Death in a Summer Colony (17 page)

35

S
hortly before 9:00 A.M. Ray slowly rolled through the three-block long business district of the Harbor Village. Most of the brick buildings lining both sides of the street were constructed after the great fire of 1906. Once a thriving mercantile hub for farmers, lumbermen, and sailors, the stores now catered to the tourist trade with windows filled with t-shirts, sandals, summer frocks, and regional art—seascapes in oil and watercolors. The summer people and tourists were already filling the streets, heading to the coffee shops, the bakery, and restaurants in search of breakfast.

A few blocks away from the lake, a series of widely spaced, single-story structures—most constructed of cement block—housed auto and marine repair facilities and the shops and businesses of the local tradesmen. Ray pulled onto the blacktop lot in front of North Lakes Electrical and Fire Equipment. He sat in the car for a few minutes, not wanting to interrupt the final movement of Schubert’s Trout Quintet. As the last note faded, he switched off the engine and emerged into the hot, humid air of the August morning. He crossed the threshold, the front door propped open by an old electric motor.

The counterman, short and round, looked up from the sports page of the
Record Eagle as Ray approached. “Can I help you, Sheriff?”

“Is Dale in?”

“He’s back in his office.” He pointed to a hallway that ran along the left side of the building. “It’s the one at the end.”

Dale Van Beers was on the phone, his head bent to the right holding the phone, his eyes on a computer display, his fingers moving on the keyboard as he talked. He noted Ray’s presence with his eyes and a nod. Ray could tell from the conversation that he was doing his best to bring it to an end. Finally, Dale rang off.

“Hey, Ray. It’s been awhile,” he said extending his hand.

“How’s business?” asked Ray, settling onto a gray steel chair.

“We’re keeping the lights on. That’s an achievement in this economy. What can I do for you?”

“You service the fire extinguishers and other safety equipment over at the Old Mission Summer Colony?”

“Yes, have for decades. That was one of my father’s accounts, maybe my grandfather’s, too.”

“That includes the emergency egress lights, the ones in the Assembly Hall?”

“Yes? What’s happened?”

“They lost power Saturday. And….”

“Half the county was out, on and off. And I was worried about those lights in the Assembly Hall. I was hoping that situation wasn’t going to come back and bite me in the ass. Am I in trouble?”

“Dale, this is part of a murder investigation.”

“Yeah, the murder. I read about that. Guy was a big shooter, huh. Big bucks from Chicago with that concrete and glass house. I bid on that house. The job would have covered my retirement.”

Ray nodded. “Yes, all of the above. And the egress lights not working just seemed way too convenient. I was wondering if….”

“If you’re thinking about sabotage or something, there’s a possibility. I can even name a suspect, not an actual suspect by name, but I can provide a pretty good description.”

Ray noted that Dale’s expression had gone from one of concern to one of mirth.

“That whole egress lighting system is older than the hills, first generation stuff that was installed right after the fire code made those things mandatory. It’s needed replacing for years. We do the whole nine yards out there, routine inspection and recharging of the extinguishers, no problem there. The cost is built into the colony’s maintenance budget. Same is true for the service on the egress lights. They need to be inspected and the batteries and charging units need to be swapped out from time to time. But replacing the whole system, that’s a problem. It’s a capital expense item, and Grubbs never seems to have the funds for it. So we’ve been cobbling the system together the past several years. The original manufacturer has moved all its production to China and is no longer providing parts for these old units. The last few years I’ve been getting parts by cannibalizing units we’ve pulled from churches and schools as they’ve upgraded. The colony is the last of our customers that still has this old stuff. But we had an incident last week that…well…brought everything to a head.

“What was it, Thursday, Grubbs calls all concerned about an electrical kind of burning smell in the back of the Assembly Hall. I rushed over there personally. As soon as I got into that back hallway, I knew where the problem was. The egress lighting unit over west door was smoldering.”

“And the cause?”

“Mice. It was crammed full with acorns. They must have been chewing on some of the wires, too. This has always been a problem with those units, especially in a building like that. It’s easy for the mice to run along the walls and follow the Romex into the unit. Probably a great place to spend the winter, a heat source and a good supply of food.

“The unit was toast, Ray. Grubbs wanted me to repair or replace it, but I didn’t have anything. So I made a pitch that this was the time to replace the whole shebang. First, pointing out that they had become a fire hazard. Then I gave him my usual sales pitch, and it’s all true. The new units are more reliable, energy efficient, and have come way down in price. They are also rodent proof, according to their manufacturer. He said he’d find the money, and I put in the order as soon as I got back to the office. The replacement lights came FedEx late yesterday. I’ll have everything back together by quitting time.”

“Sure it was mice, no chance of sabotage?”

“Yup. It isn’t the first time it’s happened. There was no sign that anyone not having four paws had tampered with the interior.” He looked at Ray, his tone becoming more serious. “So here’s what I was dealing with. I had to take this unit out of service. I could have wired around it, but I started to wonder about the other units. Grubbs was telling me that he didn’t think the system had ever been activated, not once in his memory. So the easiest thing to do was pull the breaker. I didn’t want anyone noticing it was tripped and flipping it back on. So I deactivated the whole system, all the egress lights. I’m the responsible party. Grubbs told me about the play, and I advised him to make sure that every usher had a flashlight, a new one that worked for sure on the off chance that there was a need for emergency lighting. So am I in trouble with the law?”

“I think you were being prudent, and you gave Grubbs good counsel. I imagine the fire marshal will be pleased to see the improvements on his next inspection.”

36

“J
ust the lunch you ordered,” said Sue, unpacking a brown paper bag. “One tofu burger with a side of chipotle, brown rice, and a kefir ginger shake. Bon appétit.” She gave him a mocking glance and under her breath said, “I couldn’t live like that.”

“And what are you having?” asked Ray, noticing a grease spot on the side of the bag.

“A half-pound burger from free-range buffalo, topped with farmhouse, aged-goat cheese from the new creamery up in Northport, and organic sweet potatoes fries. I just go for the healthy stuff now. It’s your influence, Ray.” She gave him a mocking smile. “I see you revamped our suspect chart.”

“I’m trying to get some focus. I would like to see if we could start dropping some people, at least tentatively. I would like to get them in rank order and start a second round of interviews.” He studied the chart and looked over at Sue. “I had trouble sleeping last night. With all the summer people leaving in the next two weeks, I can just see this case slipping away. By Labor Day we’ll be talking to ourselves.”

Sue, eyeing the chart, said, “You’ve got another column on the right.”

“Yes, we’ve discussed this. It would have been difficult for one person to pull off this murder. With some careful planning and execution…unintended pun….”

“But the perfect word,” agreed Sue.

“What I’m getting at is another way of looking at suspects. Who is the killer, and who assisted them? It might be easier to identify the person who turned off the power, and then go after the killer.”

“Agreed, but everyone on your list could have flipped the switch. That’s the painless part of this crime.”

“I was thinking that the switch puller might be easier to break down than the killer. My theory is that we’re dealing with two personalities.”

“What did you learn from the fire-safety guy?”

“Dale Van Beers.”

“Exactly.”

“I learned that neither Grubbs nor anyone else could have tampered with the egress lights. Mice and acorns, not humans. Grubbs called him late last week when one of the units was smoldering. Van Beers diagnosed the problem then removed the circuit breaker as a safety precaution. He’s got replacement units going in today.”

“Good for the mice. Damn convenient of them to lend a helping paw.”

“This crime had to be weeks in the planning. But with the egress lights being deactivated, the perp must have thought everything was falling their way. Back to the chart, look at Grubbs. If we were doing this just based on ticks on the chart, he’d be the big winner, or loser. Multiple motives perhaps involving his late wife, his estranged daughter, and years of taking abuse from Wudbine. So how does he set up the murder? He invites us to the performance, slips away at the break, and has an accomplice who pulls the switch. Then he calls us to the site of the crime.”

“That would be quite brilliant,” agreed Sue. “And he is clearly not lacking in intelligence. I’m sure he could envision this crime on all sorts of levels, like one of the multi-tiered chessboards. He knows the place, the people, and all the complex histories. And he’d know where to dump the murder weapon. He could have even done that in stages, maybe get it out of the building on his way to fetching us, and then move it a second time while we were attending to other things.”

“And who would handle the power?” asked Ray. “Verity?”

“Possible. They have a long history here. Or how about his daughter?”

“That would be clever. The kid he’s been estranged from for years helping him pull off a murder. What would be her motive?”

“Maybe she’s tired of her father-in-law treating her husband poorly. With Malcolm out of the way they could sell off the business, move to Provence, buy a small farm and some goats, and start producing artisanal chévre. That would have to be much more rewarding then peddling stock and bonds or looking after the legal affairs of a cantankerous old fart.”

“I think the chévre in your sandwich has gone to your head. Or are you telling me about a new pastoral fantasy? Are you and Harry getting ready for a year in Provence?”

“I don’t think so. I was going to be the consummate tour director this week. Remember, I was going to take the week off. Instead, Harry is spending days looking after Simone and evenings with a slightly grumpy me.”

“You’re never grumpy.”

“Yes, but something weird is going on. Maybe I don’t like my space being invaded. He’s been working hard to make really nice meals. I appreciate that. But he leaves the kitchen a mess. In Chicago, someone cleans his apartment every morning. I don’t know if he’s inherently messy, or it’s something he’s learned he can get away with. I mean, he tries to clean up, but it’s just not good enough. I’d be happy with Healthy Choice and no cleanup. And I’m not sure that…. enough of this. Let’s go back to your chart.”

“Hold that for a minute. Let’s think about the perp. To pull this off they have to be able to isolate Malcolm. That’s not easy to do. Having him alone and in a vulnerable position is most unusual. Whoever did the crime was very familiar with Malcolm’s movements.”

“Members of the cast would be aware of that.”

“Yes, and they would know the history of the electrical problems, how to turn the power off, and the possible impediments to achieving success.”

“Like David Johnson, the lighting guy.”

“You got it,” said Ray.

“David seems to have motive, and he was less than honest with us,” said Sue.

“No one likes being a chump, especially smart people who think they know about money and then lose a pile in a bad investment. You can understand his anger. Much of his retirement went away, and Malcolm seemed unscathed.”

“But that was just a normal market fluctuation,” countered Sue. “We’ve talked about this before. There’s never been a suggestion that Malcolm was running any kind of scam. The SEC isn’t after him. There are no criminal cases pending. Johnson is a smart man. In spite of his rage, he knows Malcolm wasn’t really responsible.”

“Shortly before you were hired, we had a case where a man shot his doctor because he was chronically ill and not getting better. The shooter wasn’t dotty, mad, drunk, or on drugs. He seemed to be absolutely all there when I questioned him. He needed someone to blame. He needed a focus for his rage. His anger was really at his body because it was failing him, but he externalized it and went after his physician.”

Ray paused, “But Johnson is of interest for another reason. He was the one person who had a clear view of most of the backstage area, the exception being the far side of the set. To pull this crime off, the perp had to get him out of his loft. They also had to know that when the lights went out, Johnson would be the one who would go into action. And they timed it, just like we did.”

“But Johnson could be the perfect accomplice,” said Sue.

“B
ut he would have to know that we would be looking at him closely. I think he’s too smart for that. As you know, I never claim infallibility, but I don’t think he’s involved.”

“And then we have Tom Lea’s claim that it was a woman who pulled the switch.”

“Did he give you anything more?”

“No, that’s when we were interrupted by the phone call from Garr. How would you like to see Lea on the stand as a witness for the prosecution?”

“Well, he could never do that, but what if his observation was correct? Not that we can go with it 100%, but the possibility is important. I wonder if you could talk to him again and see if you could get anything more?”

“Based on my track record from my last interview?”

“Phone his mother, explain the situation. Ask for her guidance. Let’s see what happens. Essentially, you have one or two questions. Five minutes.”

“The changes in the chart?” Sue was looking at the whiteboard. “Friends and family, or more correctly, employees and family.”

“When we’re not moving at warp speed, in a case like this we’d start with the family and close associates. In the beginning we focused on the scene, searching for the weapon, and looking for other physical evidence. It also seemed that someone—cast, crew, ushers, Grubbs—would have seen something that might have led us to the perp. Nada. So let’s really look at the family.”

“But we haven’t interviewed everyone who was backstage yet.”

“I know, but we talked to them en masse, gave out cards, and asked for their assistance. And I talked to Grubbs about the folks we haven’t interviewed this morning on my way back. We went one by one through the list. They are mostly in their 20s and 30s, with a few teens thrown in. Grubbs doesn’t believe that any of them have a history with Malcolm. So I think we should put them aside for the moment.”

“Makes sense.” Sue was silent for a long moment, looking at Ray. “You look tired.”

“I needed to sleep last night, and it didn’t happen. All of these people were floating through my brain. I need to go for a long paddle, a couple of days, where I don’t think about this. But we don’t have that luxury, do we?”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I wish we had a solid reason to request a search warrant for Gull House and the out buildings.”

“What are you looking for?”

Ray chuckled, “That’s why we don’t have a good reason. It would be fishing trip, a chance to snag something that might move the investigation forward.”

“In the meantime?”

“I want to talk to Verity again. I want Grubbs to tell me how he found the body. Why was he onstage? Then I would like to chat with Pepper and Alyson, separately. Malcolm surrounded himself with beautiful young women. What was going on there? Did he give these women a motive to off him? Then there’s Elliott, and his wife, the devoted daughter-in-law. I think we’re just starting to understand the complexity of all these relationships.”