the medical examiner's car filled the paved circle. ‘Out, out, out!' Rocco bellowed at his startled patrolmen. ‘I never want a double response unless the Dalton brothers are robbing the bank.'

The state police cordoned off the area and strung crime-scene tape down to the water's edge. Forensics lab personel, a photographer, and a doctor cluttered the rear deck. These were professionals who moved with a minimum of wasted motion as they efficiently unpacked equipment and made notes. When they spoke, it was in muted tones as if the reason for their presence was those who slept, not the dead.

Captain Norbert, the state police barracks commander, pulled Lyon into the kitchen while Rocco argued over jurisdictional details with an impassive state police sergeant.

‘You know, Wentworth, we might give lip service to this Armageddon crap, but you're still on the shortlist of suspects. Just a warning so you don't book any overseas travel. I've got my eye on you, mister. And how come you just happen to be at the scene of another murder?'

‘Ask Rocco,' Lyon said.

‘I never did trust you quiet ones, because experience tells me intellectuals do the back-stabbing.' The red-faced state police captain gave Lyon another disdainful look and stalked out to the deck.

A detective trooper in plainclothes was interviewing Clay in the dining room. On the deck the photographer snapped the last of two dozen shots of the dead woman from as many different angles. Rocco flicked his finger at Lyon to signal for an outside conference.

‘How did you figure the trajectory of the killing shot?' Rocco asked as they walked away from the condo.

‘There's a construction site across the lake. It's the right distance, and since the wind is about twenty miles from the west, the sound wouldn't have carried. A position in one of the upper floors would give the shooter the proper elevation to account for the slight downward tilt to the wound.'

Rocco nodded. ‘Sounds reasonable. Clay told me that he couldn't have driven anywhere without Bambi moving her pickup, since she had him blocked in.' They looked down the drive to see that Clay's Saab was parked directly in front of the pickup. Lyon reached inside the cab of Bambi's vehicle and popped the hood. Rocco felt the engine compartment's interior. ‘She's warm,' Rocco said. ‘This vehicle's been driven within the past hour.'

‘Let's see if we can find out where the shot came from,' Lyon said.

Rocco casually steered the cruiser with one hand as they drove slowly out of the cul-de-sac and through the project's winding tree-lined streets. ‘They raped this land bare to build these damn things, and when they finished they had to import trees. Full-grown trees which must have cost a bundle.'

They drove to the right of the lake until they reached the far side and found their way blocked by a series of tennis courts. Rocco turned the cruiser around and retraced their route. On the second attempt he drove around the left side until they came to an unpaved street that led to the units under construction.

Rocco parked by a large bundle of sheet rock and they walked along the rutted ground in front of the partially completed buildings. As he looked across the lake past the island, Lyon could easily identify Clay's condo by the flashing bubblegum lights on the police cruisers in the cul-de-sac. He could also see troopers searching the grounds around the unit where Bambi Dolores had been murdered.

Lyon stopped in front of a nearly completed unit that was in a direct line from Clay's deck. As he looked through the opening that would eventually be a doorway, he could see past the studded but unfinished rooms to the lake. A new set of uniforms had joined the state troopers at Clay's. Their faces were indistinct at this distance, but the gurney and body bag identified them.

‘The geometry is right for this location,' Lyon said.

They stepped over a wooden concrete form, into what would be the vestibule. The stairs hadn't been installed, but a ladder was propped conveniently in the stairwell. Rocco adjusted his revolver in its holster and slowly climbed the ladder. Near the top, he unholstered the weapon and moved cautiously ahead. He gestured down to Lyon.

‘Empty. Come on up.'

The window overlooking the lake had a clear view of Clay's unit. ‘This was the shooter's position,' Lyon said. ‘I think when the lab guys come out here with a transit they'll be able to establish it definitely.'

Rocco bent down to reach under a two-by-four end piece near a small pile of sawdust. ‘Bingo.' He held up a shell casing impaled on the end of his ballpoint pen. ‘Thirty caliber.' He dropped the brass into an acetate evidence bag and walked over to the window. ‘I think we had better get the lab guys to check for latent prints.'