the threshold. The front room was partly a living room and partly a shrine to the film-with its collection of posters, a witch hat, a magic wand, Cowardly Lion and Tin Man figurines, and a stuffed replica of Toto.
“Would you like to go in and see the display case the slippers were taken from?”
“I’d rather not,” said Gurney, stepping back onto the path. “If you’re the only person who’s been inside since your guests left, I’d like to keep it that way until we can get an evidence-processing team on site.”
“But you said you weren’t here for-Wait a minute, you said you were here for ‘a different matter’-isn’t that what you said?”
“Yes, sir, that’s correct.”
“What sort of ‘evidence processing’ are you talking about? I mean, what… Oh, no, surely you can’t think that my light-fingered bird-watcher is your Jack the Ripper?”
“Frankly, sir, I have no reason to think he is. But I have to cover every possibility, and it would be prudent for us to have the cottage examined more closely.”
“My, oh, my. I don’t know what to say. If it’s not one crime, it’s another. Well, I suppose I can’t impede police progress-outlandish as it seems. And there’s a silver lining. Even if all this has nothing to do with the horror on the hill, you may end up finding a clue to my missing slippers.”
“Always a possibility,” said Gurney with a polite smile. “You can expect an evidence team here sometime tomorrow. Meanwhile keep the door locked. Now, let me ask you once more-because this is very important-are you sure no one but yourself has been inside the cottage during the past two days, not even your partner?”
“Emerald Cottage was my creation and my exclusive responsibility. Mr. Plumstone is responsible for Honeybee Cottage, including its unfortunate decor.”
“Sorry?”
“The theme of Honeybee Cottage is a bore-you-blind illustrated history of beekeeping. Need I say more?”
“One last question, sir. Do you have the bird-watcher’s name and address in your guest register?”
“I have the name and the address he gave me. Considering the theft, I rather doubt their authenticity.”
“I’d better look at the register and make a note of them, anyway.”
“Oh, there’s no need to look at the register. I can see it now with perfect, painful clarity. Mr. and Mrs.-odd way, don’t you think, for a gentleman to describe himself and his mother?-Mr. and Mrs. Scylla. The address was a post- office box in Wycherly, Connecticut. I can even give you the box number.”
Chapter 31
Gurney was sitting in the spotless gravel parking area. He’d completed his call to BCI for an evidence team to be sent to The Laurels ASAP and was just slipping his cell phone into his pocket when it rang. It was Ellen Rackoff again. First he gave her the news about the Scylla couple and the peculiar theft to pass along to Kline. Then he asked why she’d called. She gave him a phone number.
“It’s a homicide detective from the Bronx who wants to talk to you about a case he’s working on.”
“He wants to talk to me?”
“He wants to talk to someone on the Mellery case, which he read about in the paper. He called the Peony police, who referred him to BCI, who referred him to Captain Rodriguez, who referred him to the district attorney, who referred him to you. His name is Detective Clamm. Randy Clamm.”
“Is that a joke?”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“How much information did he volunteer about his own case?”
“Zero. You know how cops are. Mostly he wanted to know about our case.”
Gurney called the number. It was answered on the first ring.
“Clamm.”
“Dave Gurney, returning your call. I’m with the district attor-”
“Yes, sir, I know. Appreciate the quick response.”
Although he was basing it on next to nothing, Gurney had a vivid impression of the cop on the other end-a fast-thinking, fast-talking multitasker who, with better connections, might have ended up at West Point instead of the police academy.
“I understand you’re on the Mellery homicide,” the crisp young voice raced on.
“Correct.”
“Multiple stab wounds to the victim’s throat?”
“Correct.”
“Reason for my call is a similar homicide down here, and we wanted to rule out the possibility of any connection.”
“By similar, you mean-”
“Multiples to the throat.”
“My recollection of Bronx stabbing statistics is that there are over a thousand reported incidents a year. Have you looked for connections closer to home?”
“We’re looking. But so far your case is the only one with over a dozen wounds, all to the same part of the body.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Depends on what you’re willing to do. I was thinking it might help both of us if you were able to come down here for a day, look at the crime scene, sit in on an interview with the widow, ask questions, see if anything rings a bell.”
It was the definition of a long shot-more far-fetched than many a tenuous lead he’d wasted his time chasing down in his years at the NYPD. But it was a constitutional impossibility for Dave Gurney to ignore a possibility, however flimsy it might be.
He agreed to meet Detective Clamm in the Bronx the following morning.
Part Three
Chapter 32
