Death in a Summer Colony (20 page)

41

“F
ast trip to Chicago,” Ray observed, looking across the table at Elliott Wudbine.

“Too fast. But my employees deserved to know exactly what happened. They heard lots of rumors. We must begin planning what to tell our clients. This will be a very difficult period. Our customers have to believe that we can manage their investments with greater skill than our competitors. While my father has not been involved in the day-to-day operations of the firm for years, our client base believed that his legendary knowledge of the industry still guided our investment strategies. Now we have to reassure them that nothing will change, that we will handle their money in the same competent manner.

“And I should tell you, Sheriff, from this point forward for the foreseeable future I will have to be in Chicago. So if there are any bits of information that you still need from me, better try to get them now. I probably won’t be back in the area again for several weeks, depending of course,
on where we decide to have the memorial service.”

“Just a few things, Mr. Wudbine. First, now that some time has passed, and you’ve had an opportunity to think about the events of last Saturday, I was wondering if you had some new speculations on who might have killed your father?”

“No. I have no idea. Like I told you, my father was an outstanding human being. His murder is beyond comprehension. Although it seems quite improbable, I somehow think that this was a random act. Anyone who really knew my father wouldn’t have done something like this.”

“We are trying to establish where everyone was near the time of your father’s murder.” Ray placed several sheets of paper in front of Elliott. “This is a transcript of our conversation on Sunday. Feel free to read the whole document, but I especially want to call your attention to the highlighted material. You said that you were in the theater until the end of the scene.”

Elliott pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and looked through the pages, paying special attention to the lines that Ray had marked with a yellow highlighter. After a few minutes Elliott looked up.

“Is the highlighted material consistent with your memory of the events?” asked Ray.

“Yes, I think that’s the way it happened. But so much occurred that evening, it’s hard to remember exactly…and I was exhausted and probably had too much scotch on an empty stomach. I think I had a bit of a buzz on. But for the most part, that’s what happened.”

“Mr. Wudbine, we have a witness who seems to think they saw you under the picnic shelter before the first scene ended. Is that possible?”

Wudbine looked down at the typed copy on the desk, nervously moving pages around. Finally he looked up at Ray. “Like I was telling you, I had a bit of a buzz on, and my back was killing me. I needed to get up and out of there. Maybe some of what I remember was based on things Jill told me. You know how memories sometimes get fused together.”

“Alyson Mickels told us that she moved the golf cart down to the picnic shelter. Our witness says soon after that she was joined by a man. Any chance that was you?” asked Ray.

Wudbine was slow to answer. “I think that’s possible. Given the rain and thunder and all, I was probably worried and went to check on her.”

Sue caught Wudbine’s eye. “Our witness said that it was quite the romantic encounter.”

Wudbine reddened. “We’re friends. I’m sure I only hugged her to show my concern.”

“And the two of you left immediately, heading back into the colony. Where were you going?” she pursued.

“Does this make me a suspect?”

“Quite the opposite,” said Sue. “It takes you out of the area at the time of the crime.”

“I was walking Alyson back to her cottage. She uses the one we keep for flight crews. I had brought an umbrella with me. She was soaking wet. So we got under my umbrella and went over to her place so she could change into some dry clothing. Not too long after we got there, Jill called, asking me to come backstage and get her.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this the first time?” pressed Sue.

Elliott stammered a bit. “Ah, well, I was afraid you’d get the wrong impression.”

“New Topic,” said Ray. “I understand that Pepper Markley is no longer with the firm.”

“That’s an HR matter. I don’t know anything about it.”

“Nothing?”

“Jill mentioned it in passing. With my father’s death, we no longer needed her services. Pepper was probably the highest paid barista in America,” he added. “My father was generous, perhaps foolishly so. Is she a suspect?”

“When are you going back to Chicago? We may need to talk with you again,” said Ray.

“I’d like to be there in time for the business day on Friday. My father’s body, when will it be released? We need to finalize our plans for a funeral or memorial service. I’m losing patience with your bureaucratic bumbling.”

Ray stood. “Thank you for coming in. We will be in touch.”

Wudbine pulled himself out of his chair, looked as if he was going say something, then hastily turned and pushed his way through the screen door. He stopped on the porch, lit a cigarette, looked back at Ray, then marched up the path away from the building.

“If looks could kill, you’d be dead,” said Sue. “We gave him just enough rope for the proverbial hanging.”

“How about his account of his encounter at the picnic shelter?”

“Chivalry runs in the family, distressed maidens are a Wudbine specialty. I wonder if he was good enough to help Alyson out of her wet things,” scoffed Sue.

“So where are we?”

“You can take Elliott and Alyson off the list of possible perpetrators. Whether they were part of a broader conspiracy is another question.”

“When you look at the transcript of the Pepper Markley interview, you will note she suggested that Jill Wudbine insisted that she accompany Elliott on a long business trip abroad in June. When they returned, Pepper felt her relationship with Jill had changed. There was the suggestion Jill thought Pepper might have designs on her husband.”

“Does she?” asked Sue.

“I don’t think so. And now it looks like he’s taken with Ashley.”

“Oh, Ray,” said Sue, “Elliott is probably like the source of his seed, smitten with anything that wears a dress. They are both very attractive women. Does Pepper stay on the list?”

“For now, but I don’t see a motive.”

42

R
ay washed the tomatoes, removing the last bits of earth from multicolored fruits. Carefully slicing through the flesh, he arranged the slabs by size, the largest on the bottom, the smallest on the top, a medley of colors, shapes, and textures. After sprinkling course gray Mediterranean salt over the top, he added a dusting of freshly ground pepper. He picked through some fresh basil leaves, selecting only the most perfect ones, and arranged them at the center. Turning his attention to the smoked whitefish, he peeled off the blackened skin, and separated the meat from the spine, taking care to remove all the bones. He laid the fish out on a bed of thinly sliced lemon. Next Ray pulled a baguette from a low oven and started cutting pieces at an oblique angle.

“Did you read this?” asked Hanna, her back to him, papers spread in front of her on the table.

“I made a hard copy and glanced through the first few pages. Then I turned my attention to dinner. I wanted to have things on the table when you got here so we’d have the maximum hours of daylight on the water.”

“Tell me how far you read.”

“In layman’s terms, I know Wudbine died from a severed spinal cord. I also know the insertion point and the dimensions of the part of the blade that penetrated beyond the skin. That gives me a good sense of what we should be looking for. Although, by this point, I think the weapon is long gone.” Ray made several trips from the counter to the table with the bread, fish, and tomatoes. “Ice water?”

“Yup,” she responded, her attention glued to the report. “Did you read the toxicology?”

“Didn’t get that far.”

“You didn’t see the note on the pressure marks and the anterior bruising to the neck?”

“No. Anything else there?”

“Yes, but not definitive. The pathologist speculates, based on the pattern of bruising and fingernail marks, that the victim’s neck was held from the front by a right hand, helping pull the posterior part of the neck and spine into the penetrating object. The pathologist further speculates that the perpetrator was left-handed.”

Ray walked behind Hanna. He reached around with his right hand, gently grabbing her neck. Then he put his knuckles of his left hand against her spine just below her head.

“You got it,” said Hanna.

“Feels awkward,” Ray commented. “I’d want it the other way. But it makes sense.”

And the arsenic, you don’t know about the arsenic?”

“Arsenic, you’re putting me on. His blood was loaded with….”

“No, not a trace. His exposure happened a few months ago. Traces were found in an analysis of the hair. The time frame isn’t too precise, six or eight weeks ago. And the exposure was short term, but at a fairly high level. There’s a note that they can order some more sophisticated tests to better estimate the duration and level of exposure. You should have the complete analysis done. Also, they can do a similar study on the fingernails to verify the hair data.”

“Note those things in the margin. I’ll make sure they are done.” Ray dropped into his chair. “What would that mean, medically? What would be the symptoms of arsenic poisoning? If you wanted to poison him, where would you put the arsenic? Mashed potatoes, oatmeal? Refresh my memory.”

“Ray, this is way outside my area, I can only speculate. And there are lots of ways he could have been exposed. The fact that it’s present in his hair doesn’t mean someone was trying to poison him. For example, if he was downwind from an orchard that was being sprayed with an arsenic-based insecticide, if that is still done, he could have inhaled it. Arsenic is a common chemical in the environment. There are often trace amounts in water supplies and food.”

“How about coffee?”

“Depends where it’s grown, how much might have collected in the soil….”

“I mean, could you give it to someone in coffee. How does it taste?”

“Get me your laptop. I’ll do some background reading while I eat.”

Ray ate in silence, watching Hanna handle a fork with her left hand and keyboard with her right. Finally she looked up and said, “Okay, I know just enough to be dangerous. So don’t take anything I say as the final word. What were your questions?”

“Given a very discriminating coffee drinker, could you slip some arsenic in his brew without him noticing it?”

“Yes, especially if you were only lightly lacing the brew. Arsenic is odorless and tasteless.”

“Would a physician be able to diagnose the poisoning based on symptoms?”

“Well, that depends on how the patient presents. They would have some moderate to severe gastrointestinal symptoms, depending on the dosage. If blood work were done, an usually high level of arsenic would show up. But, I don’t think most physicians would start there. At a fairly low dosage, the symptoms would look like an intestinal virus or food poisoning, the kinds of things that usually resolve themselves in a few days on a bland diet. No one is going to order blood work for a common ailment unless there are extenuating circumstances.”

“How about shrimp and prawns?” asked Ray.

“Give me a few minutes?” Hanna set down her fork, both hands flying across the keyboard. Then
she stopped, her eyes scanning the text as she scrolled down the page. “Naturally occurring. Subject to inspection. No reports of arsenic-related illness.” She looked across the table at Ray. “Seafood is usually a leading suspect in cases of food poisoning. I don’t know if it is more fragile than other meat sources, or if it is a problem with shipping, storage, and handling.

“So what’s going on here?” she asked. “This time you talk while I eat. Give me the back story.”

“One of the people I interviewed this afternoon told me that Wudbine had been very ill sometime in June. She said that shrimp or prawns were thought to be the source of the food poisoning. The arsenic finding changes everything.”

“How does the coffee fit into this?”

“My speculation. The person who usually prepared his coffee was out of the country. There’s a lot here I still don’t understand, but I think the pieces are starting to fall together. I need to call Sue. We need some search warrants.”

“Tonight?”

“No, just starting the process. Hopefully we can serve them tomorrow morning. I like to start early, keeps people off balance.”

Hanna remained silent for several moments.

“What’s going on?” asked Ray.

“I think the data just indicates the presence of arsenic in his system at a greater than expected level for a number of days. You would need to study hair samples from other household members and employees to prove that he was an outlier.”

Ray nodded his agreement as his mind whirled with the language of the proposed search warrant.

43

“E
verything go okay with the judge?” asked Ray, as he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled the seatbelt.

“He was running late and had just recessed for lunch. He wasn’t happy to see me,” Sue reversed out of the parking place and then headed for the highway. “I had carefully laid out the information from the autopsy report, focusing on the part dealing with the arsenic poisoning. I’m not sure he was completely convinced, but he signed it. I did lay out all the brand names for the household and garden products containing arsenic that we would be looking for, so it didn’t look like we were just on a fishing trip. I think we got this one by based on our positive history.”

“How much time did you spend on the document?”

“Most of the evening.”

“I imagine Harry was thrilled by that. A nice romantic evening in the north woods.”

“It worked out, Ray. It worked out. We were on dueling laptops researching arsenic. When I had absorbed enough information, I drafted the affidavit. He helped with the rewrites, anticipating the questions and concerns the judge might have. We had a really good evening, sharing our expertise, strategizing back and forth. We’re both too mature and type A to spend a lot of time pitching woo. I did a final draft this morning when I came in. Then it was just a waiting game. There’s a copy in the folder tucked next to your seat. Tell me what you think.”

Ray carefully read through the search warrant affidavit, looking up occasionally to take in the passing scene. “I’m convinced,” he said, returning the affidavit to the folder. “So our search is basically limited to the food and coffee preparation area at Gull House and Brenda Wudbine’s greenhouse.” He looked over at Sue, “The place will probably be clean. They would be less than bright to leave that kind of evidence around. But nothing ventured…”

Ray started to check his e-mail on his phone. His attention was pulled back to the present moment when Sue turned onto the long drive that ran up to Gull House.

“I wonder what’s happened?” she said, motioning toward the ambulance parked near the greenhouse. She pulled in across the drive and they got out of the Jeep just as three EMTs rolled a gurney to the back of their unit and quickly loaded it. Ray could see Brenda Wudbine’s motionless body secured to the stretcher. “How is she?” he asked just before the doors were closed. The last paramedic to climb aboard, a young woman, didn’t respond verbally, her dispirited expression said it all. As soon as the rear doors swung shut, the heavy unit, its diesel engine laboring under the sudden acceleration, rolled down the drive, lights flashing, siren silent.

Richard Grubbs was standing outside the greenhouse.

“What happened?” asked Ray

“Brenda, it must have been her heart. I know her health has been declining. I put her on my calendar today. I wanted to spend some time with her. That poor woman has been marginalized by everyone.”

“Was she alone?”

“Yes. She came down here every morning to cut and arrange the fresh flowers. This was her mission in life. I’d try to stop in and see her occasionally. Brenda, I don’t think anyone in the household even bothered to talk to her. She always seemed starved for conversation.” Grubbs stopped for a minute and took several long breaths before continuing. “Doing the flowers, that’s all that was left for her. She’d prepare the flowers and do the arrangements. Then Pat Eibler, he’s the handyman, would carry them up to the house.

“I knew I’d find her here. Like always, the door was open. I walked in and didn’t see her right away. I usually stand over there out of her way on the other side of her work area,” Grubbs pointed. “So I walked around, and there she was on the floor. I got down next to her. She wasn’t breathing. I called 911. They were here in just a few minutes.”

“And you’ve been alone the whole time?”

“Yes. As I was walking down here I saw Pat in his pickup with Grace, the cook. I think he was taking her grocery shopping. And just before you arrived, I got Elliott on the phone. He’s on his way over.”

Grubbs was silent. Ray watched as a wave of sadness swept across his countenance. “Brenda died alone.”

Ray and Sue stood by silently, leaving Grubbs to his thoughts. Finally, Ray said, “Please show us where you found her.”

They followed Grubbs into the greenhouse, stopping short of the large worktable still covered with roses. “Brenda was right there on the floor. I imagine she was working and just collapsed.”

“Should I get my camera?” asked Sue.

“Yes.”

“What was her position?” asked Ray.

“She was on her back. Her eyes were open, like she was looking at the ceiling.”

Ray surveyed the table. Two piles of roses were separated by an open space. A pair of gardening gloves, several thick rags, and pruning shears lay on the near side of the table along with a large coffee mug, a crystal ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter. A brandy bottle stood near the coffee mug. A toppled-over stool laid at an oblique angle.

“The flowers,” said Ray, “tell me exactly what she did.”

Grubbs went to the far side of the table, looking across at Ray. “It depended on the type of flowers. More often than not, she was working with roses. That was Malcolm’s preference. And what you see here, it looks like she was in the middle of her normal, what should I call it, pattern. If she was working on roses, she’d pile them to her left. One stem at a time, she would take off the thorns using those rags, trim up the stem with the shears, and move it to the right. It was almost automatic. She could talk to me and just continue working away. After, she would arrange them in vases and, like I said, they’d get carried up to the house. You can see that she was about half
way through.”

“Was she wearing gloves when you found her?” asked Ray.

Grubbs looked at the gloves on the table, then back at Ray. “I don’t think so, let me think.”

“You didn’t pull them off.”

“No. I’m…a bit squeamish. I was almost afraid to touch her.”

Sue arrived with her camera and started to shoot the scene. Grubbs joined Ray on the far side of the table. Ray pointed to the brandy bottle. “Tell me about her drinking? Did she always start early.”

“I wouldn’t know, Sheriff. That said, I think there was usually a bottle around. I imagine you’ve heard about her drinking. I guess the doctors told her it was killing her. But she didn’t seem to care.”

“Perfume,” said Sue. “Do you know if Mrs. Wudbine was partial to a specific fragrance?”

“Perfume, I wouldn’t know about that, either. She did have a certain smell about her. It was sort of musky. I always attributed it to the roses, but now that I think of it, the scent wasn’t rose-like. ”