Murder as a Fine Art (26 page)

“I've got to get away from the smell of death. Let's just get in your car and drive, Richard.”

Richard gave Laura a dubious look. “It is okay? I mean will the police let us?”

“You've given them your statement, haven't you?”

“Yes. Right after lunch.”

“Then it's okay. I cleared it with Karen. She understands how I feel.” Her voice quickened as she said, “I know what. Let's go to the Upper Hot Springs. Maybe the stink of sulphur will purge my system of that other smell.”

The fog began as they started up Sulphur Mountain. It was patchy at first, then thickened into a solid grey blanket. As they approached the place where the earthmovers crossed the road, the fluorescent strips on the flagmen's jackets seemed to burn through the fog. Lights on dim, Richard slowed to a crawl, peering through the windshield. He was waved on with sweeping motions of the flagman's illuminated baton.

“That's a man. Your girlfriend isn't here,” Laura said as they drove past.

“Yes she is.” Richard leaned forward to peer through the windshield. “Look up ahead. She's just changed places. She's waving us on.”

Recognizing the car, the blond flag girl smiled and gave a little wave with her free hand.

“Between the fog and the steam we aren't going to see a thing once we're in the pool,” Richard said as he cautiously inched the Ford into the parking lot.

“That suits me just fine,” replied Laura, picking up her bag from the rear seat. “I find the idea of being invisible very appealing just now.

“Are we the only ones here?” she asked the ticket seller.

“No. There's one other couple in the pool,” she said as she gave them keys to their lockers. “A fog like this always keep people away.”

The steps from the changing rooms led directly into the pool. Laura clung to the railing until she could feel the water rising around her ankles. “Is that you, Richard?” she said to the dim shape standing a few feet away. Something about the stillness and the grey opacity of the fog mixed with sulphurous steam made her keep her voice low, barely above a whisper.

The figure reached out and took her hand. “Let's go across to the other side,” said Richard, also in a low voice. He led the way, his free hand outstretched to feel for the concrete island in the middle of the pool. His fingers touched its smooth top and he carefully felt his way around it, finally fetching up at the far side of the pool.

Laura opened her mouth as if to gulp the sulphur-laden air, and willed her pores to open so she could be saturated with it. With its pungent odour stinging her nostrils, she could no longer smell, even in her imagination, the sickening stench of burnt flesh. A low laugh and an indistinct murmur of voices, placed the invisible other couple at the far end of the pool.

An alarm began to beep and was quickly shut off. “The guy must have set his wristwatch alarm to tell them when they've been in the pool long enough,” said Richard. As he spoke, they heard, rather than saw, the other twosome splashing their way across the pool and up the stairs to the changing rooms.

Laura took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Richard,” she began, “if we're going to have a lasting relationship, I don't want there to be any secrets between us.”

“I like the sound of that ‘lasting relationship' part, and whatever deep dark secrets you may have, I already forgive,”

“It's not me, Richard. It's you.”

She felt him suddenly stiffen. “Oh? And what might that be?”

It was not too late. She could still back off. But she knew their relationship would never work while she still carried with her the secret burden of what she knew. It would be all right once she had shared it with him and he acknowledged it. That way, they would at least start out by being honest with each other.

“Henry Norrington doesn't only read your books, Richard, he
writes
them,” she said quietly, her voice sounding disembodied in the enveloping greyness.

The silence lay between them, as thick as the fog. Then Richard gave a harsh bark of laughter. “That's crazy! What drugs are you on? For God's sake!”

Laura shook her head, the motion invisible in the fog. “I wish it were crazy. But there are too many similarities for it to be mere coincidence. You have to be around Henry and listen to him talk to spot it. There are some unusual phrases, like ‘erotic allure' and ‘dangerously possible' for example, that don't appear in his books, but crop up in his conversation.
And
in your books. You claim not to have met Henry before coming here. Yet you two must have known each other for a long time. For example, you knew that it was his papers on deconstructionism that got him tenure at the university. John Smith had figured it out, too. That was going to be his great revelation.”

“That's not true. We knew he was going to name...” Richard's lips abruptly clamped shut.

“Who's we, Richard?

“Never mind. It doesn't matter.”

“Erika knew too, didn't she? That's why she was making notes during the TV talk show.” Laura's eyes widened in horror. “Oh, my God, that's why she was killed,” she whispered.

She heard him groan, then his hands closed around her ankles and she was on her back under water. She was paralysed with shock for a few seconds, then tried to kick out and free her legs. But he was holding them high in the air, rendering her helpless. Absurdly, she wanted to warn him that a laser scan would reveal the subcutaneous bruises on her ankles. As it had with Montrose. Her hands scrabbled frantically on the smooth bottom of the pool, but there was no purchase, nothing to hold onto. Wasn't this how husbands drowned their wives in the bathtub? She was going to die. And soon. His murderous attack had been so sudden and unexpected that she hadn't had time to draw a breath. But that would only have prolonged her agony.

It must have been Richard who had grabbed Montrose by the ankles and pitched him over the stairwell railing. But why? Oh, God! Of course. Her lungs were on fire. She had to draw a breath, she couldn't fight it any longer. Even though that breath would fill her lungs and extinguish her life.

Then the deadly grip on her ankles was suddenly released, and Richard reached down to grab her under the shoulders and lift her up. Laura spat out a mouthful of water and sucked in a great lung full of precious, life-giving air.

“I'm sorry, Laura. Terribly sorry.”

“At least you couldn't go through with it. I'll remember that.”

A capricious mountain breeze tugged at the fog, allowing them to see each other. Richard's face was sick with self-loathing and dread. The sound of voices made them both look up. A small group of sightseers stood on the platform above the pool, peering down into the mist and dissipating fog.

“You and Jeremy were in this together, weren't you?” Laura asked in a low voice between racking coughs. “He needed to get rid of Montrose and you needed to have Erika silenced.”

Holding onto the tiled edge of the pool for support, she followed Richard as he moved farther away from the observation platform. When he reached the far end of the pool, he turned to face her.

“It started one night when we were having a few drinks and he was talking about a play he was thinking about writing.” Richard's voice was uncannily matter-of-fact, as if he were relating something that no longer mattered. “The plot involved two men who each wanted to get rid of their wives. They agreed to kill each other's wives and the husband of the victim, who would be the prime subject, would arrange to have an unshakable alibi for the time of the killing. When he mentioned how convenient it would be for him if Montrose were to die, it began to dawn on me that it might be the way to solve my problem with Erika. The television show that Henry and I were to appear on would provide a watertight alibi.”

“How did you know that Erika had discovered Henry wrote your books?”

Richard almost smiled. “Your little friend Erika was very intelligent. She was also very transparent; her eyes kept darting from Henry to me. Henry was the first to suspect it.”

In a voice as matter-of-fact as his own, Laura asked, “You killed Montrose. Jeremy killed Erika. And he killed John Smith.”

“Yes.”

Up on the viewing platform, one of the sightseers sniffed the sulphur laden air, and announced in a loud voice, “It smells like somebody just let a fart,” and turned to leave. The rest of the little group trooped after him.

“I'm not going to do anything to you,” Richard said when he saw the fleeting look of alarm on Laura's face as they were once more alone in the pool. “It's all over for me.”

“I'm not afraid,” she said as she began to wade across the pool. She had to smile at the irony when they parted at the stairs that led to the separate changing rooms. The proprieties still had to be observed, even under these bizarre circumstances. It became even more bizarre when he politely asked if she would like to drive back with him. Equally politely, she told him that she would call a taxi.

Half fearful that Richard would have a change of heart and come looking for her, Laura hurriedly stripped off her bathing suit and began to dress. As she stepped into her panties, reaction set in and a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her, making her lean against a locker for support. The room tilted and swayed as she cautiously inched her way to a bench and sat down with her head between her knees. After a few minutes, she started to get up, but quickly sat down again as the room rocked around her. She had never experienced an attack like this before, but reassured herself with the thought that it wasn't surprising after what she had just been through. Fearing another onslaught of dizziness, she waited until she was sure it had passed
before trying to stand up again. This time the room behaved itself and stayed in place. She glanced up at a wall clock and was somewhat shocked to see that her spell must have lasted for at least twenty minutes.

Richard would be long gone by now. Where would he go? What would he do? His situation was desperate. These thoughts ran through Laura's mind as she finished dressing. When she looked in the mirror to apply her lipstick she was startled to see how pale her face was, but the defiant slash of red helped to lift her spirits. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the changing room door, climbed the stairs, and walked across the deserted lobby to the outside. Knowing it was highly unlikely, she walked down the road to the parking lot to see if Richard's car was still there. The fog had been largely blown away; just a few cottony wisps clung to the tops of the pines lining the road. There was only one car in the parking lot, and it was not the silver Ford.

The public phone was outside the building, beside the entrance. Laura got change from the ticket seller and went back outside. Someone had made off with the telephone directory so she had to climb back up the stairs and go back inside to look up the number of the RCMP. She would try the detachment office first, even though Karen would likely still be somewhere on the campus. She was in luck. The switchboard operator told her that Corporal Lindstrom was in the office, but was in conference. When Laura gave her name and said it was urgent, she was told to hang on, a message would be sent in to the corporal. “She and the Calgary detectives are comparing notes,” the operator added, knowing that Laura was helping Karen with the case.

“I'm at the Upper Hot Springs, Karen.” Laura immediately felt safer with the police knowing where
she was. Without giving Karen a chance to say anything, she went on. “Richard Madrin just tried to kill me. He was going to drown me in the pool, but relented at the last minute. Jeremy Switzer is his accomplice. They're both murderers.”

“Where is Madrin now? Is he still with you?”

“No. He's taken off in his car. He may be on his way to turn himself in.”

Karen must have placed her hand over the receiver because Laura could faintly hear her speaking to someone. Then she said, “As I remember, he drives a silver Ford Taurus?”

“That's right. It was a rental. I don't know the license plate numbers, but it had a Hertz sticker on the rear bumper. Are you going to put out an all points bulletin?”

“What's your number there?” Laura read it off, and was told to stay where she was and to answer the phone when it rang. Less than two minutes later Karen called back.

“Richard Madrin is dead, Laura. His car was run over by one of those huge earthmoving machines. One of our cruisers is at the scene.” She paused as if interrupted, then came back on the line, saying with a touch of impatience, “A purist on our staff tells me the correct name for those brutes is wheel tractor-scraper, but the name doesn't matter. The car was badly crushed and they haven't been able to remove his body, but the paramedics have confirmed that he's dead. Stay where you are, Laura. I'm coming to pick you up.”

“You've got the con, Corporal,” Inspector Gratton said, borrowing a phrase from the days when he served aboard a RCMP patrol boat.

“Thank you, sir.” Karen detailed two officers to go to the Centre and arrest Jeremy Switzer, reminding them to read him his rights. One of the constables tapped his breast pocket to indicate he had a copy of the printed statement to read out to the accused.

Karen, with the inspector and one of his detectives, piled into a cruiser. Peplinski was at the wheel and used lights and siren as they sped through the town, across the bridge, and up the mountain road. A police cruiser parked across the road, its lights flashing, moved out of the way to let them past.

“Holy Jesus!” Peplinski whispered as they pulled up at the accident scene. A giant tractor-scraper, with tandem engines fore and aft, straddled the road, the flattened remains of what had once been an automobile crushed beneath its scraper bowl.

“Those big wheels rolled right over the sucker,” Peplinski muttered in awe, pulling on the handbrake with unnecessary force.