Cast a Blue Shadow (9 page)

17

Saturday, November 2 9:45 A.M.

CAPTAIN Newell waited in the butler’s room until the sheriff was finished with Professor Dick Pomeroy and then summoned Robertson through the swinging doors. Robertson pushed through the doors thinking about his conversation with the chemist and saw that Daniel Bliss was no longer with Newell. The muscular captain stood at the sink, wearing latex gloves and holding a green crystal pitcher. “Juliet Favor had her own special pitcher last night,” he said.

Robertson glanced at the pitcher and said, “Dick Pomeroy? The chemistry professor? Now there’s an interesting fellow.”

Newell watched Robertson park his backside on Bliss’s desk and said, “Bruce, the pitcher.”

Robertson stirred from his thoughts and said, “Sorry, Bobby.”

“Juliet Favor reserved this pitcher to herself all last night.”

“You got that from Bliss?”

“Only partly. In truth, I got very little from him at all. With his mother dead, ‘Mister Sonny Favor’ is in charge of everything, as far as Bliss is concerned. He made that point very evident.”

“What about his sister? She’s older than him.”

“Bliss wouldn’t say.”

“Man’s startin’ to annoy me,” Robertson said, and turned for the door to the kitchen.

Newell held out his hand and said, “Whoa, Cowboy. You need to hear this.”

Robertson stopped, retreated to the desk, and sat back down.

“This is Juliet Favor’s
private
pitcher,” Newell said with emphasis. “As soon as I asked about it, Bliss dumped the contents into that sink in the wet bar.”

Robertson straightened up and waved Newell ahead.

“I’ve taken it from him for testing. Fingerprints and residue. I’ve also alerted one of Taggert’s assistants to collect the contents of the trap below that sink.”

“You say Bliss dumped it out? Was that casual or intentional?”

“He dumped it out just as soon as I took an interest in it.”

“Where did you find it?”

“There were two pitchers sitting here from last night. This one, Favor’s personal green Tiffany pitcher, and,” Newell pointed to a clear crystal pitcher beside the sink, “this other one containing martinis, according to Bliss.”

Robertson noted about an inch of colorless liquid in the clear pitcher and asked, “Bliss didn’t have a wild hair to dump that one out, too?”

“Just the green one. The one only Juliet Favor used.”

Robertson tented his fingers in front of his lips and thought. After a moment, he asked, “What’s in the clear one?”

“I’m having it analyzed, too, but that one smells like stale martinis.”

“Somebody told me earlier that Favor served martinis before dinner,” Robertson said.

“Right. And she gave the appearance of drinking right along with everyone else. But Bliss claims that the only thing in her pitcher was ice water.”

“A teetotaler?”

“He claims alcohol worsened her headaches.”

“So, she served everybody martinis last night and drank water herself.”

“Apparently.”

“I wonder how many people knew that?” Robertson said.

“Bliss did, for sure.”

“So why did Bliss dump it out?”

“Beats me. But if she took a spill on that marble floor, being drugged from her water pitcher would have made that easier for someone.”

Robertson nodded agreement. “Let’s wait to see what Missy can tell us about it.”

“Do you buy that about the headaches?”

“I reckon so,” Robertson said. “I was just talking to Pomeroy, and he confirms what Mike Branden said earlier. Professor Pomeroy came to bring her some headache medicine before dinner last night. He got here early, and Bliss let him set up his laptop in the library for an hour or so before dinner.”

“What’s your take on the butler?”

“Bliss evidently knows something about the resolution of Favor’s estate. Did he tell you anything?”

“Nothing. I asked him a dozen questions if I asked him one, and got nothing from him.”

“The Loyal Butler.”

“I’ll say. If you were to get it from Bliss, you’d think Favor died peacefully, of natural causes.”

“Except for that ugly gash at the back of her head,” Robertson said sarcastically.

“Have you got anything from Missy Taggert yet?” Newell asked.

“She’s still upstairs, so far as I know.”

“Well, I’ll get this pitcher to her.”

“Right. But Bobby, why is Bliss so protective of the children?”

“Maybe he thinks one of them did her in.”

“Could be.”

“Or maybe he did her, himself.”

“He’s precise, Bobby. Very precise and extremely careful.”

“You think he killed her?”

“If he did, I doubt he’ll have made any mistakes.”

Newell eyed the green pitcher and said, “Maybe one tiny mistake, Sheriff. By reflex. One impulsive turn of the wrist.”

“If he did,” Robertson said, “he’ll have figured out a plausible explanation for it by now.”

18

Saturday, November 2 9:45 A.M.

PROFESSOR Branden got his coat from the chair in the foyer and exited past Niell to the front porch. The cold, dry snow crunched with resonating tones under his boots as he descended the wooden steps. In bright sun on the parking oval in front of the mansion, he slipped his arms into his green and tan parka and zipped it up halfway. With the sun warm on his face, he did not pull up his hood. He fished his cell phone out of a coat pocket and dialed Evelyn Carson’s office. Dr. Carson answered.

“It’s Mike,” he said.

“We knew you would call, eventually. You’ll appreciate, I am sure, that it would be a somewhat delicate matter for me to answer certain specific questions about my patient.”

“In addition to confidences that a physician would keep,” Branden said, “there are, equally, certain questions that I myself would just as soon not have answered at the moment.”

“Understood,” Carson said. “Here’s Caroline.”

Branden waited for his wife to answer and then said, “Hold on a moment, I’ve got company.” He pushed mute.

Captain Dan Wilsher approached, ahead of a line of deputies, on the long front drive. The men were spread out, eyes scanning the snow cover as they walked. Wilsher came up to Branden and said, “We’re looking for tracks, bloodstains, whatever we might find.” He had his hands tucked under his arms to warm them.

Branden asked, “Bruce thinks you’ll find bloody rags, that sort of thing?”

“Yes,” Wilsher said skeptically. “We’ve been all through the house and found nothing. Appears there’ll be nothing out here, too. Robertson thinks Juliet Favor died when her head hit the marble floor of the foyer, and then someone cleaned up a lot of blood. Trouble is, there isn’t any blood. None, at least, that we’ve been able to find.”

“You’ve tried all the obvious places? Sinks, bathrooms, kitchen, laundry?”

“Right, but we came up with nothing.”

Branden cast his gaze around at the smooth snow where they stood and said, “The butler has plowed out here at least once this morning that I know of.”

“I know. All the old tracks are gone.”

“Blood from last night could still be packed in with the snowbanks,” Branden offered.

“Oh, great, Mike,” Wilsher said. From his expression, it was clear that Wilsher did not relish having to shovel through the snow.

Wilsher took off his gloves and blew into his cupped hands. “At least, if it stays cold,” he said, “the snow won’t melt before we get through it all.”

Branden said, “Probably wouldn’t be worth the time, Dan,” and Wilsher grunted displeasure.

“Where’s Bruce?” Branden asked.

“He’s out back with Bliss and DiSalvo. There’s evidently a problem with searching the butler’s residence.”

Branden nodded and held up his cell phone.

Wilsher said, “Right, I won’t keep you,” and walked off with his men.

Branden squinted at the morning sun, turned his back to it, and took his phone off mute. To Caroline he said, “Is Martha still there?”

“Yes, we’ve got her cleaned up a bit, but it wasn’t her blood.”

“I had assumed she got hurt in a car crash,” the professor replied.

“No. There’s blood on her apron and on her hands, but she’s not hurt. No cuts or scratches.”

Branden hesitated, thought. Eventually, he said, “We’re looking for blood evidence out here, Caroline. Juliet Favor has a crack in her skull. That’s likely how she died.”

“You can’t think Martha would have done that!”

“Not for a minute. But I’ve got to tell Bruce about this. Got to tell everyone, Caroline. We’re going to have deputies shoveling through snow looking for bloody clothes.”

“Wouldn’t they have to do that anyway?”

“I suppose. Maybe not. I’m not sure.”

“There could be blood somewhere else, too, Michael. I mean, Martha’s not necessarily the only one who’s got blood on her.”

“Sure. We’ll look out here. But I’ve still go to report this.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You’ve got to keep Martha there.”

“The only thing I have to do is keep Martha safe.”

“Caroline.”

“She didn’t do this, Michael.”

“OK. I’m not arguing the point. You keep her with you. I’ll handle things out here.”

“What do you want me to do with her apron?”

“We can’t tamper with evidence.”

“I know, but I have a clean change of clothes for her, and maybe I could bag the clothes she’s wearing.”

“Where’d you get the clean clothes?”

“Went back to her room at the college.”

“You don’t sound too happy about that.”

“She’s got recent pictures of Ben Schlabaugh on her wall.”

Branden didn’t reply.

“Michael?”

“Did she say why?”

“Still isn’t talking.”

“What does Evelyn say?”

“She thinks Martha chooses not to speak because she’s protecting someone.”

Branden thought.

“Michael?”

“This is going to be a bit tricky, Caroline.”

“You can’t think Martha killed her!”

“Of course not. But would you have predicted she’d get in touch with Ben Schlabaugh? With any Schlabaugh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do, Caroline.”

“OK, no. But Bruce will have her locked up if we take her in like this.”

“We just won’t take her in, then.”

“Oh, that’ll be a very popular tactic, Professor.”

“Just the bloody things go in for now,” Branden said. “Get her changed and over to our house. Will Evelyn go with you?”

“One minute,” Caroline said. Shortly, she continued. “She says yes.”

“OK. Then bag all of her clothes, shoes, stockings, dress, and especially the apron, and put the bag—it should be a clean plastic trash bag—into the trunk of Sonny’s car.”

“There’s blood in the car, too.”

“We can’t do anything about that.”

“What do we do with the car?”

“Put the key under the front seat and leave the car right where it is, unlocked. I’ll tell Dan Wilsher where it is, and they can investigate for a while. That should give you more time with Martha. You’ve got to get her talking before I take her down to Robertson this afternoon.”

“You can’t do that,” Caroline argued.

“I’ve got to. He already knows she’s involved in this some way. I just want us to be the first to know what that involvement is.”

“When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know. It would be best for me to stay here as long as possible. We’re probably going to be at it all day, the way things are going.”

“All right.”

“Have you got any ideas how to approach Martha?”

“I don’t know. She’s sleeping on the couch now.”

“What did you get so far?”

“She’s pregnant, Michael.”

“How in the world do you know that?”

Caroline told him.

“This is worse,” he said, “much worse.”

“She’s waking up. I’ve got to go,” Caroline said.

“OK. Get her home, and I’ll take care of the car from this end.”

Caroline hung up. The professor switched off and pocketed the phone while he walked back along the east drive beside the house. He found Wilsher measuring the depth of a snow pile with a yardstick. The stick and half his arm penetrated the snow before hitting pavement. The captain saw Branden approaching and gave a wry smile. “We’re going to have to shovel this out in layers,” he said ruefully.

“That’s where anything that was dropped on the drive last night is going to be now.”

Wilsher acknowledged that by shaking his head, and waved over several deputies. As they came up to him, he said, “We’ve got to go through all this snow.”

One of the men whistled. Another rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. A third turned away, saying, “I’ll look for shovels.”

“Try the garage out back,” Wilsher said, and motioned for the others to help.

“It’s gotten a little more complicated, Dan,” Branden said. “Sonny Favor’s girlfriend, a student of mine, has shown up with blood on her clothes.”

Wilsher gave an incredulous stare.

“We should still look for blood evidence out here, anyway,” Branden said.

“Where’s the girlfriend, Mike?”

“She’s with Caroline and Evelyn Carson. She’s evidently in shock.”

“She was out here last night?”

“From what I know, yes.”

“Does the sheriff know this?”

“That’s where I’m headed now. To tell him. Also, we found Sonny Favor’s car with its front smashed in.”

“Oh, really?” Wilsher said, shading his eyes.

“It’s in the parking lot of that pink Victorian house south of Pomerene.”

“That’s where Carson’s office is.”

“Right.”

“You think the girlfriend drove it there?”

Branden said, “I’m not entirely sure how it got there, Dan, but someone ought to bring it back. Maybe go through it. Caroline bagged Martha’s bloody clothes and put them in the trunk. The keys are under the front seat.”

BRANDEN rounded the back corner of the Favor house and found several cruisers and cars parked in the snow. Behind a large, four-car garage, he found Bliss arguing loudly with Robertson, in front of the door to the butler’s small ranch home.

As Branden walked up, Bliss was saying, “This is my house. You cannot search it without a warrant.”

Robertson said, “I’m not going to tell you this again, Bliss. We don’t need a warrant. This is all part of the Favor estate.”

DiSalvo cut in. “The Favors own this house, Bruce, but Daniel has maintained it as a private domicile for eight years that I know of, probably more.”

“More than ten,” Bliss proclaimed. He pulled the collar of his long dress coat up around his ears and said, “It’s cold out here, Sheriff, but I’ll not step aside for any reason.”

“I’ll have you moved!” Robertson barked.

“He’s not under arrest, Bruce,” DiSalvo said calmly. “And you’ve no grounds to place him under arrest.”

“Obstruction of an investigation will do, for starters,” Robertson said, and waved over a deputy.

Branden watched the deputy take out a pair of handcuffs. The professor raised his hand, and said, “Wait a minute, Bruce. You can get a warrant in less than an hour.”

Robertson, heated, glowered at his friend.

“Think about it. Without the warrant, your search will be subject to appeal.”

Robertson started to speak, but Branden continued. “All we really want to do right now is interview Mr. Bliss. Right? Then, if we get a warrant, all is well and good.”

Robertson seemed to relax a degree or two.

DiSalvo said, “You’ve already kept Mr. Bliss for a good forty minutes. Your Captain Newell did. Do you have more questions, Mike?”

“One or two, Henry,” Branden said pacifically.

Daniel Bliss threw up his hands, frustrated.

Henry DiSalvo drew his charges aside on the driveway, and began talking quietly.

Branden pulled Robertson off from the group and told him about Martha Lehman’s bloody clothes.

The sheriff asked, “How long have you known?”

“I knew Martha was over at Evelyn Carson’s office, and I knew she had wrecked Sonny’s car. I just found out that the blood on her clothes isn’t her own.”

With considerable effort, Robertson forced calm into his voice. “We’ve been wasting our time out here, Mike!”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, really?”

“We need to process this case thoroughly, Bruce. That means doing everything out here that we normally would do. Martha’s not talking, so at least for now you won’t get anything out of her, anyway.”

“Where is she, Mike?”

“With Evelyn Carson. Caroline is there, too.”

“Where are the clothes?”

“Dan Wilsher is bringing them in, along with Sonny Favor’s car.”

“Martha Lehman had the car, like Sonny said earlier?”

“Yes.”

“Then what more do we have to do out here? What about Bliss and the Favor kids?”

“It’s straightforward, Bruce. I can’t believe that Martha Lehman killed Juliet Favor. And even if you suspect she did, you’ve still got to work the case from every angle. We do the interviews, as we would have done. Missy analyzes the evidence. Then we get to Martha Lehman when Evelyn Carson has her talking again.”