Lady Sativa (10 page)

All seven of the occupants of the house were assembled in the library when they arrived. Hannah was on the couch, being comforted by Sybelle and Germaine. Hazer was sitting nearby in an armchair. Lily and Maxwell were standing near the window and the cook sat at ^the desk, presiding over a steaming coffee urn. Orient went over *to take a cup before moving to join Lily. As he approached, Maxwell scowled” and turned away.

Lily looked up, her amber eyes dark with the pain that tightened her pale mouth. “Did they make you go out there?” she asked softly.

Orient nodded.

“They asked a lot of questions.” She shivered and hugged herself.

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth.” She put a hand on his arm. “Didn’t you?”

“Eventually.”

She cocked her head and smiled slightly. “Don’t tell me you tried to protect my reputation?

“Something like that.”

“I suppose I should be complimented, but it smacks of the chauvinist. I’m a firm believer in straight honesty all the time.” She reached up and touched his face. “Agreed?”

Agreed,” he murmured.

“Should always tell the police the truth,” Maxwell mused as he stared out the window. “But you ran true to form—gallant and proper.”

The corded muscles in Orient’s neck tensed and his eyes narrowed. He clenched his jaw and tried to hold back the anger that clawed at his instincts.

“Your attention, please,” the lanky detective called out, his voice oddly pitched as he formed the unfamiliar English words. “Please all be seated.”

Maxwell managed to take the armchair next to Lily, leaving Orient the narrow space on the couch.

“Please be patient with my English,” the detective continued “But it is language we all understand here and we must proceed as best we can.” His craggy face was set in a mournful frown as he looked around at him. “The facts are these: Mr. Neilson was killed about two this morning. None of you heard sounds even though—” he looked at Orient—”some of you were awake.” His pale blue eyes moved to Hannah.

She was rocking back and forth silently in Sybelle’s arms like a child who’d just recovered from the worst part of a fit. Her delicate face was lined with fatigue, and the skin around her eyes was raw and red from crying.

“Mrs. Bestman was the last person to see Neilson alive,” the detective said.

Germaine stood up. “Surely, you’re not inferring that Hannah had anything to do with this?”

The detective took his hands out of his pockets. “Please be seated, count,” he said calmly. “I’ve made no accusation.”

“Now then,” he continued as Germaine took his seat, “Is there anything someone has not remembered?” No one spoke.

“You had some sort of Black Mass in which Neilson and the rest of you joined, no?” he persisted. “Some magic rite.”

“We conducted a
séance”
Germaine said, correcting him, “according to the wishes set forth in Carl Bestman’s will. It was
not
a mass or rite. It could be called a scientific experiment.”

The detective nodded glumly. “And there was a fight? Things broken and thrown around?”

“There was no fight of any kind,” Germaine explained patiently. “There was a psychic disturbance when we tried to contact Mr. Bestman’s soul.”

The lanky detective squinted around the room, his face reflecting disbelief and disapproval. “You say there was a
disturbance?”

“We tried to speak to the soul of Carl Bestman,” Hazer said, slowly filling his pipe. “When we tried something knocked the furniture over and broke some lamps. Some spirit element. That’s the clearest explanation anyone here can give, I think. Lady Sativa received a message “from Carl to open a certain cabinet. But when Neilson and Hannah went to look they found it empty.”

“Only Mrs. Bestman and Neilson?”

“That’s right.”

“And then you all retired?”

“Yes.” Hazer fumbled through his pockets.

The detective lowered his voice. “You went outside with Neilson, Mrs. Bestman?”

“Yes,” Hannah whispered. She didn’t look up. “But it was drizzling so I came back to the house right away.”

“And you saw nothing?”

“No.”

“Strange that no one heard anything last night,” Hazer struck a match and lit his pipe. “Perhaps he couldn’t make any sound after his throat was… damaged.”

Hannah began to sob.

“Please, captain, can’t you see that Mrs. Bestman needs rest,” Sybelle scolded. “Why in heaven’s name can’t she go to her room?”

“In due time. First, we must discover the truth of a man’s death.”

“You know the truth.” Sybelle’s eyes were blazing. “No one here is lying. We’ve told you everything.”

The detective smiled sadly. “Everything except who killed Nels Neilson.”

“Could have been a stray bear or wolf,” Maxwell suggested

“There were no tracks, Mr. Andersen.”

As the detective spoke, there were loud voices at the door. “Hannah!” Anthony Bestman shouted as he came into the library. “Are you all right?” His bulk was covered by, a fur-collared greatcoat that reached to his ankles. He glared around the room. “I told you this would happen if you continued to shelter these degenerates. Now we’ve been doubly disgraced”

“Please get
him
out of here, officer,” Hannah said quietly. “I don’t want that man in my house.”

“My sister-in-law is crazy,” Bestman spat vehemently. “She drove my brother to suicide.

“Liar,” Hannah gurgled as she suddenly lurched to her feet.

“I tell you she’s crazy!” Bestman yelled as she lunged and tried to rake his face with her nails.

The detective stepped between them and grabbed Hannah’s shoulders.

“He drove Carl to kill himself!” she screeched. “Wouldn’t leave Carl alone.”

“Sit down, Mrs. Bestman,” the detective said firmly, guiding her back to the couch.

Hannah sank back on the couch and collapsed, sobbing, into Sybelle’s arms.

“Please come with me,” the detective said to Bestman.

“I’ll be glad to tell you everything I know about these people,” Bestman sneered. “That woman has ruined my brother and his family’s name.”

“We’ll see,” the detective sighed as they walked to the door.

Everyone was absorbed in private thoughts as they waited for the detective to return. The room was silent except for the occasional murmur of the fat-faced detective who was sitting near the coffee urn, flirting with the cook.

Orient stretched his legs out and tried to relax. Neilson had been literally ripped apart. It would take a very strong person to do that. Or someone completely crazed.

The cook let out a muffled giggle as the detective whispered something in her ear.

It was at least two hours before the lanky detective returned. He was accompanied by a uniformed policeman.

“You will please come with us, Mrs. Bestman,” he said, approaching the couch.

“But what on earth for?” Sybelle protested.

“She is under arrest for the murder of Nels Neilson.”

Germaine slapped his fist against his palm. “Impossible.”

“Anthony Bestman informed us that his sister-in-law once committed herself for shock treatment. We confirmed this. She has been diagnosed as a border schizophrenic. Our laboratory has also confirmed that traces of powder found in the car correspond to talcum powder found in Mrs. Bestman’s bedroom,” the detective droned impassively. He reached into his coat.

These were also found under some clothing in the bedroom.” He handed some papers to Germaine, “Possibly you can explain this better than I.”

Germaine scanned the papers. “It looks like part of the thesis Carl mentioned.” As he read them, his wide brow furrowed in a frown. “This proves nothing,” he said finally, passing the papers to Hazer.

The detective said nothing and waited until everyone had read the papers found in Hannah’s room.

When Orient received them he saw that there were two typewritten sheets and one Xerox. One of the typed sheets was titled:
Lycanthropic Schizophrenia

He read it carefully.

Introduction

My unsuccessful pursuit of a cure for the devastating and highly virulent disease known as Lycanthropy began because I have seen the destructive mental and spiritual results of such a case in my own family.

For years the schizoid bestial nature of this unfortunate person has surfaced with the advent of the full moon. I have done everything humanly possible to arrest this cursed condition and have even turned my investigations to the realm of extranormal physics to seek an answer.

During this entire period my marriage has been destroyed. With each attack, it becomes more difficult for my wife to bear the strain. I have found only partial..

The paragraph ended in mid-sentence. Orient looked at the other sheet. It was numbered on the top right-hand corner. Page 345. He began reading.

… conclusion that the disease can only be cured in its early stages, as with other forms of Cancer virus. Experiences in Nepal, India, and Ceylon have proved that results can be obtained using the original Greek formula described earlier (a translation is attached). However, even when this formula is carefully deciphered, proportioned, and administered orally, it is effective only if the Lycanthropic has not yet consumed raw flesh during a seizure. After that, like a predatory animal who’s tasted its first kill, there is no turning back. The virus takes root in the metabolism and eventually predominates.

Even this pitifully mild discovery comes years too late to unburden Hannah of the awful secret she must carry with her.

The results of the analysis support

There was no more.

Orient turned to the Xeroxed sheet. It was a copy of a page taken from an illuminated manuscript. Even though the highly stylized symbols were from the ancient Greek, he guessed that the text had been recopied during ‘ a later period, probably Medieval. There was something written in ink on the lower part of the page.

to soothe the poor soul

who bears the mark of the beast

take the mold of wheat and yeast

add mandrake, wolfbane and poppy pitch,

then an equal part of the beautiful bitch,

Indian rope to complete the feast

remember ten measures which the beast loves best

from one who loves him more than all the rest.

He hastily checked the doggerel against his half-remembered knowledge of ancient languages. As far as he could make out, the translation was faithful. He passed the papers to Maxwell who snatched them unceremoniously from his hand.

“I tell you they prove nothing,” Germaine was saying. “Carl himself might have put them in the room without her knowledge. You must let this poor woman get some rest, or she’ll break down.”

“There’s nothing else I can do,” the detective said. “The only tracks near the scene of the crime belong to her. The evidence is there. We shall take her to a hospital in the morning. But tonight she’ll have to spend the night in jail.”

“No!” Hannah cried out, clutching at Sybelle. “Please don’t let them put me in a cage.”

She looked up at the detective and something in her delicate face seemed to crumble. “I’ll go to the hospital in the morning, but let me stay here until then. I promise I’ll tell you everything in the morning,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with fear.

“If you take Hannah, you have to take me too,” Sybelle warned.

“Please,” Germaine said. “I ask you as a man and a human being to have pity on this poor woman. Her worst crime can only be sickness. She agreed to go to the hospital. Let her stay here tonight.”

The detective jammed his hands in his pockets. “Very well,” he said wearily. “We’ll wait until nine tomorrow morning. But I’ll expect a full statement from every one of you. And no one is to leave this house for any reason.”

After Hannah had been taken to her room, Anthony came into the library. Orient watched him as he conferred with the two detectives, gesturing excitedly as he spoke. From time to time he would glare around the room at the guests and whisper something to the short detective, punctuating his remarks with jabs of his cigar. Finally, he and the detective left the room.

“Tell me,” Sybelle sweetly asked the lanky detective, “do you know where Anthony Bestman was when Nels was killed?”

The detective looked at her, his lips set in a tight smile. “He was at police headquarters, miss. Trying to get an order to evict you all from the estate and get Mrs. Bestman to a hospital.

Her face reflected her disappointment at Anthony’s ironclad alibi. “You mean he wanted her committed?”

The detective nodded.

Later, they were served a cold supper in the dining room. Their conversation was muted as they ate.

“I simply cannot believe Hannah could be capable of something so horrible.” Sybelle picked dejectedly at a slice of ham. “I’ll
never
believe it.”