from the family.”
“Right.” Soave went heading off, his arms held stiffly out to his sides in the classic bodybuilder’s strut.
“Is that deluxe conference room at town hall still available?” Des asked Trooper Bliss. It had been her command center for three days and nights after the Salisbury killing. She could still remember the smell of the place-musty carpeting, moth balls and Ben-Gay.
“It is,” he affirmed. “I’ll see that they’re ready for you. How else may I be of assistance?”
“You can tell me who else besides his wife had it in for Niles Seymour.”
“Everyone,” Bliss replied bluntly. “Niles was not a popular fellow.”
“Any blue chip prospects?”
Bliss took off his wide-brimmed hat and examined it carefully for a long moment. “Tuck Weems,” he said, running a big brown hand over his bristly gray crew-cut. “He accused Niles of roughing Dolly up a couple of months back when he found some bruises on her arms. He, well, threatened to kill Niles. I got involved at that point. Cooled things down-at least I thought I had. She declined to file any charges against Niles. Assured me there was no need to worry, that the two of them were working things out. Dolly and Tuck, they were tight when they were kids. He grew up out here. Tuck’s not a bad fellow. Just has a slight problem with authority. And more than his share of personal demons. His father killed his mother and himself when Tuck was in ’Nam. Happened out here, in the carriage house. And it was Dolly who found them.” He glanced over at the big yellow house, his face a grim mask. “So, you see, this is not the first time there’s been a violent death out here.”
“When you say he and Mrs. Seymour were tight, do you mean they were lovers?”
“I wouldn’t hazard a guess on that,” he replied carefully.
The resident trooper was protecting his own now, Des observed. Clearly, he was very loyal to these people. How loyal?
He put his hat back on and squared his shoulders. “Tuck has a place up at Uncas Lake. I suppose you’ll be wanting to question him right away.”
“Is he likely to run?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“Then he’ll keep,” said Des, who liked to fully acquaint herself with the principals before she rushed to judgment. “There a new man in Mrs. Seymour’s life?”
“No man in her life, as far as I know.”
“Tell me about this tenant. What was his name, Berger?”
Bliss nodded. “He’s a New Yorker, I’m sorry to say.”
She glanced at him curiously. “Meaning what-he’s a total pain?”
“No,” Bliss said grudgingly. “He seems like a pleasant enough fellow…”
Des frowned, sensing that the resident trooper was trying to give her a small nudge in the tenant’s direction.
“I mean he’s a media person,” Bliss explained. “Writes for one of the big newspapers there.”
“Okay, I hear you now.” She had learned from the Salisbury case that people in Dorset were strongly averse to publicity. They were especially proud of the fact that the vast majority of New Yorkers could not even find Dorset on a map.
“Dolly just rented him the place two weeks ago,” he added.
“Could he figure in?”
“Figure in, Lieutenant?”
“Romantically. He and Mrs. Seymour.”
“He’s quite a bit younger than Dolly, not that that necessarily means no.” Bliss shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows what goes on between two people? I certainly don’t.”
“Was he acquainted with the victim?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Doubtful he has anything to do with it, then,” Des mused aloud. “Besides, why dig up the body himself? Why incriminate himself?”
The trooper nodded in solemn agreement. “And Dolly did give him explicit permission to dig there. I can’t imagine her doing so if she knew Niles was down there.”
“Agreed. Not unless she wanted him found.”
The trooper furrowed his brow at her, perplexed. “Why would she want that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I just got here. What do we know about this woman who Seymour was supposed to have run off with?”
“Very little. Bud Havenhurst and Red Peck spotted the two of them having brunch together at the Saybrook Point Inn.”
“This was when?”
“Six weeks ago-a Sunday. They described her as young and a bit cheap-looking. The following morning he cleared out and was never seen again. Until now, that is.”
Des made a note to check on this woman at the inn. “And what do we know about Seymour’s background?”
“He showed up here three years ago from Atlantic City, where he’d been selling time-share condos,” Bliss replied with arid disapproval. “I don’t know where he was before that. Or what he was doing.”
She would have to find out. The time-share business attracted some seriously low-life characters. No telling who Seymour may have crossed swords with. Or what else he had been into. Possibly, it was his past that had followed him out here. Because there was the matter of the money-he had, supposedly, cleaned out their bank accounts before he disappeared. Where was it? Possibly, she reflected, he had owed it to someone. Possibly they had induced him to withdraw it and then had killed him so as to cover their tracks. She would have to follow the money trail. Match up the date of the withdrawals with the date he had disappeared. And the means of withdrawal could prove to be critical. Had he done it in person? If so, there would be witnesses at the bank. If not-if he had done it electronically-there would not be. In fact, the withdrawals might have been done by anyone who knew the correct PINs. His widow, for example. She had the means. Possibly a jealousy motive. But could she have acted alone? Not likely. Seymour was killed somewhere else. No way she could have moved him to the garden and buried him by herself. An accomplice, then. But who?
“Do you want me involved from here on in?” asked Bliss, cutting in on her thoughts. Ordinarily, the resident trooper yielded now to Major Crimes and resumed his regular duties.
“Damned right I do.” She had found him to be an exceedingly valuable liaison to the community. He knew the players. He was one of them. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Where’s Mrs. Seymour right now?”
“She’s upstairs resting. Her doctor’s been out to see her. You’ll discover that Dolly is, well, not a strong individual. I would suggest you tread lightly. Which is not to say you wouldn’t…”
“I hear you, Trooper.”
“As for the rest of them,” he said, “Bitsy Peck, Bud Havenhurst and young Evan were gathered in Dolly’s kitchen last time I looked. Red Peck is about halfway to Japan right now. Mandy Havenhurst’s in New York City and Jamie Devers is up at the Great White Whale, his antique shop. The tenant’s in the carriage house.”
“I do believe I’ll start with him,” Des said. “When Sergeant Tedone returns, why don’t you two set up shop in the kitchen? Give him any assistance he might need while he takes statements. I’ll be along soon enough.”
“Right.” He tipped his hat at her politely and went striding off toward the house.
The front door to the little carriage house was open. She tapped and when she heard a response stepped inside. It was a wonderful little house. But it wasn’t the exposed, hand-hewn beams or the huge fire crackling in the stone fireplace that caught her initial attention. It was the light-windows, windows everywhere. And nothing but unobstructed views of the Sound. Even on a raw gray day the place was drenched with the purest of natural light. What a studio this would make. Not even in her wildest dreams could Des imagine such a studio.
It was so magnificent that it took a moment for her to notice its occupant.
He was standing in front of the fire, sipping a mug of coffee and staring into the flames. He was a large-sized man, not fat but definitely soft around the edges. He wore a rumpled navy-blue wool shirt and baggy khakis. And when he turned to look at her, there was something unusual about his eyes that Des noticed immediately.
