Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 140, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 853 & 854, September/October 2012
- Автор: Макдермид Вэл, Манфредо Лу
- Год: 2012
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: 0013-6328
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 140, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 853 & 854, September/October 2012». Краткое содержание книги:
“Did you find him?” I asked.
“Eventually,” Beth said. “I had to drag him out of a bar and I guess I made a scene. He’s underage and they let him in, that’s not right! He’s furious with me for embarrassing him, but I can’t think about that right now.”
“What time did you and Kyle get back?” I asked.
“It must have been around two in the morning. The music was still playing then too,” she looked to Nadine. “That was a long time for them to be at it.”
Nadine shrugged. “Not for those two.” She turned up both hands as if she couldn’t think of anything to add, then rose. “I’ve got to clean up after those crime-tech people. Nasty fingerprint dust all over everything.” She swiped at a smudge on the counter and started to unload the dishwasher. “They don’t show this part on the TV shows — who has to clean up their mess. And Beth, would you ask your brother to stop leaving drinking glasses in his room. There’s one missing from this tall set Darby likes.”
“Sorry, yes, I’ll remind him,” Beth said, her voice a study in misery.
Nadine looked as if she wished she could call that one back. This was, after all, no time to be worrying over kitchenware.
“So the crime techs are done here?” I asked.
“In most of the house,” Nadine said, running the faucet to get hot water. “But they’ve got the atrium sealed, we’re not allowed in there.”
“I don’t think I can ever go in there again,” Beth said with a shudder.
As it turned out, Beth didn’t have a choice. An hour later Sheriff Neal Pierce showed up with Deputy Fowler trailing behind him. Sheriff Pierce had already called my shop and learned I was here and seemed mighty pleased. “Saves me sending Deputy Fowler to fetch you,” he said.
Deputy Fowler — Jared, I corrected in my head — nodded briskly, but when the sheriff turned away he gave me a warm smile and again I felt relieved knowing Darby had an ally in law enforcement.
“I’d like each of you to walk the crime scene with me,” the sheriff said, making me shudder as Beth had earlier. “Miss Blackwell, we’ll start with you since you know the house best and were first on the scene.”
When the two had left the room Jared again let the professional veneer drop. “Darby’s holding up okay,” he said, glancing toward the door. “He’s upset, and hungover, but he’s in a good frame of mind. Beth, he asked me to tell you not to worry. He’ll be home soon.”
When it was my turn to go into the atrium, Sheriff Pierce handed me booties to put over my shoes and instructed me to put my hands in my jeans pockets and keep them there so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch anything. I wanted to hate the man, but he seemed kind, like everybody’s favorite uncle. “I know you’re a friend of Brenner’s, and I know you want to help him,” he said. “Just answer my questions as honestly as you can. The facts have freed as many men as they’ve caught.”
Just like in the movies, a chalk body outline was traced on the stone of the atrium floor and onto the edge of a rug. I coughed to mask a renegade chuckle and was relieved when the sheriff steered me toward Darby’s record room.
“I’m not going to be any help to you here, Sheriff,” I said. “I’ve never been in this room.”
“Never?” he asked, frowning.
“Not since it was under construction. This was Darby’s private realm.”
The sheriff took my elbow, guiding me around a couple of small numbered easels on the floor. I spotted stains on the carpet. Blood?
“Well, maybe you can help me with this,” he said. “These records here,” he pointed to a stack on the countertop, “match up with the list you gave Deputy Fowler yesterday, so I take it these are the ones that caused the dispute?”
With gloved hands he started to hold the albums up to me, one by one. “Maybe the deal went sour again after you left. The records ended up back here in what you’re telling me is Brenner’s private room.”
“Those are probably not the actual same records,” I said.
The sheriff looked puzzled.
“Darby’s a hard-core collector,” I said. “He’d never have sold off an album if he didn’t own a duplicate in better condition. I imagine he pulled the records and sorted them before we got here yesterday. Those are likely duplicates. Didn’t you find the others out in the atrium?”
The sheriff didn’t answer. He started to examine random albums from the shelves. “He’s got six of these,” he mused, showing me a Jethro Tull Aqualung.
“Probably a quadraphonic and a stereo on the blue label and maybe a green label with the different studio address. Could be a Japanese or British release in there as well. Then, of course, he’d have his playing copy.”
“So you’re telling me there are fine points to this collecting thing,” he said. “These,” he swept his hand to take in the room, “are different from the crates of musty old albums I see people peddling at the flea market.”
I nodded. “Yeah, except sometimes you find a prize in those musty crates. But you have to know what to look for. Not every album is collectible.”
Back out in the atrium I looked around but didn’t spot the stack of albums that had set all this in motion. I thought about telling the sheriff how generous Darby had been in making amends for the broken deal, to show Darby was an honorable guy, but I thought it might sound desperate. The sheriff asked more questions and at some point I realized he was doing a solid reconstruction of events, retracing to fill in details. I was grudgingly impressed. Finally he asked me if I saw anything that seemed out of place or noteworthy.
“That,” I said, pointing to the turntable. “That’s odd. Darby would never have stacked records like that.”
Sheriff Pierce frowned. “Isn’t that the point of these things? You stack five or six records and it changes them automatically?”
“For casual listeners, yes, but when the top record drops onto the stack they scrub against one another. Darby’s fastidious about his records.”
“Would Nicholson have done it?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t know Noland all that well, but he’s — he was — a pretty serious collector too. And anyway, like the record room, this turntable is strictly Darby’s domain.”
Beth insisted we stay at the house and directed Dave and me down a long hall to the guest wing where I’d stayed a couple of times in the past. I was struck again by how spread out the house was. Beth and Darby’s bedroom, as well as Nadine’s, was in a twin wing on the opposite side of the public rooms. Even if anyone had been home last night they wouldn’t have heard anything. We seemed miles from the atrium.
After Nadine brought us a stack of towels and started the trek back to her own room Dave came in and flopped on my bed, spilling what he’d garnered from his afternoon of nosing around.
“First off, the consensus on Noland is that he was basically a nice guy, but he had a flare for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and a habit of pushing people’s buttons. That little dust-up yesterday with Ted Mayhall, the inspector, wasn’t their first. And it was no secret he was hard on his foreman, John Daws.
“Well, there you go,” I said, “people with motive.”
“Yeah, but he and Darby have mixed it up a few times too. Publicly. I gotta tell you, Session, it looks bad for Darby.”
A shiver went up my spine. I told Dave what I’d found out from Nadine and Beth and about my walk-through with the sheriff.