Death on the Diagonal Part 17

Although it wasn't yet noon, Todd Collins was perched at the wet bar in his study, drink in hand, when Rosco knocked on the open door. Orlando Polk's surly comment, "I guess you'd have to ask him," was still fresh in Rosco's mind, and his hurried pace and determined expression reflected the encounter. If the owner of King Wenstarin Farms was surprised at the intrusion, or by the steely look in Rosco's eye, he didn't reveal it; instead, he waved his visitor in, the ice cubes clacking in the crystal rocks gla.s.s.

"I don't suppose I can interest you in a libation, Polycrates?" Collins asked, then gazed briefly at the tawny liquid. "For someone who's gotten rich on selling high-end hooch, I'm not much of a drinker-at least I wasn't until now. Just 'shows to go ya' that you can can teach an old dog new tricks . . ." The words trailed off. "What brings you out here? If you're the bearer of more bad tidings, I'm not sure I want to hear what you've got to say." But before his unexpected guest could answer, Todd continued with a dejected and bitter, "I guess your wife never figured out the name of the farm-the name of the whiskey, too. I thought she would have by now. Oh, we put a picture of some bogus Irish chieftain on the label, but that's part of the inside joke . . ." When Rosco returned a blank stare, Todd added an apologetic, "King Wenstarin is an anagram for Winning Streak. So, your 'Anna Graham' didn't pick up on that, huh? I must say, I'm disappointed. I was absolutely certain she would . . ." teach an old dog new tricks . . ." The words trailed off. "What brings you out here? If you're the bearer of more bad tidings, I'm not sure I want to hear what you've got to say." But before his unexpected guest could answer, Todd continued with a dejected and bitter, "I guess your wife never figured out the name of the farm-the name of the whiskey, too. I thought she would have by now. Oh, we put a picture of some bogus Irish chieftain on the label, but that's part of the inside joke . . ." When Rosco returned a blank stare, Todd added an apologetic, "King Wenstarin is an anagram for Winning Streak. So, your 'Anna Graham' didn't pick up on that, huh? I must say, I'm disappointed. I was absolutely certain she would . . ."

He swirled the whiskey in his hand again and stared into the gla.s.s as though expecting to see either angels or demons. "But maybe that's because our family's been on such a losing losing streak recently. Winning would have been a long way from her lexicon." He released a heartfelt sigh, then sank down into one of two leather club chairs that bracketed the fire-place. The hide was a dark, subtly mottled green; contrasted with the flickering orange flames in the hearth, the polished bra.s.s of the fender rail and the crisp white paint of the walls, the picture should have been one of affluence and serenity. Instead, it was somber and cheerless. streak recently. Winning would have been a long way from her lexicon." He released a heartfelt sigh, then sank down into one of two leather club chairs that bracketed the fire-place. The hide was a dark, subtly mottled green; contrasted with the flickering orange flames in the hearth, the polished bra.s.s of the fender rail and the crisp white paint of the walls, the picture should have been one of affluence and serenity. Instead, it was somber and cheerless.

"Take a seat, Polycrates. I'm not going to bite. What's the problem this time?"

Again, Rosco saw no reason for beating around the bush, but he also had no wish to hit Collins with more bad news if he could help it. "I just came from talking to your barn manager about the stable fire-"

"Don't tell me Orlando's finally figured it out?" Todd grumbled. "Sure he did. Of course, he did. The guy's no dummy . . . I have to admit, I took a certain amount of perverse joy in watching him squirm and fess up to doing something he didn't. But I guess he was bound to learn how the blaze began sooner or later. Heather never was able to keep her mouth shut." When Rosco made no reply, the patriarch's heavy voice continued. "This is not a family that keeps secrets from each other. I'm well aware that Heather started that d.a.m.n fire, and I also know precisely how-and why. She admitted the whole thing just as soon as the emergency crews left. She felt awful about the situation. Naturally, she would. Anyone would. She sure as h.e.l.l hadn't planned to instigate that kind of conflagration when she followed my wife to the stable . . ." Collins permitted himself the briefest of pauses before plunging ahead. It was almost as though he'd forgotten Rosco was in the room and was speaking out of his own deep need for confession.

"Heather told me she and Michael had strong suspicions Ryan was sleeping with Orlando-among others. A lot of different men, according to them. So Heather decided to spy on Ryan and catch her redhanded-which is how the whole mess started. Heather was trying to get me down there to confront my wife, discover her in a compromising position. My daughter was the one who was reaching for the d.a.m.n tack room telephone to call the Big House, not Polk. The rest of the story you've already heard: the booze bottle, the d.a.m.n s.p.a.ce heater; it was an accident waiting to happen. Unfortunately, it was an accident that seems to have been the first in a tragic chain of events. Ironic, isn't it, that a bottle of whiskey could cause such ruin?" Todd paused again. His craggy face was covered in a dark and angry frown.

"What about Orlando's crack on the head? Some folks would suggest that a jealous husband might have left him there to die?"

Todd shook his head. "No, that's not me; I don't favor the death penalty. I'd rather sit and watch people rot and pay for their sins for the rest of their lives, day in and day out. Death is too easy for some people. I saw how the beam hit Orlando, so did Jack. Don't forget we were the ones who pulled him out."

"Your witness is dead, Mr. Collins."

"That he is; but Orlando's alive . . . I know what you're thinking, Polycrates: 'Why did we let him take the fall for the fire?' Well, let me just say that it was easier than airing all this dirty laundry in public. And like I said, I took some enjoyment in watching him sweat bullets. I think he owes me one, wouldn't you agree? And being blamed for causing an accidental fire isn't necessarily a career-breaker. Not everywhere, at least."

Rosco didn't speak for a second or two. He intuited that expressing any surprise over Collins's admission of Heather's guilt, as well as his prior knowledge of his wife's unfaithfulness, might force the man to clam up. Instead, Rosco ventured a soothing, "Your daughter must love you a good deal, Mr. Collins. Both your daughters."

"Yeah, and I was the dope who tossed them aside. Married a woman who couldn't hold a candle to either of them . . . didn't listen to them saying that Ryan wasn't worthy of my affection. I cut them off, turned my back on them-and Chip, too. Why do us old dogs do stupid things like that? Why do we let pretty young women flatter us into thinking they care? And then why do we ignore our true families, our own flesh and blood, as a result?"

Rosco considered the question. For a weird moment, he almost imagined he was talking to Walter Gudgeon. "Mr. Collins, let me ask you something-"

"Go ahead. It feels good to finally get this stuff off my chest."

"You said your daughters made other attempts to expose your wife-"

"And Chip, too. In their own way, each of my kids tried to tell me she was cheating. h.e.l.l, Chip went so far as to call her a tramp, and I slapped him across the face."

"Is it possible that one of them killed her? You know the police love to play the inheritance card. I understand you intended to leave the farm, pretty much everything, to your wife?"

Collins shook his head slowly. "I don't believe they would do that. Not because they're not capable of rage, or keeping their eyes on a buck. My kids are definitely a chip off the old block-no pun intended-and they're d.a.m.ned used to getting their own way, and can be ferocious when they don't. But I believe their concern over me would have prevented them from killing Ryan out of spite. Oh, sure, they wanted to prove her to be the trollop she was and hoped and prayed that I'd toss her out . . . but bashing her head like that, and letting me find the body? No, that's not their style. Ryan would have to do something pretty abhorrent to push them over the top." Collins smiled a weary smile. "And that's saying a lot, because they surely must have hated the woman. But I didn't raise any murderers, Polycrates."

Again, Rosco was silent. He was aware of a clock ticking on the mantelpiece, of the distant whir of a vacuum cleaner moving through the second floor, of a leaf blower working the far end of the garden: all homey and comforting sounds intruding into a s.p.a.ce that was far from peaceable. "So you must not believe that Heather killed Jack Curry."

Todd Collins didn't immediately answer. "I've been struggling and struggling with that one. I know Fee went off the deep end last night, accused Heather of all sorts of nasty things . . . but I simply can't see her shacking up with Curry when she knew her sister was about to marry him again . . . let alone murder him."

"Would Curry have cheated on Fiona in that fashion?" Rosco prompted.

"Well, that's another story. I don't hold with speaking ill of the dead, but I don't believe I'm doing so when I say that Jack was a diamond in the rough. He had flaws that no amount of polishing was going to remove. Fee knew that. h.e.l.l, she'd been married to the guy once, and she'd also spent a sizable amount of time on the show circuit with him. There's a lot of testosterone flying around out in those pony rings-and, believe me, it's not just the stallions. People who engage in that type of winner-take-all experience need to put their pent-up energy somewhere. And let me tell you, the women trainers and riders are just as wild as the men."

Rosco nodded while Collins continued, "I'm going to miss Jack Curry, I'll tell you that much. I'm going to miss the heck out of him. He was one fine trainer, and a good friend. And he was also the only man who could keep Fiona in line. It was the one good thing Ryan did, insisting I bring him back here, and I never regretted my decision for a minute."

Rosco made a mental note of the fact. "How long ago was that, again? That you rehired him?"

"Shortly after we were married. Ryan thought it would be good for the stable, as well as for Fiona-even though Fee was already hitched to that jacka.s.s Whitney Applegate. Of course, I never explained to my daughter that her love life had played a part in my decision. I just said I was d.a.m.n glad to have Curry back working the Wenstarin horses. And if you have a child who's unhappy with a spouse, a parent has an obligation to shake things up a little, get them back on the right track."

"So your wife was interested in making your daughters happy?"

Collins didn't immediately respond. "I don't know about other occasions, but she was then, yes. And, yes, I also realize people suspected that she and Jack had been an item when they were both kicking around in the smaller southern circuits a few years back. But I hadn't met her then, and I never asked about her history. Call me blind, if you want. One thing I do know: Orlando may have been s.h.a.gging my wife, but Jack was too loyal to pull a stunt like that. And too grateful that I'd brought him back into the big time. I guess you could say I rescued him. I sure as h.e.l.l saved him from himself. He'd had money problems and so forth when he and Fee were first hitched, but from what I'd heard he'd finally gotten himself in debt big-time, and was starting to hit the sauce in earnest. But he cleaned himself up before he came back to Wenstarin Farms, and that was good enough for me."

Again, Rosco nodded in thought. "I appreciate your talking to me so candidly, Mr. Collins. And I also realize that this isn't an easy conversation for you to have."

Collins allowed himself another wan smile. "I told you, Polycrates, I'm glad to unburden myself. It's kind of odd, but I haven't had a soul to talk to since Ryan died. Oh, my kids, sure, but . . ." He took a deep breath. "It hasn't been easy knowing how, and why, that d.a.m.n fire started. And what happened afterwards . . ." Tears choked his voice. He leaned back in his chair and seemed to visibly force himself into self-control again. Then he released a hollow laugh. "I guess this interview means that you're going to help me find my wife's killer. Now that your concerns about arson are resolved, I mean."

Rosco hedged his response with a noncommittal, "If your son and daughters knew about the situation with your barn manager and your wife, did Kelly know as well?"

Collins thought. His frown deepened. "You're not suggesting Kelly killed Ryan, are you?"

"Jealousy's a powerful motive, Mr. Collins." Knowing that the emotion worked both ways, Rosco closely watched Todd's face, hoping the statement would bring on some reaction, but it didn't.

"Little Kelly? Kill Ryan? Why, Ryan was a good three inches taller than Kelly . . ." He shook his head from side to side. "No . . . that's just not possible. Kelly's like a doll. Scurries around here like a tiny mouse. She wouldn't have it in her. Besides, she was thankful as all get-out when my wife hired her. They were more like best buddies than employee and employer."

"Which would only add to a sense of betrayal if she discovered her friend was moving in on her husband," Rosco observed.

"I don't buy that. No, you're barking up the wrong tree with Kelly. She doesn't have a mean bone in her body."

Collins drained what was left of his drink, appeared to consider pouring himself another, then put the gla.s.s firmly on a nearby table. "I've got to lay off of this stuff," he muttered, then added a reasoned, "Maybe I can imagine Kelly getting angry with her husband for cheating on her, but never Ryan. Not in a million years. Those women were really close. Of course, Kelly would have a tough time beating up on Orlando. She's too pet.i.te, and he's pure muscle. She'd move out if she knew, but I can't see her trying to resort to physical violence."

"But your daughter's not a big woman, and yet she's in custody for killing Jack Curry."

Collins covered his face with his hands. "Oh, my poor Heather . . . I told you I've been wrestling with this . . . I simply can't believe there's any truth to that, either."

Rosco gave him a moment to calm down. "Tell me about Michael Palamountain, Mr. Collins."

He released a long sigh and looked up. "Not much to tell. He's an investment guy. Quiet, reserved-at least, I believed he was until last night." Collins thought for a moment. "But then, those were highly unusual circ.u.mstances, and no one was behaving well." He paused again. "Michael handles the farm's financial transactions."

"And you trust him?" The statement was more question than comment.

"I'm a businessman, Polycrates. A fancier of good horseflesh, absolutely, but I couldn't indulge this very, very very expensive habit if I didn't also run a lucrative corporation-and then try to make the farm into a moneymaker as well. Yes, I trust Michael not to cook the books, if that's what you mean." He let out a small chuckle. "But don't think I'm not looking over his shoulder every minute." expensive habit if I didn't also run a lucrative corporation-and then try to make the farm into a moneymaker as well. Yes, I trust Michael not to cook the books, if that's what you mean." He let out a small chuckle. "But don't think I'm not looking over his shoulder every minute."

"Palamountain also sent your daughter-his own wife-to jail, sir. It was his word that put her there."

Collins groaned again and again stared at his empty gla.s.s.

"Heather insists that she found Curry already dead and his house in disarray," Rosco continued with a little more force. "Michael, on the other hand, claims that he discovered his wife holding the murder weapon, and, I gather, looking pretty darn guilty, having already washed the knife. What kind of a husband would cause his wife to be arrested, Mr. Collins?"

Todd made no response other than to lower his head in thought again.

"Is there a possibility, sir, that Michael Palamountain's convinced she'll be found innocent? That, in fact, he knows who the guilty party is and realizes that a good lawyer can easily get your daughter acquitted-?"

"Wait. Wait up there. You're suggesting Michael killed Jack? Or Ryan? Or even both?" Disbelief echoed through Collins's voice. "He's a money manager and venture capitalist, not a thug. Even if he knew for a fact that his wife was cheating on him, no way would he resort to killing one of the best d.a.m.n horse trainers in the country!"

"Somebody did, sir. And if you want to be absolutely certain your daughter didn't kill Curry, maybe you need to figure out who else did."

Rosco stood. As Al had said, the situation at King Wenstarin Farms was looking both far too simple and way too complicated-which was what happened when a bunch of people started lying to protect one another. And no matter how disgusted Todd's kids might have been at the introduction of Ryan into the household, the Collinses were still a family; and families, as Rosco knew, could go to desperate measures to save one of their own.

"I'm sorry Belle didn't figure out your anagram for King Wenstarin, Mr. Collins. Truthfully, she wasn't looking for a word game like that, even though you shared the clever names of some of your horses. She's been kind of preoccupied with several peculiar crossword puzzles she received-which, until now, she a.s.sumed were connected to the stable fire."

Collins sat up straighter. His cautious eyes grew brighter. "You don't say."

"The name Chip was in one of them, as was that nearby pub, The Horse With No Name."

If Rosco was hoping for a reaction other than a careworn disinterest, Collins didn't provide it. The relaxed face of an experienced businessman or seasoned poker player is all that Rosco observed, and "Crossword puzzles, huh?" was all that Collins said.

"That's right. And the last one had Angel Angel in it." in it."

"You mean Chipper's new girlfriend?" He shrugged. "But what does she have to do with anything?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, sir."

Across 1. Rocker's equip.

4. And so on; abbr.

7. Switch positions 10. Guy's date 13. ___ Lanka 14. Gone, in Scotland 15. Army bed 16. Persian Gulf grp.

17. Hoity-toity set 20. Gun grp.

21. Canadian capital 22. ___ about 23. With 47-Across, Sandy Dennis film 26. Slugger, Tony 27. Pyle portrayer 28. Pub offering 29. Hurler, Warren 30. Buddy 33. French salt 36. Architect, Saarinen 37. Confuse 38. Whine 39. Reading and B & O 40. Arab leader 41. Star of 17-Across 42. Green or brown tack-on 43. Yogurt option 44. Sparkle 47. See 23-Across 50. Star of 53-Across 51. Student often 52. Tone or metric lead-in 53. Wanted poster request 58. Help wanted letters 59. Equip 60. Relative 61. Mr. Charles 62. Biochem. prefix 63. Travel aid 64. Disease fighting org.

65. Took in

Down 1. Cigar residue 2. Medical scan; abbr.

3. Oinker 4. Toward the dawn 5. 12 pts., in football 6. Chocolate source 7. Indian or Arctic 8. "Ask ___ ..."

9. Home for 3-Down 10. USMC NCO.

11. Slugger, Hank 12. Study 18. Santa's laugh 19. Wobbly grp.

22. In debt 23. Racing family 24. Pulp product 25. Some ski lifts 26. Day-___ 28. Ripen 30. Summer drink 31. MMMI I II.

32. Type 33. ___ drug 34. Namesakes of Ms. Fitzgerald 35. Philippine island 37. Sigh of relief 38. Flag on a lance 40. Bygone flyer; abbr.

41. j.a.panese neighbors 42. Stopover spot 43. Oxide or acid lead-in 44. Composer, Edvard 45. Popular cleaner 46. Vowel jumble 47. Proof of postage payment SOCIAL CLIMBER.

48. Slugger, Williams 49. Buddhist king 53. Block 54. Pitcher's stat 55. Retirement acct.

56. Barrel 57. Stare down

CHAPTER 30.

Because of the poor cell phone connection Belle couldn't quite determine if the quavering she heard in Bartholomew Kerr's voice was the result of excitement, antic.i.p.ation, or plain old-fashioned fear. Whatever the cause, his insistence that she drop everything everything she was doing she was doing posthaste posthaste and drive and drive directly directly to the to the Crier Crier's offices possessed more than a touch of panic. His request resembled an order, so she did as he asked. The fact that she was five blocks from the building made it difficult for her to rationalize fabricating any lame excuses.

When she stepped off the elevator on the third floor she was embraced by the same afternoon hysteria that existed on any given day, but since this was a Monday, and not her routine Friday stopover, many employees stood dead in their tracks the moment they spied her. And as she walked down the hallway toward Kerr's corner office her astonished coworkers greeted her with a collection of sarcastic comments like: "Is the world coming to an end?" or, "Now I've seen everything," or, "Is the week over already?" or, "That's not Belle Graham, is it?" while others simply shook their watches questioning whether their timepieces were suffering a communal malfunction. She graced all these antics with a knowing smile then tapped on the frosted-gla.s.s panel of Kerr's door.

The door was flung open as if the tiny man had been lying in wait on the other side since the moment she'd agreed to see him.

"Finally," he gushed. "What in blazes took you so long? I feel as though I was about to go into cardiac arrest."

"Seven minutes, Bartholomew. That's how much time has elapsed since you called. What's all the excitement about?"

"Seven minutes? The Hindenburg Hindenburg went up in seven seconds!" went up in seven seconds!"

She laughed. "The Crier Crier building seems to be in one piece." building seems to be in one piece."

"Hah! That's a debatable issue, but beside the point. The reason I positively, absolutely needed you here on the QT is because I have received a crossword puzzle, and it's ent.i.tled 'Social Climber'!"

"Well, you are the society editor." Belle sat in the chair opposite Kerr's desk as she spoke. "Possibly someone is suggesting a combination of our two sections of the newspaper? Although I think I might have ent.i.tled it 'Words in Boldface,' or 'Clues for the Parvenu' . . . or maybe one of your gossip-loving spies is pulling your leg." She looked at Bartholomew's intent and worried face and forced herself not to smile. "Does the puzzle have a theme, perchance? What are some of the solutions?"

Kerr sighed mightily. "Oh please, dear Bella Bella, I have no patience for these word games. This is why I phoned you the second the mail boy tossed the thing on my desk. And I do mean tossed. tossed. One would think that child believes he's handling Frisbees rather than serious journalistic correspondence." One would think that child believes he's handling Frisbees rather than serious journalistic correspondence."

"So you haven't completed the crossword, then?"

"Mais, non. I can only suspect that it has something to do with the horrible situation out at King Wenstarin Farms. Situations in the plural, I should say." I can only suspect that it has something to do with the horrible situation out at King Wenstarin Farms. Situations in the plural, I should say."

Belle nodded although she had her doubts. The world of "Biz-y-Buzz" was a long way from the homicide division of NPD. "Well, let's have a look at it." This time she did smile, but the expression was indulgent.

Kerr opened the center drawer of his desk as though he expected it to be b.o.o.by-trapped. With tense fingers he removed a piece of graph paper and walked it over to Belle who perused it, sat bolt upright, and dropped her fatuous grin.

"Well, I have to admit, it does look like the same handwriting as the other three . . ."

"Ah-ha, I thought I was on to something!"

"We'll need to get this copied, Bartholomew. If I'm correct and it's the same constructor who did the others, then it may fall into the category of evidence."

"I antic.i.p.ated as much, mia Bella. mia Bella." He reached into the drawer again, retrieved a Xerox of the original, and with a smug and seraphic smile handed it to Belle.

She didn't respond; instead, she leaned toward Kerr's jar of pens, grabbed one, and began filling in the grid. When she was almost half finished she said, "Do you have Abe Jones's telephone number at the NPD forensics lab?"

"Oh, please dear girl, I have everyone's phone number."