involved in Mr. Muller’s death.”
“I also believe that. And on the subject of upset, you can imagine how upset Detective Muller’s children are to learn that their father is not only dead but was probably murdered.” She stared at our host.
Madox returned the stare but did not respond.
Kate continued, “And the rest of his family, and his friends and colleagues. When it’s murder, the grief turns to anger very quickly.” She informed our host, “I’m damned angry.”
Madox nodded slowly. “I can understand that. And I sincerely hope that none of my security people were involved, but if they were, I also want to see this person brought to justice.”
Kate said, “He will be.”
I opened a new possibility and said, “It could even have been one of your house staff… or your houseguests.”
He reminded me, “You thought it was one of my security guards. Now, it sounds as though you’re on a fishing expedition.”
“A hunting expedition.”
“Whatever.” He asked me, “Can you be more specific about why you think one of my staff-or houseguests-was involved in what you believe is a homicide?”
I think we all knew that we really meant Bain Madox-and somehow, I didn’t think he really gave a shit.
Nevertheless, I thought that some inside information about the case might shake him up, so I said to him, “Okay, one, I have solid evidence that Detective Muller was actually on your property.”
I looked at Madox, but he had no reaction.
I continued, “Two, we believe through forensic evidence that Detective Muller was actually
Again, no reaction.
Okay, asshole. “Three, we have to assume that Detective Muller was detained by your security people. We also have evidence that his camper was originally close to your property, then moved.” I explained all of that in detail.
Still no reaction, except a nod, as though this were interesting.
I outlined some of the case to Mr. Bain Madox, describing how the murder was done by at least two persons- one driving the victim’s camper, the other in a separate vehicle that I said could have been a Jeep, or an all-terrain vehicle, based on two separate sets of tire marks, which we actually didn’t find, but he wouldn’t know that for sure.
I lied that the initial toxicology report showed strong sedatives in the victim’s blood, then I described how I thought the actual murder took place with the victim drugged, and held in a kneeling position with the binocular strap, and so forth.
Madox again nodded as though this were still interesting but somehow abstract.
If I expected some reaction-like shock, disbelief, discomfort, or amazement-then I was going to be disappointed.
I took a sip of scotch and stared at him.
The room was silent, except for the crackling fire, then Madox said, “I’m impressed that you could gather so much evidence in so short a time.”
I informed him, “The first forty-eight hours is the critical period.”
“Yes. I’ve heard that.” He asked me, “How did forensic evidence point back to this lodge?”
“If you really want to know, I collected rug fibers, plus human and dog hairs when I was here, and they matched what was found on Detective Muller’s clothes and body.”
“Did they?” He looked at me and said, “I don’t recall giving you permission to do that.”
“But you would have.”
He let that alone, and said to me, “That was very quick lab work.”
“This is a
“All right… so, from these fibers…?”
I gave him a quick course in fiber analysis. “The fibers on the victim match the ones I found here. The dog hairs will probably match the hairs on your dog, what’s-his-name-”
“Kaiser Wilhelm.”
“Whatever. And the human hairs found on Detective Muller’s body, plus whatever other DNA turns up on the victim’s clothes or body, will lead us to the killer or killers.”
We made eye contact, and he still wasn’t blinking, so I said, “With your help, we can make a list of everyone who was here over the weekend, then get hair and DNA samples from them, and some fibers from clothing, such as those camouflage uniforms your security people wear. Understand?”
He nodded.
“Speaking of your army, where and how did you recruit these guys?”
“They’re all former military.”
“I see. So, we have to assume they’re all well trained in the use of weapons, and other types of force.”
He informed me, “More important, they’re all well disciplined. And as any military man will tell you, I’d rather have ten disciplined and well-trained men than ten thousand untrained and undisciplined troops.”
“Don’t forget loyal, and motivated by a noble cause.”
“Goes without saying.”
Kate asked our host, “How many security guards are actually here this evening?”
He seemed to read the subtext, and smiled slightly, the way Count Dracula would do if his dinner guest inquired, “So, what time does the sun rise around here?”
Madox answered, “I think there are ten men on-duty tonight.”
There was a knock on the door, and it opened, revealing Carl wheeling in a cart, atop which was a large covered tray.
Carl carried the tray to the coffee table, set it down, and removed the cover.
And there, on a silver tray, were dozens of pigs-in-the-blanket, the crust slightly brown, just the way I like it. In the center of the tray were two crystal bowls-one holding a thick, dark deli-style mustard, and the other, a thin, pukey yellow mustard.
Our host said to us, “I have a confession to make. I called Henri and asked him if either of you had expressed any food preference, and-voila!” He smiled.
That wasn’t the confession I was hoping for, and he knew that, but this wasn’t bad either.
Carl asked, “Is there anything else?”
Madox replied, “No, but”-he looked at his watch-“see how dinner is coming along.”
“Yes, sir.” Carl left, and Madox said, “No woodcock tonight-just plain steak and potatoes.” He turned to me. “Have one of these.”
I caught Kate’s eye, and clearly she didn’t think I could resist a little piggy, drugged or not. And she was right. I could
They all had toothpicks stuck in them-red, blue, and yellow-so all I had to do was guess which color marked the safe piggies. I chose blue, my favorite color, and picked one up, then dipped it in the deli mustard.
Kate said, “John, you should save your appetite for dinner.”
“I’ll just have a few.” I popped the pig in my mouth. It tasted great-hot, firm crust, spicy mustard.
Madox said to Kate, “Please help yourself.”
“No, thank you.” She shot me a concerned look and said to him, “You go ahead.”
Madox also picked a pig with a blue toothpick, but chose the yellow mustard. So maybe I picked the wrong mustard.
Actually, I felt fine and had another, this one with the yellow mustard, just to be on the safe side.
Madox chewed, swallowed, and said, “Not bad.” He chose a red toothpick and offered the piggy to Kate. “Are you sure?”
“No, thank you.”
He ate it himself, this time with deli mustard. So I had another.
Hot dogs made me think of Kaiser Wilhelm. His absence at his master’s side was a case of The Dog That Did Not Fart in the Night.
