Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,37

but like I said, it’s pretty cut and dried. Pun intended. In case you didn’t catch it the first time.”

When Carlyle was out of earshot Jones said, “For once in his life, he may be right. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to determine cause of death on this one.”

“Did he pinpoint a time?” Rosco asked.

“He’s thinking she’s been dead around six or so hours and places it somewhere between two and five A.M.,” Al told him. “Before you start dumping on Newcastle’s crack medical examiner, a.k.a., brother to our illustrious mayor, Abe agrees with that assessment.”

“Hey, did I say anything?” Rosco studied the bed linens. “From the looks of these sheets, I’d say she’d gone to bed, then got up for some reason, was attacked, and fell back down, where she died.”

“That’s how we’ve put it together,” Al said.

“Any sign of a struggle?”

“No,” Abe said. “And I don’t think she was attacked from behind either. If that had been the case, she would have fallen onto the mattress face-first.”

“Someone could have hit her once, then rolled her over and finished the job,” Rosco suggested.

“I considered that,” Abe continued, “but I don’t like it. It’s too methodical. My assumption is that the perp was hop-pin’ mad and just laid into her. If the first blow had come from behind, the others would have, too. I say he, or she, nailed her once and then just went to town. Ryan Collins never knew what hit her.”

If Rosco had heard this assessment from Carlyle, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it, but since it came from Abe Jones, he was inclined to take it as gospel. He looked around the room once again. “This is a spare bedroom, right? What gives with that?”

“According to Mr. Collins he’s been snoring a lot lately. So she packed up and moved over to this room shortly before midnight,” Lever answered.

“And he didn’t see or hear anything unusual, I take it?”

“Nope. No sign of forced entry. He told me he came in to wake her at seven and found her dead. That’s when he called us.”

“He was cool enough to recognize the scene for what it was,” Abe added. “He didn’t touch a thing and sealed off the upstairs until we arrived. As Carlyle said, we have the murder weapon right here.” He indicated a clear plastic bag containing the bloody hoof pick. It sat beside his evidence case.

“Any prints?”

“I’ll check that when we get downtown. The handle’s plastic, so if they’re there, they’ll be clean.”

“Was the door locked?”

“Collins says no,” Lever offered. “Even if it had been locked, it’s clear to me she must have known her attacker and opened the door. Nothing’s been stolen, according to her husband. This has all the makings of a crime of passion. Strangers don’t nail each other like this.”

“Unless it’s intended to look like a crime of passion,” Rosco observed.

“My money’s on choice number one, Poly-crates.”

“What about the front door, Al?”

“Collins maintains all security issues are handled at the main gate, so it’s seldom that any of the buildings on the farm are locked. And all employees are logged in and out by the guard.” Lever coughed twice, lit a cigarette, and dropped the match into the ashtray. “Okay, Poly-crates, my turn to ask you; tell me what you know about Collins and the rest of the clan.”

Rosco spent the next ten minutes bringing Al up to speed on everything he’d learned about Todd Collins and his children, even Bartholomew Kerr’s gossip, and then finished with, “So as far as I’m concerned, any one of them could have done it—including the old man. When you think about it, he was the only one who admits to being in the house at the time.”

“There’s also Jack Curry, the barn manager; Orlando Polk and his wife, Kelly; the daughters; Heather’s husband, Michael Palamountain; Chip and his girlfriend, Angel; they all live within the compound,” Abe tossed in.

“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast, Good Doctor,” was Rosco’s wry response. “Polk’s still in the hospital, remember?”

“Hallelujah,” Al intoned through his cigarette smoke, “someone with an alibi. My favorite kind of person.”

CHAPTER

14

Nest of vipers was the term that popped into Belle’s brain the moment Todd escorted her into the living room, the two having left Rosco to ascend to the second floor and whatever unpleasantness awaited there. The oddity of the linguistic association, as well as its seemingly self-contradictory words—nest and viper—made her pause in mid-stride.

Nest, she thought, a tree home in