Death by Hitchcock (15 page)

Chapter 39

Frank McGill, Jr. was well known to the New Guilford police. He had been written off early in life by a lot of people around town as a loser and a ne’er-do-well. Causing trouble and acting out from a young age, Franky showed signs of becoming one of life’s underachievers. Franky’s mother insisted on seeing an upside to her son
––short and stocky, with a head of untamed hair and a disposition only a mother could love––as a good-hearted, late-bloomer, who meant well, but just hadn’t yet found his way, yet.

Franky had flunked out of New Guilford High School in his sophomore year, and soon thereafter embarked on building a modest police record
––variously for drunk and disorderly, vandalism, destroying public property. He lived at home with his mother and stepfather, and was saving up for his own apartment. Toward that end he worked three part-time jobs. Franky was a car mechanic at Rusty’s Garage; unloaded deliveries at Crackenthorpe’s Department Store; and somewhat improbably, worked as a groomer in the local animal shelter. Franky had a surprisingly gentle way with animals, and succeeded in calming some of the most nervous guests at the shelter, when others had failed.

Franky McGill had always been a hard partier who wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a fight. So when his lifeless body was discovered early one morning by the river, it did not come as any great shock to the New Guilford Police, who knew of his penchant for drinking and brawling. Only Franky’s mother was aggrieved, and perhaps a few high-strung cats and dogs at the shelter.

A Cushing undergraduate student discovered Franky’s body during a morning run along the river path, where the hillside sloped down to the water’s edge. The pale and shaken student appeared to be in shock. Paramedics on the scene had wrapped the boy in a blanket and were keeping an eye on him. 

“Go ahead and take him over to the college clinic and have them check him out,” Will said to one of the paramedics. “I’ll have one of my officers call his folks and let them know what happened.”

Will turned his attention to the corpse. He squatted down next to the county medical examiner, Toby Czarlinsky––a trim man in his sixties––and together they examined the abrasions and bruises on Franky’s neck.

“
Does he have his I.D. with him?” Will asked.

“Here,” replied Toby, handing Will a wallet.

“Frank McGill, Jr.,” Will read. “Height, five feet, eight inches. Weight, two hundred and twenty pounds.”

“Had to be a big guy to overtake him,” Toby remarked.

“Will pointed to the marks on Franky’s neck.

“Is this what killed him?” he asked.

“Probably, but I’ll know for sure when I see the toxicology report,” Toby replied. 

“I extracted these from the skin on his neck,” he added, handing Will a clear plastic bag containing light-colored fibers.

“They’re from a regular, old, three-strand nylon rope,” Toby said. “Very common––most people have some lying around in the garage.”

Will lifted one of Franky’s arms, and gently rotated it from side to side, carefully examining the hands, forearms, upper arms.

“How is it possible that Franky was strangled without putting up a fight?” Will said. “Why aren’t there any defensive marks on him? Why didn’t he defend himself?”

Toby Czarlinsky grunted noncommittally. Will knew Toby did not like to speculate without all the facts at hand. 

Will stepped slowly around Franky’s lifeless body, examining the ground, inching incrementally outwards from where his body lay, onto the surrounding grass, looking for evidence. Exploring with his shoe in the foliage and undergrowth, Will heard a
clink
. He bent down and pulled several empty beer bottles out from under a bush.

“Bag these, Mike,” he said to one of the uniformed policemen who was cordoning off the area.

“If the lab turns up any traces of roofies or xanax in those, we’ll know why Franky didn’t put up a fight,” Will said.

“Knock-out drugs would certainly explain the lack of defensive wounds,” Toby said. “And if that turns out to be the case, then I take back what I said before about the killer being a big guy. If Franky passed out from drinking beers spiked with Rohypnol, then anybody could’ve strangled him. Even a woman
––anyone.”

Will gazed grimly at Franky’s lifeless body.

“What a waste,” he said. “Franky was about the same age as some of these Cushing kids, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Toby said, briskly zipping the body bag closed. “I guess maybe he made some lousy choices along the way.”

“How soon will you have the toxicology work-up?” asked Will.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Toby said.

Will gazed out across the river at a vista of densely treed hills. The brilliant landscape of brightly-colored leaves went on for miles. He pulled up the collar of his jacket against the chill wind, and shoved his hands in his pockets, wondering how it was possible for such ineffable beauty to coexist with pointless cruelty.

Chapter 40
 

Edwina wanted to know about Hans Beckert. Wanted to understand why Milo would sign his card to Mary using this fictional moniker. What kind of message was it meant to convey? Why would Milo identify with the fictional character of Hans Beckert, of all people?

She added logs to the wood stove for the overnight, and turned off the downstairs lights. After a quick bath, she pulled a long, flannel nightshirt over her head, and snuggled into bed to watch
M
. 

Edwina was fascinated from the opening of this atmospheric, thrilling story of a serial killer, played by Peter Lorre, that dared to ask the disturbing question of whether or not justice was served by convicting a murderer whose very nature compelled him to kill
––who, perhaps, had no other way of being. Edwina’s mind was whirring thinking about the troubling implications and moral ambiguity she imagined Milo identified with in this story. What were Milo’s ideas of heroics, she wondered? Of right and wrong? Edwina did what she generally did in such times––she searched for more information. 

She spent the next hour reading about the production of
M
, and about its director, Fritz Lang. The movie had been released in Germany in 1931. The title,
M
, stood for
morder
, meaning ‘murderer.’ The Association of German Cinematheques had named
M
the best German film of all time. Much had been written over the decades about the film as an allegory of Nazi horror, and about how Hitler had banned it from being shown. She was astonished to learn the lead actor, Peter Lorre––a German Jew––had fled the country for fear of his life soon after the film’s release. Fritz Lang, himself half-Jewish, had fled the country two years later.

Edwina lay in bed, thinking about Peter Lorre/Hans Beckert
––a murderer of little girls. Was it that obvious? By signing his name that way on the postcard, was Milo telling Mary Buttery he was a murderer––that he murdered Bunny? Bunny was such a little girl sort of name––it all seemed to fit together. Or, as Will had speculated, was Milo trying to impress Mary and win her respect by simply
bluffing
her into thinking he was the one who killed Bunny?

Edwina lay in bed for hours, thinking about the case, tossing and turning
––unable to fall asleep. She looked at the clock. It said 3:34. She wanted to talk to Will, and wished he were there to sift through ideas, help her sort out her thoughts, but it was much too late to call.

Chapter 41

Just about everybody in town read the weekly
New Guilford Gazette,
turning first to the Police Log,
secretly hoping for a juicy item about somebody they knew, or about somebody’s kid. A good, old-fashioned, drunk-and-disorderly arrest made people’s day. Or, God forbid, a domestic altercation.

But nobody expected a second murder in town. And when news hit the paper that Franky McGill’s lifeless body had been found by the river, residents of New Guilford grew increasingly uneasy. Pressure mounted on Chief Burnstein to resolve both murders asap. The feeling around town was that people were in need of restoring the
Gazette
Police Log back to petty crime.

The investigation into the second murder did not get off to a promising start. Will interviewed Franky McGill’s boss and co-workers at Rusty’s Garage, interviewed the crew on the loading dock at Crackenthorpe’s. He spoke to everyone at the animal shelter
––all the humans, anyway. He talked to regulars at Franky’s favorite watering holes––the Last Exit Lounge and the Bull’s Eye Tavern––even managed to track down several young women who had dated Franky in the past.

Unlike the Bunny Baldwin investigation, which had uncovered a wealth of Bunny-haters right out of the gate just by scratching the surface of the Film Studies Department, there seemed to be little in the way of suspects or motives in Franky’s murder. Even though Franky had his fair share of dust-ups over the years, he did not seem to have earned any real enemies. Witnesses described these scuffles as mostly innocuous, drunken fisticuffs, forgotten in the sober light of morning. Franky didn’t owe anybody money, and he didn’t date married women.

Will finally extracted a helpful lead. It came from Derek Langston, the bumptious barman at the Bull’s Eye Tavern. Infinitely chatty and full of opinions, Derek was mostly comfortable holding forth on the subject of eastern philosophy. He openly considered the fact that he was a bartender and not a college professor to be a negligible fluke. Will interrupted Derek after he had been gabbling on for some minutes about the four noble truths in Buddhism.

“What can you tell me about Franky McGill?” Will said.

“He was pretty hammered that night,” Derek replied without missing a beat. “Nothing new for Franky. He did get a phone call as I remember, and split right after. He took off in the direction of Cushing––peeled out of here way too fast, and I sort of half-expected him to get into an accident.”

“Uh-huh,” said Will, “but you didn’t think to call him a cab?”

“Hey, I’m just going with the flow––a leaf in the cosmic stream, making my own journey. Who am I to judge a fellow traveler?” Derek said meaninglessly.

“Any idea who he was going to see, or who called him?”

“Nah, sorry, man,” Derek said. “But he seemed excited.”

The overhead lights were switched off, and the window blinds were lowered. The resulting daylight in Chief Burnstein’s office was sepia-colored and diffuse, soothing on the nerves and easy on the eyes.

“Headache,” the Chief grunted by way of explanation.
“Listen, do we think Franky McGill’s death is connected with the murder up at the college?”

“It’s hard to say at this point,” Will replied, “but my guess is, yeah, they are.”

“Because?” the Chief asked.

“The victims are roughly the same age,” Will said. “Both were murdered on or near the Cushing campus, within weeks of each other. Both were killed by strangulation
––a particularly personal manner of death. They’ve gotta’ be connected.”

“Toxicology report on Franky?” the Chief said, massaging her forehead.

“He was drugged,” Will said. “Toby says there was a fair amount of xanax in his system, along with .30 blood alcohol.”

Chief Valerie Burnstein leaned back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, and closed her eyes.
“So,” she said, “somebody invites Franky down to the river for a private party––drinks and drugs––they serve Franky a xanax cocktail or three, wait for it to take effect, and strangle him without a fight.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Will said. “I spoke wi
th the owner at The Bull’s Eye and Franky was there the night he was killed, drinking heavily. He got a phone call at some point and left the bar. The owner says Franky headed into Cushing going too fast.”

“No idea who Franky was going to meet
––who the call was from?” asked the Chief.

“No.”

“Think Franky might have known something about the murder up at the college?” she said. “Seen something, heard something? Was he blackmailing somebody? Is that who he was going to meet up with? We need a connection between Franky and the Cushing community. There’s got to be something.”

“For starters
, we don’t think Franky had any involvement with the Film Society,” Will said, looking over his notes. We checked his computer, and he never visited their site. Plus, his mother doesn’t think Franky ever attended any movies at the college. She also said that, to her knowledge, Franky did not hang out with students. Not that she was aware of, anyway. She says most of his friends worked at the garage. Also, the Last Exit Lounge,” Will said, “is popular with the college crowd, but the owner doesn’t remember Franky ever mixing in with any of the Cushing kids.”

“What about drugs?” asked the Chief. “Could Franky have been selling drugs on campus?”

“We haven’t turned anything up, yet, but we’re looking into it,” Will replied.

“Speaking of the garage,” Chief Val said, “Franky could have become acquainted with somebody from the college if they brought their car in to be worked on. Have we looked into that?”

“As a matter of fact,” Will replied, “I just got off the phone with his boss at the garage. Franky did work on both Mr. And Mrs. Chaz Winner’s cars.”

“Good,” said the Chief, brightening. “There’s a start. We need to unearth this link between Franky and the Cushing community.” 

Chief Burnstein closed her eyes and took a long sip of coffee.

“Who do you like for the Bunny Baldwin thing?” she asked.

“Susan Winner is a volatile individual, and she’s certainly got motive,” Will replied. “I think, in spite of her husband’s philandering, she wanted him back, although I’m not sure why. Maybe her marriage to Professor Winner is a status thing for her––reflected glory from the head of the film department––or maybe it’s about money, or maybe she just really loves the guy. I don’t know. I think she tried to make her husband jealous by having an affair with Wallace Duncan. Maybe when she saw it wasn’t working, she panicked, upped the ante, and decided she needed to just simply remove Bunny from the picture.”

“What’s her alibi for the time of the murder?” the Chief asked.

Will looked at his notes.

“She was meeting Wallace Duncan in town for a quick
––uh––tryst,” Will said. “That’s their story. We’re checking the CC cameras where they were parked. Even if they were parked for thirty minutes like she says, she still would have had time to get to Hexley Hall and kill Bunny.”

“Or they could have done it together,” said the Chief.

“Yeah, depending what time Wallace arrived at Lattimer’s Pond,” Will said.

“Another thing about Susan Winner,” Will continued. “She could have easily used Rita Clovis’s cell phone to text Bunny, and tell her to come early to Hexley Auditorium. As the wife of the head of department, Susan was a familiar sight around there, and she would not have aroused suspicion by hanging around. She was in and out of Hexley Hall all the time. She could have easily picked up the Department secretary’s phone from the desk, and sent a message to Bunny in a matter of seconds.”

“So could the boyfriend, Wallace,” said the Chief.

“Yup,” agreed Will. “Or any number of other Film Department students or staff.”

“But let’s just say it was Mrs. Winner, for the moment,” the Chief said. “It’s a heck of a chance to take, isn’t it? She’s got young kids. Is she really going to risk everything by murdering a student her husband was bonking? A car-pooling, card carrying PTA mom is going to strangle that girl in a public place?”

“She’s got a temper,” Will said. “She’s got motive, and she’s got opportunity.”

“Hm,” the Chief muttered. “What about the roommate? Mary Buttery. She’s got motive. Seems like Bunny took all the glory for the screenplay they supposedly co-wrote, used it to put herself on the fast track to Hollywood, and left the roommate in the dust. Jealousy? Revenge?”

“Possible. Mary Buttery’s a very cerebral person,” Will said. “I get the feeling she lives too much in her own head.”

“Capable of killing someone, would you say?” asked the Chief.

“Dunno,” Will replied. “But I’ve been thinking about the friendship between Mary and Honeysuckle Blessington,” he said. “They make an odd couple. I don’t quite get what binds those two together.”

“The spinster niece of the old physics professor?” asked the Chief.

“Yeah,” Will replied. “Individually they might not have the wherewithal to commit murder, but together, I wonder...” Will trailed off.

“Honeysuckle’s motive?” asked the Chief.

“According to her aunt, she has something of a crush on Chaz Winner,” Will said. “Practically stalks the guy around campus. She sits behind him at every Film Society movie, and tried to take Bunny’s empty seat next to him the night she was killed. Maybe Honeysuckle thought with Bunny out of the way, she could have Professor Winner to herself.”

“And there’s the homeopathy connection,” the Chief said.

“Right, and the false name she gave us on the night of Bunny’s murder,” he replied. “So, between Honeysuckle and Mary Buttery, they’ve got a decent motive. Honeysuckle gets her chance with Professor Winner, and Mary Buttery gets all the credit for writing the screenplay, and presumably, any future writing deals that might have gone to Bunny.”

“Alibis?”

Will checked his notes again.

“Mary Buttery was in class until five o’clock with Professor Cadbury. She then returned to her apartment, showered, changed clothes, and had something to eat before making the ten-minute walk to Hexley Auditorium. After she left Cadbury’s class at five o’clock, though, nobody can verify any of this.”

“And Honeysuckle?”

“She was at home, making dinner for herself and Professor Cake. No one can corroborate that, either, because, according to Honeysuckle, Professor Cake was napping part of that time,” Will said, “and no one else was in the house.”

The office fell silent except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan.

“There’s someone else we haven’t considered,” Will said. “Wallace Duncan.”

“Go on,” said the Chief.

“The guy is besotted with Susan Winner––he’d do anything for her,” Will said. “It seems possible that Mrs. Winner might’ve persuaded Wallace to commit the murder.”

“But why would he agree to that?” asked the Chief. “Wallace wanted Susan Winner for himself, right? So why get rid of Bunny? The very thing that might send Chaz Winner running back to his wife?”

“What if Susan Winner made it a condition of her and Wallace’s relationship?” Will replied. “What if she told him he had to get rid of Bunny to prove his devotion to her? Like slaying a dragon in order to win her hand? Corny, I know, but...”

“Wallace Duncan is an ambitious young man,” said the Chief. “He’s got stars in his eyes. I don’t see him jeopardizing his future like that. It’s just too
––what’s the word?”

“Capricious?” said Will.

“Not the word I had in mind, but if it means bone-headed, it’ll do.”