“Was there any kind of fuss last night?” he asked.
“The alarms went off in Hood’s Antiques about half after ten,” said the guard. “False alarm, Captain. Some clown of a practical joker triggered it at the alarm bank inside the basement garage door.”
“Did that require a key?”
“Sure. They’re in a wall cupboard, same as fuses.”
“And the fire chief is satisfied wall cupboards are safe?”
“With our kind of fuses and alarms, yes.”
Patrick came himself, with Paul Bachman in tow.
“Thanks for the personal touch, Patsy. Anything?”
“No, nothing. Both attacks were incredibly savage. The temporal and parietal regions on the right side of Mr. Murray’s skull were pulverized, like gluing uniformly small fragments on to a sheet of plastic-it’s only the scalp holding the bone together. Miss Warburton’s throat was cut to expose the ventral surface of the vertebrae-only the spinal column kept her head on her shoulders, poor thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more brutal assault, yet it had to have been done in seconds. The fellow wouldn’t have made contact with the blood. He stayed behind her. He used a knife on her throat, not a razor, because he needed a proper grip for traction to go that deep.”
“A hunting knife, you mean?”
“Yes, or a military version of same.”
“He didn’t leave it behind?”
“If he did, we haven’t found it so far. Want to see his blunt instrument?”
Patrick held up a curious item almost two feet long. Made of clear glass, it was a tube that flared at one end into an open, lily-like shape; its other end was a round, closed bulb.
“By rights the pipe should be a yard long, but this one is only half a yard. It’s a British device for drinking beer, and it’s called, would you believe it, a yard?” He pointed to the wall, where a similar but much longer item sat on a bracket. “The one on the wall is the real thing, very thin glass, but this one is purely an ornament, not intended for use. It’s heavy.”
Carmine grimaced. “You mean anyone can drink that much?”
“For a beer drinker, not a problem. Miss Warburton stocked a good range. The shorty would make an efficient weapon if the bulb is used as the club. The glass is thick enough to have weight and durability. The skull didn’t have a chance.”
“Inventive. Of all the heavy objects in a shop full of them, that half yard makes the best concussive weapon.”
“The whole set also makes an ideal decoration for a wall you don’t want cluttered with yet more paintings. Designed to appeal to expatriate Limeys.”
“The killer didn’t have to know its proper function to see its concussive potential,” Carmine said.
“I agree, I agree! Just tossing theories around. You don’t think he’s an Englishman, Carmine?” Patrick asked.
“Take my word for it, there are no Englishmen in this case.”
Delia came up, unable to hide her distress. “Carmine, this is frightful! That poor woman! She didn’t even believe the glass teddy bear was worth stealing.”
“So why kill her for something he might have gotten by more peaceful means?” Nick asked. “Tied them up and taken it.”
“That’s the question I ask myself,” Carmine said.
“Mind you, she loved it,” said Delia.
“So much that she wouldn’t have parted with it for any sum, Delia. It had other meanings for her than money. After Helen established its true worth, I communicated with my opposite number in the Venice PD, thinking the glass teddy bear had been stolen. But it hadn’t. It was legally Amanda Warburton’s property, bequeathed to her in the will of Lorenzo della Fiori, the glass kingpin. Amanda was his mistress. Unfortunately he had a very jealous wife, who invaded the love nest and stabbed della Fiori fourteen times with a kitchen knife. Amanda was stabbed too, but survived. The glass teddy bear-including its eyes-was made especially for Amanda, and was already en route to America when the fracas happened. His kids inherited his money and all his property except the glass teddy bear. It happened eleven years ago, when the eldest child, a girl, was nine.”
“Then the kids are grown enough for revenge!” Nick cried, having heard Carmine’s explanation.
“No, the kids are in Venice too busy with their education to worry about the past. Having a mother in prison is no picnic. The eldest boy, another Lorenzo della Fiori, is now seventeen and determined to be the next glass kingpin. Kids don’t live in the past unless they’re brainwashed, and the only person who would have done that is in prison.”
“Then where did Amanda’s money come from?” Delia demanded.
“Sale of other Lorenzo della Fiori pieces. She’d acquired a lot over her years with him, and after his death she sold the lot. They’d never been inventoried, he’d freely given them to her, and it never came out at the time. His work is gorgeous and she got top dollar for every piece,” Carmine said.
“What about the star sapphire eyes?” Delia asked.
“Legally an intrinsic part of the work of art. My Venetian counterpart knew nothing about them, and no theft of a pair of star sapphires answering their description has ever surfaced in Europe, let alone in Venice. The theory he offered me was that the stones came from the USSR, which is a source of fabulous treasure and gems. If old Queen Mary of England could buy some of the Russian crown jewels at auction for relative peanuts, who knows what else has been smuggled westward to obtain hard currency?”
“It sounds like a fairy tale,” Nick said. “How did Queen Mary know the jewels were for sale?”
“They were auctioned at one of the great auction houses,” said Delia. “She bought diamonds and pearls, as I remember, and used her own money-she was awfully rich, and laden with ropes and ropes of pearls.” She chuckled. “Now the pearls you buy in a cheap shop outshine the real ones!”
“How do you know all this gossip?” Nick asked.
“It’s not gossip, Nick dear. Cleopatra thought you could dissolve a pearl in vinegar. Of course you can’t.”
“Theft of the bear aside, any evidence?” Carmine asked.
“No,” they said in chorus.
“He’s crafty and clever as well as shockingly brutal,” said Delia. “He also has luck.”
“Luck?” Nick asked. “Expound!”
They guffawed until Carmine’s glare sobered them.
“Consider! Security here is pretty good, yet this chap-
“Then we’re going to proceed on the assumption that our luck is more potent than his,” said Carmine. “Are we finished here?”
“Yes,” Nick said.
“Did Paul give you her keys, or are they missing?”
“No, they were on her, I have them,” Nick said. “Mr. Murray’s keys are missing, so every shop in here will have to change its locks, not to mention the Mall itself.”
“Our killer is not coming back,” Carmine said positively. “He took the keys to create havoc, no other reason. Maybe make us think he’s a valuables thief. He’s not. He’s a killer.”
“What about notifying her next of kin?” Delia asked.
“The Warburton twins? They can wait,” Carmine said. “I’m going to inspect her apartment without that pair breathing down my neck. They give me the creeps.”
“Did they do this?” Nick asked as they used the elevator.
“Possible, but not probable.”
“This is gorgeous!” Nick said, gazing around the spacious luxury of Amanda Warburton’s apartment. “If she owns this, we have to reconsider our estimates of her worth.”
Carmine was already at the desk, which contained no locked drawers or compartments. He held up papers. “Deeds. She owns this free and clear, no mortgages.”
At which moment a pathetic meow came from the bathroom.
