Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) (19 page)

"I don't advise you to remain," he told them. "It could be hours."

"Could I have a quick look at him?" Beryl asked.

"I'm afraid not. We're concerned about infection at this time, so no one but the sisters are allowed near him." He paused. "When he's stable we shall move him to a private room, and we'll ring you the minute he's conscious."

I figured he'd ring Kincaid first but didn't voice my opinion. Instead, while the doctor retreated down the corridor, I turned to Elizabeth. "May I ride back to the house with you?" Before she could answer, I looked at her mother. "Can you take William and Beryl in the Bentley?"

Alice nodded, but Elizabeth hesitated as if once more she didn't want to be alone with me.

I came close to her and spoke quietly. "I have something important to tell you."

She shrugged, pulled her car keys from her purse, and together we walked down the hallway. I wanted to assure her that I hadn't told William or her mother about her relationship with Chaz. In addition, I wanted her to take me to the club. I had a passionate desire to see the scene of the crime.

The club was located rather close by, although not in the direction of Mason Hall, but I said I had a theory about who tried to kill Chaz. That apparently piqued Elizabeth's interest enough to agree to turn the car around and drive to the club.

I spent the time assuring her I hadn't told anyone about what she'd confided to me in the library. I also pointed out that William had heard just the first part of the story and was certain Chaz had raped her.

"You must have a talk with him soon."

She sighed. "I'm afraid you're right."

As for what I hinted I'd tell her, it was far too soon for me to have any theory about who tried to kill Chaz. Noreen had enough faults to make the Guinness World Records, but Chaz seemed to have had no enemies, at least none that I'd heard of. Who wanted both those people dead?

When we arrived at the site, we saw that onlookers had already gathered, attracted no doubt by the official cars and the uniformed policeman standing near the road some twenty yards from the entrance. Behind him other policemen combed the bushes, presumably looking for evidence. On a narrow gravel road that led to the back of the club, I glimpsed a parked Land Rover that looked like the one in which Chaz had driven me home the evening Elizabeth and I went to the club to hear Chaz play.

Now that I could see the place in daylight, I discovered it was not totally isolated as I first assumed. A nondescript building, it had a small parking area in front and trees and shrubs at the sides and rear. Several yards away on its left side I saw more one-story buildings: an automobile repair shop, a tire and parts store, and a "finish-it-yourself" unpainted furniture outlet. On the other side much farther away I detected a few row houses. Between the houses and the club, a gravel road branched off from the street and angled back behind the bushes. That road contained the parked Rover, and I surmised it might be a delivery route for supplies to those businesses.

Elizabeth parked her Vauxhall in the club parking lot, exited, and walked down the street toward the police officers. I also left the car, but I took her arm and stopped her. I wanted to do as much snooping as possible before someone sent us away.

"Let's go that way." I pointed to the back of the building. "I want to look at that car."

She shrugged and followed without further comment, and I rounded the building toward the gravel road. Once there, I hurried toward the Rover. "This is Chaz's car. Why do you suppose it's here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Wouldn't he have parked in front, rather than on this road?"

She didn't answer and stayed well behind me. I made my way across the gravel quickly and approached the Land Rover's right side. The door was closed but not latched, as if it had been abandoned that way. The windows were rolled up, and I looked inside, trying not to miss a thing. A key chain dangled from the ignition switch. The tan-colored seats, either leather or vinyl, were liberally smeared with what appeared to be dried and drying blood. My heart pounded again at the thought that was Chaz's blood, and he still lay in critical condition.

I backed away. "Don't touch anything," I whispered to Elizabeth, but she apparently had no intention of doing so. She shook her head and didn't go near the car.

I don't know if my voice or our combined footsteps had aroused him, but a police officer approached. "Back away," he shouted. "This is a crime scene."

We didn't move, but when the officer came closer, I said, "We're the victim's cousins. We've spoken to Inspector Kincaid at the hospital." Like that entitled us to be there.

He didn't accept my excuse. "Sorry, Miss, no exceptions." He advanced toward us as if he'd physically remove us if necessary, and we retreated. However, I led Elizabeth toward the street, rather than the way we'd come.

Two more vehicles pulled up—a tow truck and an unmarked car—and Kincaid himself emerged from the latter. I headed straight for him, Elizabeth again following my lead. We met near the bushes where bits of cloth stuck to twigs, and the ground seemed damp with water or blood.

The police officer had come up behind us. "Inspector," he began.

"It's all right," Kincaid said. "I know these ladies."

He actually smiled, and I wondered why he'd suddenly become so friendly. Yet I couldn't completely shake my thoughts from what I'd observed and the theory forming in my mind as to what had happened to Chaz.

"I see you've come to play amateur sleuth again." Kincaid shook his head. "You shouldn't be here, you know. You mustn't interfere with our investigation."

Nevertheless, he didn't tell us to go away. I had a strong impression he enjoyed seeing us, or at least Elizabeth. Instead of looking at the tow truck, which backed up toward Chaz's Rover, he kept his gaze fixed on her, and I wondered if a romantic interest might be brewing. Her hair loose, her face flushed, she didn't seem quite as prim and standoffish as she sometimes did. She looked away, as if his flirting—if that's what he was doing—made her uncomfortable.

I spoke to Kincaid. "That's Chaz's…I mean, Mr. Mason's…car, isn't it?"

"Yes, it appears to be." He turned his gaze from Elizabeth to the tow truck operator connecting the vehicles.

"There's blood all over the seats and floor," I said. "He must have bled inside."

Kincaid turned and gave me an exasperated look. "Quite right."

Okay, so I'd stated the obvious. So sue me. "A little while ago, at the hospital, I thought you said someone, perhaps a drug dealer, discovered Chaz outside the club and attacked him there."

"I don't believe I indicated where we think the actual incident took place. We're still in the early stages of this investigation." He pulled on his mustache. "However, as you've pointed out, the blood in his car raises a question."

"So he could have been stabbed while inside the car?"

"Not necessarily. Perhaps Mr. Mason, finding himself severely wounded, tried to drive to hospital."

"Wouldn't his attacker try to stop him?"

"If he were aware Mr. Mason was still alive, he might have." He came closer and spoke in a tone that suggested he felt comfortable discussing that with us.

"Suppose, for example, the assailant only
thought
your cousin was dead and left the scene. Mr. Mason then dragged himself to the car, found himself unable to drive after all, exited the car, and crawled through the bushes to the road, seeking help."

While the tow truck, now connected by chains to Chaz's car, hauled it noisily into position, I visualized Kincaid's theory. I found two faults.

"Why is the car sitting here, in this gravel road," I asked, "instead of the club parking lot?"

He shrugged. "As soon as Mr. Mason recovers sufficiently from his wounds, I intend to ask him that very question."

"And what about all the blood? If he climbed into the car to drive it away, why is there blood on both seats, passenger's as well as driver's?"

"We don't have all the answers yet. You must be patient."

Kincaid's cooperative demeanor encouraged me to go on. "I noticed his car keys are still inside."

"That would be consistent, would it not, with his trying to drive away and then abandoning the idea?"

"But, so far as I could tell, there's no blood on the keys or the steering wheel."

Kincaid took his time before answering. "You're very observant, aren't you?"

I hadn't expected that comment, but I basked in his praise. "I suppose I am. My parents always told me I was too nosy for my own good. 'Curiosity kills the cat,' they'd say. I'd always reply, 'That's why cats have nine lives.'"

Kincaid turned and walked toward the street. "Curiosity is a fine quality for certain persons. Perhaps you should become a police detective."

Although complimentary, I felt he was trying to dismiss me. In order to keep him from rushing away, I stretched out our interview by doing a bit of gloating. "My brother is a police officer in San Francisco and expects to be a private investigator one day."

"Like Lord Peter Wimsey or that other fellow, Jack Reacher?"

"More like Sam Spade," I told him, and we both laughed.

He approached his vehicle. "I enjoy reading about your American detectives. They're colorful as well as effective, are they not?" His comment reinforced my opinion that police detectives, like mystery fans, kept up with fictional sleuths.

I returned the subject to this particular crime. "Have you found the weapon used to attack Chaz?"

"Not yet. We're still searching for it."

That explained the men poking around in the bushes.

Elizabeth, silent until now, spoke up. "The doctor said his wounds were extensive. Wouldn't that mean a large knife?"

"About eight or nine inches, we believe."

"Like a kitchen knife?"

"I think not. The blade failed to make clean cuts."

"Do you mean not sharp enough?" I asked.

"Not necessarily. The surgeon suggested the wounds came from a blade with an irregular cutting surface."

"Perhaps like a serrated edge?" Elizabeth asked.

"Rather like a series of shallow curves: wavy and double-edged. He didn't recall ever seeing a wound like that before."

"An unusual weapon? In that case," I said, "I should think whoever did this wouldn't leave the knife where it might be found and perhaps traced back to him."

"Perhaps not, but we must search in any event. My men are looking for other evidence as well."

As the truck maneuvered toward the main street we three followed on foot, and I took advantage of Kincaid's cooperative attitude to ask more questions.

"Is it possible Chaz was stabbed while
inside
the car?"

"If so, whoever did it would probably have to have been inside with him. I doubt he could have inflicted those wounds through an open window, or even an open door."

I challenged him. "Suppose you're wrong, and there was no drug dealer at all? I happen to believe, along with his parents, that Chaz didn't use drugs."

"That isn't our sole avenue of investigation. He might have had an angry row with someone, which escalated. We're checking on possible enemies. We'll know soon enough."

The jealous husband idea had already crossed my mind. If Noreen had indeed dumped him and he took up with another woman… "Could this be linked to Noreen's death?" I asked.

"I doubt that very much. I agree it is a coincidence that two members of your family should meet with, er, accidents, but at the present time, I don't see any connection."

I debated telling him about my conversation with Beryl but decided my promise to her not to reveal her secret came first. Besides, I couldn't be certain one crime led to the other.

Kincaid put his hand under Elizabeth's elbow and led her to the edge of the road. "Meanwhile, you must let us get on with our work." When we reached the car, he dropped her arm.

"As I said before," Kincaid told us, "I shall question all the family members again after we have more information."

He took several steps toward his car then turned about and approached me. "Whom were you visiting at Youngacres House?"

I sighed. I had known that sooner or later he'd want to know why I went to a nursing home for aging criminals. "I didn't know about the place before I got there. I was looking for a man named Roy Capelli."

"Did you find him?"

"Yes." I paused then decided to admit at least part of what I'd learned. "Do you remember I told you I thought Noreen had a lover who'd been with her at the lily pond the night she drowned?"

"I do."

"Well, I thought Capelli might be that person, but as soon as I saw him I realized my mistake."

Kincaid pulled at his mustache again. "Another amateur sleuth question again. Let me assure you, dear lady, that we're proceeding diligently on this case. And, meanwhile, I suggest you and your cousin cease trying to play detective lest you put yourselves in harm's way."

He couldn't put me off that easily. "Speaking of harm, suppose whoever tried to kill Chaz finds out he's not dead and comes back to finish the job? Will you have someone guarding his room at the hospital?"

"I think you've seen too many gangster films. Whether a drug seller or someone with whom Mr. Mason had a row, I very much doubt that he'll make a further attempt on Mason's life. The perpetrator may be relieved to know he didn't kill him after all, not wishing to add 'murderer' to his name. However," he added, no doubt reading my expression, "I assure you that, should we feel it necessary, we will provide adequate protection."

I decided not to argue the point with him, said good-bye, and walked back to Elizabeth's car where she waited inside. As soon as I climbed in, she drove out of the parking lot.

Kincaid had rather adroitly managed not to answer my concerns. The car's location for one. Chaz wouldn't have parked it on that road, the keys still inside. Did his attacker put it there?

Elizabeth interrupted my thoughts. "How can you be so sure Chaz didn't use drugs?"

I looked over at her. "Aren't
you
sure? You knew him better than I. Do you think he used them?"