Death in the Secret Garden (11 page)

‘Yes, sir,' Rocco answered as he turned down Route 40 toward the Murphysville Convalescent Hospital. He had radioed ahead to make arrangements. Two male aides were waiting by the front entrance and approached the car as soon as it stopped.

‘We're there, Judge,' Rocco said.

‘Thank you, Henry. Remember, be back as soon as the luncheon is over.' The judge left the car and regally allowed his arms to be grasped by the two aides as they guided him inside.

‘I wonder who Randolph and Henry were,' Rocco said as they drove away. ‘Next stop is the VA hospital, which is practically on our way to Middleburg Community College.'

The college was nearly astride the Connecticut River and it occupied buildings that once housed a textile mill. The factory had long since moved south, but the brick construction and strong interior support walls allowed for extensive renovation.

An administrator in the Dean's office showed Rocco copies of the attendance sheets. She told them that the course instructor kept the originals with his grade book. They were directed to a small office located near a lecture hall where the instructor was holding office hours.

The door was opened at Rocco's knock by a lanky teacher dressed in corduroy pants and sports jacket with leather elbow patches. He smiled until he saw the badge on Rocco's shirt. The door slammed shut.

‘I'm in the police business because I love people,' Rocco said to Lyon before he shouldered his way into the small office.

‘I'm Chief Herbert of the Murphysville—'

‘I know who you are,' the teacher mumbled. ‘You busted me for a stop sign violation two years ago. Those extra points were just enough to have my license yanked for a year.' He avoided looking at them as he picked up a blue book and made a note in its margin.

Rocco looked at his pad. ‘You are Theodore Stratton and are the instructor of English 101. Skee Rumford is one of your students.'

The teacher continued to read the examination book intently without answering.

‘Oh, boy,' Rocco muttered. ‘Would you please step out a moment, Lyon? Mr. Stratton and I have a matter to discuss.'

‘I don't talk to pigs,' was Stratton's comment made without looking up.

Rocco shrugged. ‘Aren't you a little young to be of the pig-calling generation?'

‘Leave my office unless you have a warrant.'

‘In the police game,' Rocco said, ‘we call this attitude latent hostility to authority figures.'

‘Doesn't seem to be so latent to me,' Lyon replied as he stepped from the room and shut the door.

In two minutes, Rocco called him back to the office.

The English instructor did not appear to be damaged. His stiff posture, grim smile, and the disappearance of all blue books, seemed to indicate that he was now giving Rocco his full attention.

‘I hope to God you didn't hit him, mash his fingers, or whatever it is you do,' Lyon said.

Rocco frowned. ‘Of course not. Mr. Stratton has made a voluntary decision to be cooperative.'

The teacher's nearly immobile expression crumbled. ‘How would you like it if you could never drive through the town of Murphysville again? How in the hell do you get to the beach from here without going through that jerkwater burg?'

‘You start by giving the town's police the information they need,' Lyon said.

It took four minutes to examine the original attendance sheet and see that it contained a forgery. Skee Rumford's name was signed with a green pen that appeared again for the signature of Lori Wappinger. Small flourishes with tiny circles embellished both signatures. No attempt had been made to disguise the handwriting.

‘Do Miss Wappinger and Skee sit near each other?' Rocco asked.

‘Usually,' Stratton replied. ‘If they sat any closer they'd be in each other's pants.'

Rocco sighed. ‘So much for airtight alibis.'

On the trip back to Murphysville, Rocco edged the cruiser's speed over eighty. Lyon's feet pressed against the fire wall in a vain attempt to slow the vehicle. ‘I have my yearly meeting with the school crossing guards in a few minutes,' Rocco said. ‘Your assignment is to interview Skee about his sudden lack of alibi.'

Lyon considered protesting the assignment, but since he was probably going to die in a fiery car crash in the next fifteen seconds, it seemed a minor point. ‘Uh huh.'

‘I love Hollywood car chases,' Rocco said. ‘I get off on those great scenes where a car hurtles through the air while it turns over and over. I wonder how they do that.'

Lyon suspected they were about to discover that secret, but somehow the gods prevailed and they survived the trip. Rocco let him out at the green where the Saturn was parked. A parking ticket was jammed under the car's windshield wiper. Lyon waved the overtime citation at the departing police car. The chief ignored the hint and turned toward the Mary Bolan Elementary School where the crossing guards were gathering in the lunchroom.

Lyon knew that the Rumfords lived in one of the newer subdivisions called Sunnyside which was in the northeast part of town. He was driving past the Rashish house when he noticed a familiar black motor scooter at the rear of the drive, half-hidden around the corner of the house. He considered the sighting as he continued down the street. An identical machine had been parked near the office trailer at the used-car lot when Skee was cleaning up. He made a U-turn and drove back to the Rashish house. He pulled into the drive behind a large sedan with a ‘Seven Sisters Realtors' logo on its sides.

He felt the engine of the scooter and found that it was still warm. There might be completely innocent reasons for Skee to be at Mildred's house. The young man had worked for her dead husband. He could be doing chores in the yard. They might be discussing a further clean up of the used-car lot. The only disclaimer for these possibilities was the fact that a half-hearted attempt had been made to hide the scooter.

He remembered the predator look on Mildred's face when she hinted at her affairs. He recalled the brooding sensual aura of the tanned muscular college student as he swept the car lot.

That brooding sexuality had already attracted a respectable count of conquests. Skee had been involved with the dead girl, who was probably pregnant by him. Simultaneously he carried on an affair with a fellow student who cared enough for him to risk expulsion by forging his name. Could Skee and Mildred Rashish be … Would they? Could be. The kid seemed to have lots of energy.

He mashed the front doorbell and heard chimes. He couldn't hear any movement inside the house and he rang again. He recalled the living room. Double rear doors led out to a wide deck that overlooked a pool. Anyone going out on the deck and down to the pool could wheel the scooter away in the opposite direction. Once the couple inside were convinced that the caller was not about to leave, Skee would move the scooter. He would take it down the side street before starting the small engine.

Lyon rang the chimes again before he walked around the side of the house. In less than ten seconds, Skee Rumford vaulted the deck rail and grabbed the scooter's handlebars.

‘Hi,' Lyon said from where he slouched against the rear of the house. ‘How was English 101 the other day?'

Mildred Rashish ran her fingers through Skee's hair in sensuous caresses. ‘He's a tiger. A real man.'

Lyon cringed as he drank the tea Mildred had just served. It was a mild supermarket brand. He preferred a tangy Earl Grey.

Mildred smiled at Lyon as she slid her hand under Skee's tee shirt and ran her fingernails gently across his back. What the widow intended to convey as a woman's sexual intimacy came out as pouty belligerence. ‘So, we're lovers. I told you I had lovers.'

‘So it would seem,' Lyon replied. Good God, he thought, this woman didn't seem to comprehend that she had just implicated herself as a suspect. The dead, pregnant Boots was having an affair with her husband and her boyfriend. No matter whose child it was, either way Mildred stood to lose. ‘Where's the gun?' he asked mildly. ‘We know Eddy had one, but it seems to be missing.'

‘In the Connecticut River,' Mildred said. ‘I dropped it off the Hadlyme Ferry.'

Lyon sipped more of the awful tea. If that were true, the weapon would never be found. Where the ferry crossed the river was deep enough to be navigable by large craft. The ferry's route was always similar, but never identical due to wind and tide. The gun could have been dropped anywhere along the route. ‘I understand why you killed Boots Anderson, but why Barbara Styles?'

The unflappable Mildred Rashish looked startled. Her hand dropped from the young man's back as she tilted nervously forward. ‘What are you suggesting? I didn't kill anyone.'

‘You just said that you disposed of the murder weapon.'

‘I did not. I only said I dropped Eddy's gun in the river.'

‘Why?'

Her quick darting glance at Skee was explanation enough. She obviously feared that he had killed the young woman. ‘I didn't want anyone hurt with it,' Mildred said lamely.

‘You knew Skee wasn't in class at the time the girl was killed. We know who forged his signature.'

‘He was with me. We were in bed.'

‘That's right,' Skee said belligerently. ‘We were in the sack, Daddy-O. Not out killing people.'

Eight

‘Only recently eagles have been upgraded from an endangered to a threatened species,' Lyon said as he drove. ‘I guess they're not going to die out after all.'

‘Kill them all and let God sort them out,' said the boy in the seat next to him. His gasping asthmatic breathing began. Rebba handed him his inhaler from the back seat. ‘I think I'm allergic to this Big Buddy, just like the last one,' Edward said when he was able to talk.

‘Oh, boy,' Lyon said softly.

Rebba leaned forward and gently touched Lyon's shoulder. ‘Isn't he precocious, Lyon?'

‘You could say that,' Lyon said. He decided to press grimly forward with his lecture. ‘The female eagles often go fourteen pounds and the males nine.'

‘Guess we know which bird gets on top,' the boy said as he flipped the inhaler over his shoulder to his mother.

‘Now you stop that, Edward,' Rebba said. ‘Mr. Wentworth probably does not like that kind of talk.'

‘He's not my father, he's a Big Buddy,' the boy answered. ‘Where are we going?'

‘To the state forest. It's not far from here.'

‘I don't want to go there. Can't we go someplace else? Aren't we supposed to play baseball or something?'

‘You don't play baseball, Edward,' his mother chided from the back seat.

‘I don't play the game very well myself,' Lyon said with a smile at the boy.

‘Big deal.' Edward flapped his hand so that his loose fingers flipped back and forth. ‘What do you play, Went?'

‘I was on the lacrosse team in prep school and college.'

‘What's that?'

‘It has a goal net and sticks with nets on them. Actually, it derives from an old American Indian game. You know, that's something we can do! My old school, Greenfield Academy, is playing Choate next Saturday. We'll drive up there for the game and I can explain the rules as we watch.'

‘Isn't Greenfield in Massachusetts, Mr. Wentworth?'

‘Yes, it is.'

‘I don't think I could allow you to take my son out of state.'

‘If Edward and I are going to work this out, you have to cut us some slack, Mrs. Dirk.'

‘I remember your daughter's death since it coincided with Edward's birth.'

He had a strong suspicion concerning the thrust of her thinking. He was astonished at her lack of consideration and compassion. He took a moment before answering. ‘It was a hit-and-run accident near the green.'

‘She was playing unsupervised in the street.'

He resented the implication. No wonder the morose boy by his side had problems. He was not about to argue that their daughter was not unsupervised.

‘Your daughter was an only child, so I know you can appreciate how protective I am of Edward,' Rebba continued.

‘Yes, she was an only child,' Lyon finally answered. Her attempt to rescue the inadvertent statement was inadequate. ‘Perhaps you need another Big Buddy, Mrs. Dirk. One who's more careful with children in his charge.'

‘You seem to be our last chance, Mr. Wentworth.'

He knew this to be true. They passed the driveway to Nutmeg Hill and proceeded toward the dirt road that led into the state forest. He parked at a pull-off a hundred yards into the woods and reached under the seat for the binoculars. ‘Here we are,' he announced cheerfully.

‘I don't like it here,' Edward said as his small fingers clutched the dashboard. ‘This place is scary.'

Lyon examined the surrounding woods in an attempt to perceive them through the eyes of a frightened boy. It had rained recently. Lush spring foliage was luxuriantly green. Deadfalls of clustered brush and fallen tree limbs created by heavy snow were still bare without their future moss covering. Glacial rocks, some the size of a tall man, were strewn in a haphazard pattern as if they were dropped grains of sand filtered through a giant's fist.

Although he knew that a dead body had recently been discovered in the area, the woods now seemed a benign place. The forest was a habitat that would be comfortable for Bambi, Thumper, Flower, and other forest friends so dear to children.

‘There are deer in here,' Lyon said. ‘But it's the wrong time of day to see them.'

‘There are ghosts here.'

He looked sharply at the boy. ‘Have you been out here before?'

‘He's just a very sensitive youngster,' Rebba immediately answered. ‘Wasn't that girl's body found somewhere near here?'

‘That could have happened anywhere in town.'

‘Edward senses those things.'