Good Year For Murder (26 page)

Controller Joseph Pennylegion was first to approach him. “It was MacCulla, wasn't it?”

Tretheway nodded. He realized for the first time that Pennylegion was a teetotaller.

“He killed all those people,” Pennylegion said.

Tretheway wasn't sure, but he thought he detected a hint of admiration in Pennylegion's statement.

“And I never liked him.” Pennylegion walked away, shaking his wrinkled brow.

Jake appeared, also clean, but he hadn't changed his sweater. “Did you tell Pennylegion?” he asked Tretheway.

“He guessed.”

“Did you tell the others?”

“Not yet.”

“Addie won't.”

“I know.”

Tretheway looked into the sunroom. Bunny Berrigan's record of “I Can't Get Started” was background for what looked like a successful party. About half the people were dancing. The others chatted or drank. Morgan Morgan had taken over as bartender.

“Hate to break up a party,” Tretheway said.

“Maybe you won't have to,” Jake suggested.

Tretheway went into the party. Jake followed.

“I think everybody's smashed,” Jake said.

“God bless Gum's Scouts.” Tretheway stopped one as he rushed by carrying an empty glass. “How's the tooth?”

“Tooth?” The Scout ran his tongue along his teeth until it slipped into the space. “Oh. Fine, I guess.”

“Keep up the good work.” Tretheway let him go. “I think you're right, Jake. Look at the Chief.”

“There's something wrong with his eyes.”

“He hasn't moved away from there all night.”

“Somebody said he fell off his chair at midnight.”

Tretheway waved at Zulp. He didn't wave back. Mrs Zulp tried to read Tretheway's sweatshirt.

The Mayor danced by. “Tretheway,” he said. “What was that
uniform MacCulla had on? Dammitall. He looked smart.” Mrs Trutt backed up her husband's opinion with a quick jerk of her head.

“I'm not really sure,” Tretheway said.

“Never mind. I'll ask him tomorrow.” They danced away.

At the bar a small group had gathered. Tretheway signalled over their heads to Morgan. Morgan passed over a cold Molson Blue.

“Quite a night,” Tretheway said to everyone.

Mrs Pennylegion winked clumsily at Tretheway.

“You're out of uniform,” Morgan reprimanded.

One of Pennylegion's men was busily explaining the difference between Win, Place and Show to Gertrude Valentini. Neither noticed Tretheway or Jake.

Gum edged up to Tretheway. “What was all that with Mac?” he whispered.

“You noticed?” Tretheway whispered back.

“Certainly.”

“And you're concerned?”

“Of course.”

Tretheway decided not to pussyfoot. “MacCulla's the murderer. His Scouts are accessories. They tried to blow us up. House and all. Nitroglycerin. In the cellar. They've all gone to jail.”

Bartholomew Gum looked serious. He shifted his weight onto his other foot, started to say something, then went back to looking serious. Finally he shook his index finger under Tretheway's nose. “Never trust a Sea Scout.” He bobbed his head once emphatically and turned back to the bar.

“Let's go find Addie,” Jake suggested.

“Good idea,” Tretheway said. “I need to talk to someone sensible.”

On their way to the kitchen, Emmett O'Dell confronted them.

“We should be thinking about having a sing.”

Tretheway walked by without answering.

“In a few minutes, Emmett,” Jake replied.

Emmett started to hum.

They found Addie in the kitchen. She had made two more loaves of sandwiches and was starting a third.

“Addie,” Tretheway said. “We don't need any more sandwiches.”

“Poor Mac.” Addie continued slicing. “What happened to him?”

“I don't know,” Tretheway sighed.

“Too much Clausewitz?” Jake asked.

“Something like that. He must've fallen in love with old Germany. Or Prussia.”

“Hard to believe his influence over those boys.” Addie shook her head.

“I know,” Tretheway agreed. “But look what's happening everywhere. In London. Europe. Sometimes I think the whole world's going funny.”

O. Pitts pushed through the kitchen door. “I have a question.”

Tretheway grunted.

“Why was MacCulla dressed up to look like a lion tamer?” O. Pitts piped.

“Leave the kitchen,” Addie told him.

The party eventually ran down. Pennylegion and party were the first to go. “You never know,” he said to Tretheway on the way out.

The others left, mostly two by two, without learning any more of what had transpired one floor beneath their dancing feet.

“Wait'll they hear the news tomorrow,” Tretheway said.

Chief Zulp tried to say something that sounded like “Good Night”, but he couldn't manage it. Mrs Zulp drove home. Tretheway found out the next day that it was the first time she had driven a car.

Shortly after four a.m., Tretheway, Jake and Addie watched through the open front door as the last pair, Morgan Morgan and Bartholomew Gum, went down the steps arm in arm. Bartholomew had kindly offered Morgan the spare bedroom at his house to save him the trip home. “But don't wake Mother,” he cautioned his new friend.

“Well, that's the last of them,” Addie said.

“Who's that?” Jake asked.

Tretheway yanked the door open. Dr Nooner was coming up the steps.

“Just stopped by to tell you everthing's under control.” Nooner came inside. “They're all locked up. I gave MacCulla a sedative. Mind you, only after he talked. Of his own free will. He told all.”

“He did?” Tretheway said.

“Yes. Wan Ho's got it all down. MacCulla killed them all. Everyone on a different holiday. In a different way. Fascinating.
Just to obscure the real motive. Politics. And according to his hero, Clausewitz …”

“War is a mere continuance of political policy by another means,” Tretheway interrupted.

“You mean, Mac was at war?” Jake asked.

“With us?” Addie asked.

“Exactly,” Dr Nooner continued. “Hitler against Churchill, King George against the Kaiser, Prussia against the world. The good guys against the bad guys. Only in Mac's mind, we were the bad guys. He started out just admiring Germany. Specifically Clausewitz. Then he simply went over the edge.”

“An understatement,” Jake said.

Addie nodded. “He didn't seem that unstable,” she said.

“He fooled us all, Addie,” Dr Nooner said. He cocked his head at Tretheway. “I have a feeling that this doesn't surprise you. That you somehow … knew.”

“Surmised,” Tretheway said. “But it's still a shock.”

Addie and Jake clucked sympathetically.

“There's one thing,” Dr Nooner said. “The nitroglycerin. MacCulla couldn't understand why it didn't explode. And neither can I.”

Tretheway smiled smugly.

“Do you know something?”

Tretheway's smile broadened.

“Did you do something to it? Earlier?”

Tretheway nodded. “I added an alkali. To neutralize it.”

“What sort of an alkali?”

“Ammonia.”

“Where'd you get it?”

“Gertrude Valentini's smelling salts.”

There was a pause.

“Where'd you learn your chemistry?” Nooner asked.

“From the Library. One day last week.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before Dr Nooner continued. He didn't raise his voice. “It is dangerous to decompose an ester under laboratory conditions with exact measurements and pure chemicals.” He pronounced each word distinctly. “And you're telling me that, under primitive conditions in your dusty cellar, armed with knowledge from a library book, you poured Mrs Valentini's lumpy smelling salts into a container of nitroglycerine?”

Jake's eyes looked like an owl's. Addie hadn't blinked for two minutes.

“I shouldn't have?”

“No,” Dr Nooner said.

“It could have …?”

“Yes.” Dr Nooner clasped his hands together, then pulled them apart quickly to mime an explosion. He made an appropriate noise with his mouth.

The second uncomfortable silence was longer than the first.