Sand City Murders (25 page)

“What cat?”

“Any cat.” Durbin grimaced slightly.

“Is there a cat about?”

“I dunno.”

“Follow me please, but touch nothing,” Fynn said and gingerly made his way down again to the body. There was no doubt the doctor had fallen and died. The odd angle of his limbs attested to that. Fynn did but a cursory inspection. He lifted the doctor’s left hand and looked at it closely, then the right hand. He motioned for us to join him, then turned to survey the basement. I had some trouble walking past a dead body and let Durbin go first. Fynn made us both step lightly so as not to contaminate the scene. He explained the ground might still hold shoe prints.

Downstairs looked pretty much like any basement, with a low unfinished ceiling, grubby floors, and three walls filled with old steel filing cabinets of a dark green color. They
were
the walls, covering every inch and stacked on top of each other. The left side of the room held the stairs, and by them, were several cases of plastic-wrapped paper towels, stacked high and mostly covered with dust. The inspector started to scan the labels on the filing cabinets. He stopped at one and looked at it more closely. He called me over. “Can you open this very carefully?”

“Carefully?”

“Touch only the edge.”

Durbin came forward and handed me a pair of nitrile gloves. I put them on and opened the drawer slowly. It slid more easily than I expected. Fynn peered inside. Durbin came up behind with a flashlight. It was definitely empty. The inspector went back to the bottom of the stairs and found another light switch on the wall, this one just above the body. He flipped it on and off several times as well. The same basement light complied to his command and Durbin’s irritation mounted.

“What the hell, inspector? The light works fine.”

“I agree,” Fynn said and went back up the stairs. Durbin and I followed. “Tell me, detective, was this light on or off when you arrived?”

“On.”

“You are quite sure?”

He nodded.

“And who discovered the unfortunate veterinarian?”

“Alyson, Alyson Grove. She’s in the other room.”

“I would like to speak with her.”

“Sure… but what are you thinking here, inspector?”

“How do you mean?” He turned to Durbin.

“Not an accident?”

“It’s difficult to say at this point. I cannot rule out suicide entirely.”

“Suicide?” I asked.

“No, I don’t believe so, but something is clearly wrong.”

Durbin started down the corridor towards the examination room. Fynn turned and held me back for a moment. He whispered, “You know this Alyson, I believe. Would you like to talk to her first?”

“Me?”

“Perhaps she would be more comfortable?”

I hesitated. “Not sure what I’d say… what to ask her…”

“I’d like you to ask about Roxy.”

“Roxy? Why?”

“I’m concerned for his welfare.”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“It would be an odd question coming from me, eh?”

Alyson was still sitting on one of the examination tables. She was dressed in a faded teal smock and she had been crying, that much was obvious. She looked up when Fynn and I entered. Durbin had parked himself in the corner of the room. I gave her a reassuring smile and she seemed relieved. “You okay, Alyson?” I asked and took her hand. She started sobbing slightly.

“Oh Patrick, it was terrible. I came to work and found him there at the bottom of the stairs… This is just awful…”

“I know, honey… just try to take a deep breath, okay?” I took her hands.

She seemed to calm a bit.

“You know Inspector Fynn here, right?” I glanced over my shoulder. “He just has a couple of things for you. Okay with that?”

She nodded.

“Mademoiselle Grove, Alyson… I do hope you are coping with this very sad state of affairs. And I must say, you’ve been very brave so far.” The inspector smiled. “Can you answer just a few questions?”

Alyson nodded again and looked up.

“Tell me, did the doctor have a pet of his own?”

“Is that important?”

“I’m just wondering. Did he have a dog or a cat?”

“Here in the office, or at home?”

“Either.”

“He has a dog, an Irish setter. They like to take long walks.” Alyson shook her head. “I don’t think he ever brought Albert to the office.”

“Albert?”

“His dog.”

“I see.” Fynn paused. “And the basement light, was it on or off when you arrived?”

“Let’s see, I came in… and saw the basement door wide open— it never is. I went over and…” Alyson started sobbing again… “Off, I’m sure…” she managed to say.

“So you turned it on?”

“Yes… that’s when I saw him.” She looked up at the inspector with tears in her eyes.

“Most dreadful, to be sure,” the inspector said quietly then squatted down to come face-to-face with Alyson. “My dear, can you be brave for just a moment longer?”

She nodded again, her eyes seemed a little vacant, far away.

“Tell me, Alyson, did Doctor Samuels use a cane?”

“A cane? No, never saw him use one.”

“And yet he has a basket full of walking sticks in his office, just behind the door.”

Alyson tried to smile but it refused to come. “Well, he likes to collect things.”

“I see… and what is kept in the basement?”

“Old files… and paper towels.”

“Paper towels?”

“He sends me to Fairhaven to buy them in bulk. We store the extra cases down there.”

“This is something he would do? Fetch the towels?”

“No… never. He’d always ask me to go down.”

“When was the last time you did so?”

“I don’t know…” Alyson said, maybe a bit defensively. “Last time we ran out… in exam room three, maybe a month ago?”

“And tell me about the records, the files.”

“What about them?”

“Why would he save these records of old animals, old cases?”

“Just the way he was, I guess. A real packrat, you know.” Alyson perked up a bit. “He’s very organized about it though.”

“How do you mean?”

“Didn’t you see the bookcase in his office?”

“No,” the inspector said. “What would we find there?”

“I can show you…” Alyson started to slide off the table tentatively. “Wait… maybe not. I don’t want to go back in there.”

“You shouldn’t have to. Just wait with me for a moment.” Fynn calmed her and sat on the bench, then motioned to Durbin and I. We returned to Samuels’ office. There was too much stuff in there, more than the room could hold. Little kitschy animals up on every shelf. The chairs were stacked with files, and his desk, set against a bay window, was piled with papers and magazines. It wasn’t hard to miss the huge armoire against the far wall. It wasn’t locked either. Durbin pulled back the doors and stepped to one side. The shelves were filled with every storage device known to mankind, from big old floppies, to mini disks, Syquest cartridges, data-tapes, zip drives, and finally a CD or a DVD reader. Everything was meticulously labeled. It was like the Museum of Data Storage, and it seemed to be arranged by decade: from the 1980s till the present. I almost felt nostalgic for the memory devices of my youth. The last shelf held a small box of thumb drives.

“Why would anyone keep these for so long?” Durbin asked, perhaps rhetorically. “All these little pooches have gotta be long since dead.”

I had no reply and we walked back to the exam room. Fynn gave us a questioning look.

“More records, a lot more… computer files.”

“I see…” Fynn considered. “So paper files in the basement?”

“That’s a good guess,” I said.

He gave me a knowing glance. “Mademoiselle Alyson, thank you so very much for your help.” Fynn lowered himself to the floor. “Perhaps you can go home now? Can someone drive you?”

Alyson looked at me. I gave her a smile and a yes.

“Ah, but one more question, if I may?”

She turned back to Fynn.

“Did Doctor Samuels have any visitors lately?”

“Other than patients, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there is that one guy, his old buddy from school…”

“And he is?”

“I don’t know his name… Don... Tom, maybe?”

“Can you tell us what he looks like?”

“Tall guy, an old guy, white hair and a beard…”

“He’s a friend, you say?”

“Best friend, I’d guess.”

“When was he here last?”

“Who knows? three, four weeks ago…”

“Anyone else?”

“Well, there’s Hector… he’s always hanging around.”

“Hector Diaz,” Durbin asked. That’s a name I knew too, a regular at Partners.

Alyson nodded. “He does odd jobs for Doctor Samuels sometimes… and he really seems to like the dogs.”

“Did they ever argue?”

“No, well, not seriously,” Alyson looked around to each of us. “Nothing that a twenty dollar bill wouldn’t solve…” She tried to smile.

“Thank you again, Alyson,” the inspector said and took her hand gently. She walked over to me and sought refuge in my shoulder.

“Well?” Durbin asked, a bit too loudly.

Fynn waited till I started to escort Alyson out, then stopped me at the door. “I will need a quick word with you, Patrick.”

“Let me take Alyson to the car and I’ll be right back.” I walked her outside to my Saab and put her in the passenger seat. “You need anything, darling?”

“No… just take me home please.”

“Give me a second. I have to go back in.”

“What’s this all about, Patrick?”

“Like I know?” I squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, just hurry up.” Alyson started rummaging through her bag and found her cell phone. She started dialing.

“Honey… mum’s the word for now.”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone yet.”

“Oh... what about Emma? She has to open up tonight.”

“Let me talk to Durbin real quick.”

Alyson searched through her bag again. This time she pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I walked back to the animal hospital. Durbin was by the steps. He was also having a smoke. Officer Adams seemed to have disappeared.

“What did you say to her?”

“Alyson? I asked her not to mention anything yet.”

“Okay, thanks for that.” Durbin looked at me hard, his eyes narrowed. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Our new chief… don’t you think he’s taking this a little too seriously?”

“Why? What did he say?”

“Nothing. He’s waiting for us.”

We returned to find Inspector Fynn actually standing on the doctor’s cluttered desk. That was definitely a little odd. I noticed he was staring up at the ceiling though I couldn’t think why. My eyes followed but all I saw was an alabaster chandelier, if chandelier is even the right word. It was just a decorative bowl suspended by three brass chains. The inspector lowered himself back to the floor carefully, and with a slightly embarrassed expression.

“Let’s call it a suspicious death, Detective Durbin,” Fynn said and absentmindedly leafed through some papers.

“Why? What’s so suspicious?”

“Quite simply, the light,” Fynn replied and walked across the room to the basement door. He stopped to examine the basket full of walking sticks and canes. He took each one out and examined it carefully. There had to be a dozen in there at least.

Durbin followed with his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Alyson said the light was off when she first came,” the inspector continued and glanced over. “Would you have me believe that a frail old man would descend these dangerous stairs without first turning on the light?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Well, there you have it. Someone else must have turned it off. It certainly was not the good doctor.”

“That’s it? The light? Maybe he never turned it on, maybe he slipped first.”

“Yes, I considered that… but there’s the banister as well. I would begin with fingerprints.”

“Fingerprints? This was an accident. Whose fingerprints am I going to find?”

“No one’s... and this is the big problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are no fingerprints on the banister. It is undisturbed, still covered with dust,” Fynn began in an almost gleeful tone. “This doctor is someone not used to going to the basement; indeed, someone who would rather not go down, as Alyson says.” He paused and glanced at us both. “Would he not have firmly grasped the banister?”

“Okay, you’ve got a point… but he could’ve just stumbled on the first step,” Durbin countered. “There’s no sign of a struggle.”

“I agree. And no dust on the doctor’s fingers. His hands never found the banister, clearly.”

“He could’ve tripped… or passed out.”

“There is also the manner in which he fell.”

“And?”

“We must consider the way the body is facing. You can only fall down a flight of stairs in a limited number of ways. And this is evidenced by the placement of the head. If you are traveling down, you might slip and fall onto your backside. Your head should be facing towards the top of the stairs, but I will suggest you would not make it as far as the bottom landing… as he was found.” Fynn paused and looked down at the body. “Or you may slip and go forward. Your head would be in the same place but face down— not as we found him. To tumble head over heels so to speak would be quite difficult... I would think you would have to be traveling at some speed to do a somersault and land as the doctor did. From this I conclude that his arms were pinned back and he was pushed, and with some considerable force.”

“Maybe he was coming up the stairs?”

“Ah, then you’re facing in the opposite direction to start with. If you lose your footing, how do you fall? Again, where is your head? Where is your backside?”

“So you can’t tell if he was going down or coming up?”

“I think the banister tells us this. There is not a new mark on it, not a fresh mark. He was not walking up. A further examination of the staircase will tell us exactly how he fell.”

“I’m still not convinced somebody pushed him,” Durbin said.

“There is the light switch as well.”

“The light switch?”

“I am no electrician of course, but don’t you find that light switch rather odd?”