Death at King Arthur's Court (6 page)

‘Illiterate kids,' Ernest said.

‘Kids don't write “Abandon hope all ye who enter here” on condominium projects built out in the middle of nowhere. People who live out in the middle of nowhere next to ugly construction projects spray those things,' Rocco said.

‘Abandon hope? They could have picked up that little phrase on
Jeopardy
,' Ernest said.

‘Not in Latin.'

‘They stopped offering Latin in Murphysville High School four years ago,' Lyon said. ‘If that's of any help?' He walked to the edge of the patio and stared toward the skeletal iron structure which seemed to sprout a new story each day. The crane was lifting the last of the day's steel up to what was becoming the third-floor frame. ‘We fought that project as best we could, but they cheated and sneaked it around us.'

‘And that justifies your use of spray paint?' Rocco asked.

‘Don't admit another thing, Wentworth,' Garth said. ‘Anything you say will be used against you.'

‘All condo developers should be castrated,' Ernest added, and for the first time Garth nodded in agreement.

‘Last week someone let the air out of a back hoe's tires,' Rocco said.

‘That was an ecologically concerned youth,' Lyon answered. ‘A family of fox lived on that site before they began blasting. A vodka and tonic, Rocco?'

‘Thanks, but I have a man out on sick leave and have to work. The week before that the crane's ladder disappeared.'

‘I gave you permission to search my barn,' Lyon said.

‘I was afraid of what I might find,' Rocco said. ‘Where's Bea? Maybe she can talk some sense into you.'

‘She's in Washington for a convention,' Lyon answered, ‘and won't be back until late tomorrow.'

‘I hope she can talk some sense into you about this,' Rocco said as he stalked back across the lawn toward his cruiser, parked at the construction site.

A whir of electric motors and the clank of metal against metal made them turn toward the RV. The solid door leading into the RV's living quarters slowly opened. The interior of the vehicle was dark, and since it faced away from the late sun, deep shadows fell across the doorway. The door automatically clamped open against the side.

No one emerged from the vehicle.

‘Waiting for Morgan's entrance is similar to anticipating the second coming,' Ernest said.

‘Who's out there?' A deep bass voice boomed from the darkened interior of the RV.

‘Ernest and Garth,' Lyon called back.

‘Has the area been swept for intruders?'

‘The pickets are out on the flanks and the balloons are doing air surveillance,' Lyon yelled at the motor home. ‘The King's Guard have individually sworn personal allegiance, and the food tasters are on standby.'

‘You and those court jesters surrounding you have a rotten sense of humor, Wentworth,' Morgan said as he stepped warily out of the RV.

‘He really creates a warm feeling of camaraderie around all he touches, doesn't he?' Garth said in a voice too low for Morgan to overhear.

‘If you had two dozen room-temperature-IQ fanatics in black hoods pledging your destruction, you'd be rather wary too,' Morgan said as he carefully spun the combination to relock the RV door.

Lyon watched Morgan approach the patio. His former compatriot had aged well physically. He was one of those individuals who, like certain wines or cheese, gained a deeper depth of character with additional layers of time. It was as if it required a certain number of years for him to grow comfortably into his own features. Deep facial marks that had been unbalanced worry creases on a youthful face became deep character lines when flanked by premature white hair and a short goatee. What had been a young man's slight and non-athletic physique became a trim figure when measured against stouter cohorts. Morgan was well aware of the increasing maturation of his looks, and as they coalesced he began to dress dramatically. While others in the academic world often opted for a tweedy comfortable look, Morgan dressed formally and conservatively in dark hues. His clothes, purchased during biannual trips to London, would have been stylish at a Mayfair high tea. The total physical effect he conveyed culminated in a deep resonant voice inherited from Welsh forebears.

The day's last sun splashed paths of light across the valley and ran bright color spectrums along the surface of the river. The total effect was an eerie Goyaesque landscape of tilted hills, fields and water. Morgan turned away from the view.

‘All of this unbridled nature is underwhelming, Wentworth.'

‘I'll ask God for a change of venue, Morgan.' Lyon smiled. ‘What can I get you to drink?'

‘These days I never drink from opened containers, so that rather limits my choice. If the seal is unbroken, a taste of Pernod would be adequate.'

‘I guarantee the Pernod is unopened,' Lyon said as he stepped over to the bar cart.

When he was served, Morgan sat at the glass-topped table facing Garth and Ernest, and looked over the narrow rim of his pony as he delicately sipped the Pernod. His two subordinates shifted nervously by the parapet. ‘I thought we should meet on neutral ground. Since Wentworth was once a member of our department and is now a university trustee, he understands our goals and problems. This house is a logical place to settle our differences. Even if the location does somewhat resemble a buzzard's aerie.'

Lyon choked on his sherry. ‘I thought this was the endowedchair problem, not a bird watch.'

‘In a manner of speaking, but it also involves the whole future direction of the department,' Morgan said. ‘Your book,
The Gentle Americans
, was an attempt, Garth, but flawed. Let's face it, Tennessee wrote the same play seventy-two times. Ernest's
Machismo
has some qualities, but as far as Hemingway is concerned, let us say he is extremely easy to satirize, because he wrote with a big fat phallic Crayola.'

‘Are you trying to tell us something, Morgan?' Ernest asked.

‘I have asked Thomas at Yale to accept the Ashley chair,' Morgan said.

‘That's not right!' Garth said in a strangled voice. ‘Thomas is a deconstructionist!'

‘I can't believe what I'm hearing,' Ernest Harnell said.

‘You two forced me into this position with your constant bickering,' Morgan said. ‘If I appoint either one of you, the other would be most unhappy and even more disruptive than you are now. And besides, you are both traditional. It's about time we joined the twenty-first century, and took a modern approach to literary criticism. Both of you are fighting age-old battles that were abandoned long ago. In Thomas we get a strong man from an excellent university with a voluminous publication history. Actually, you should both be grateful that the department has taken this stance.'

‘You're a sadistic son-of-a-bitch, Morgan,' Ernest said.

‘You've set us both up,' Garth added; ‘You played one against the other while never intending to make it a true contest. You didn't play fair with us.'

Morgan smiled. ‘Is that right? Fair is what I say it is. You two seem to have forgotten that I'm the one who makes up the rules.'

Five

‘Where did you find the sword?' Rocco asked as they entered the stand of pine trees.

Lyon pointed to a spot a dozen feet back from the cliff. ‘Over there. I woke up just about where I'm standing now.'

‘I don't see any blood on the ground,' Rocco said. ‘Strange.'

Lyon shivered as if a cold wind that reeked of must and decay had blown in from a distant place.

Halfway back to the house, Rocco abruptly halted. He pointed at his patrol car parked in front of the main entrance. ‘Wasn't Morgan's RV about where the police cruiser is now?'

‘That's right. And Ernest Harnell's Ford was next.'

‘The other cars that arrived later were parked in a line down the drive directly behind the RV?'

‘Yes,' Lyon answered.

‘Which means that Morgan's vehicle could not have been moved in any direction during the evening without extracting it from that minor traffic jam.' It was a statement and not an assumption. ‘And you're sure you saw Morgan close the RV's door and punch numbers into the door's combination box before he came to the patio?'

‘Yes, we all saw him do that.'

‘An action that would have relocked the door,' Rocco mused. ‘Which means that, while you were all on the patio, no one could have sneaked into the RV to wait for Morgan's return. Any intruder would have to posses the combination.'

‘Yes,' Lyon agreed as they continued toward the house.

‘If we assume that possibly you didn't knock Morgan off with Excalibur, we seem to already have at least two other suspects.'

‘Garth and Ernest?'

‘Yes, although it's difficult to believe that someone who could write
The Gentle Americans
could murder someone with a cleaver that size. I'd put Garth down for poison, Derringer or stiletto, but it boggles the mind to picture him waving around an instrument as destructive and bloody as a broadsword.'

‘Garth can turn his personality around according to the way he reads the circumstances. I've seen him do it countless times. He'll exhibit a certain behavior with me or in a classroom, and then he pushes some sort of mental button to turn himself “on” when he wants to provoke Ernest. I wouldn't make that sort of generalization about the man, Rocco. The appearances are deceiving. During the last war, Garth served as a platoon leader in a rifle company for the First Cav. He won a Purple Heart and Bronze Star and finished his tour as a first lieutenant commanding his company.'

‘And Ernest was leader of an A team in the Green Berets?'

‘Actually, Ernest was a corporal who taught typing at Fort Benjamin Harrison. I believe that's in Indiana.'

Rocco laughed. ‘It would seem as if cojones are not all that transferable,' he said as they entered the house.

Bea sat stiffly on the couch in the living room. She looked up from leafing through a
New Yorker
magazine. ‘Well?'

‘What I don't understand,' Rocco said, ‘is why someone didn't obliterate Morgan years ago? Our victim does not sound like an endearing person. Why did you invite him to your house under any circumstance? Did he have any friends or admirers?'

‘He was the best teacher I ever knew,' Bea said defensively.

‘I agree,' Lyon said. ‘Morgan may have had definite social lacks, but he was a superb teacher. He was one of the few department chairmen I know of who insisted on teaching a section of freshmen in an English survey course. He had a rare talent in his ability to reach out and encourage young men and women. He had a true calling that took great energy. Perhaps that was the reason for his problems with others. His teaching ground up every available particle of compassion that he possessed. Because those qualities are now gone, we are all diminished by his loss.'

‘Morgan had the ability to alienate anyone he wanted. He could be ruthless to young teachers,' Bea said. ‘But sometimes in life you accumulate certain people along the way and they become part of your fabric of living.'

Rocco nodded. ‘I have a few friends like that. Anything else from last night's events that's germane?' he asked.

‘Appetizers and another drink seemed to calm them down a bit,' Lyon said. ‘I was still trying to smooth things over when the twins arrived. Rina and Clay Dickensen are Morgan's younger half-brother and sister. Clay's my accountant and had stopped over to do some tax work for me. Rina's newest boyfriend, Skee Chickering, was with them. I suppose you could say that the second half of the party began with the eagle sighting. Or at least when someone thought they saw an eagle. Well, perhaps it was when someone wanted to see an eagle …'

‘I see one!' Rina screeched in a high-pitched voice that teetered on the cusp of hysteria. ‘He's up there! Oh, God, my eagle!' She climbed on the patio parapet and stretched her arms overhead in a gigantic embrace. ‘Oh, mighty winged creature, soar high above us and cast down your regal benediction.' She reached for the hand of a muscular man with white-blond hair and the light complexion of a near albino. ‘Help me with this.'

Skee chanted what seemed to be a rather garbled mantra as he climbed to the wall next to her. He stood with his feet planted securely apart and grasped her waist with both hands. With flexed knees he hoisted her overhead.

Rina Dickensen's peasant skirt billowed around her hips as she balanced horizontally above Skee's head. She arched her back and extended her arms in a wing-like imitation of flight. He slowly turned her until she faced out over the valley high above the Connecticut River. Her perfectly balanced body seemed poised for a momentary flight over the hills.

It occurred to Lyon that Rina's pose was identical to the earlier flying configurations assumed by his Wobblies. The similarity between monster and woman stopped with the positioning of their bodies. His benignly ugly Wobblies were neuter, while the lithe person bracketed against the night was definitely a vibrant woman. Her body, outlined clearly against the sky, exuded an animal sensuality.

Rina had the slender taut figure of the gymnast, with the firm hips and buttocks of the trained athlete. The brisk river wind swirled her clothing to reveal long legs, while its slight chill through the thin material of her blouse stiffened her nipples. Her presence disturbed Lyon, not because of her bizarre exhibitionism, but because he suspected that the real reason for the taunting exposure was a seductive game that she persisted in playing. He wasn't able to measure the seriousness of her intent, and wasn't about to explore it further.

Skee slowly shifted position on the parapet. He turned in a half circle until Rina's head pointed directly toward the house, where Lyon stood framed in the window of his study. She smiled. Her lips mouthed words lost in the wind. Skee shifted position again as he slowly lowered her to the ground. She slid from his arms and performed a perfectly executed back flip culminating in a dexterous curtsey in Lyon's direction. They gave her a polite smattering of applause.