sidney sheldon - Master of the Game

Detective Nick Pappas flew up to Maine to have a talk with Lieutenant Ingram.

"I think my department might be of some help to you in this case," Nick said. "We have some interesting background information on George Mellis. I know this is out of our jurisdiction, but if you were to ask for our cooperation, we'd be happy to give it to you, Lieutenant."

In the twenty years Lieutenant Ingram had been with the Waldo County Sheriff's Department, the only real excitement he had seen was when a drunken tourist shot a moose head off the wall of a local curio shop. The George Mellis murder was front-page news, and Lieutenant Ingram sensed a chance to make a name for himself. With a little luck, it could lead to a job as a detective in the New York City Police Department, where the action was. And so now he looked at Nick Pappas and murmured, "I don't know ..."

As though reading his mind, Nick Pappas said, "We're not looking for credit. There's gonna be a hell of a lot of pressure on this one, and it would make life easier for us if we could wrap it up fast. I could start by filling you in on George Mellis's background."

Lieutenant Ingram decided he had nothing to lose. "OK, you've got a deal."

Alexandra was in bed, heavily sedated. Her mind stubbornly refused to accept the fact that George had been murdered. How could he have been? There was no reason in the world for anyone to kill him. The police had talked of a knife wound, but they were wrong about that. It had to be some kind of accident.

No one would want to kill him___No one would want to kill

him-----The opiate Dr. Harley gave her finally took hold.

She slept.

Eve had been stunned at the news that George's body had been found. But perhaps it's a good thing, Eve thought. Alexandra will be the one under suspicion. She was there, on the island.

Kate was seated next to Eve on the couch in the drawing room. The news had been a tremendous shock to Kate.

"Why would anyone want to murder George?" she asked.

Eve sighed. "I don't know, Gran. I just don't know. My heart breaks for poor Alex."

Lieutenant Philip Ingram was questioning the attendant on the Lincolnville-Islesboro ferry. "Are you positive neither Mr. or Mrs. Mellis came over on the ferry Friday afternoon?"

"They didn't come over on my shift, Phil, and I checked with the morning man, and he didn't see 'em neither. They had to have come in by plane."

"One more question, Lew. Did any strangers take the ferry across on Friday?"

"Hell," the attendant said, "you know we don't get no strangers goin' to the island this time of year. There might be a few tourists in the summer—but in November! She-e-e-it!"

Lieutenant Ingram went to talk to the manager of the Isles-boro airport. "George Mellis sure didn't fly in that evening, Phil. He musta come over to the island by ferry."

"Lew said he didn't see him."

"Well, hell, he couldn't a swum over, now could he?"

"What about Mrs. Mellis?"

"Yep. She come in here in her Beechcraft about ten o'clock. I had my son, Charley, run her over to Cedar Hill from the airport."

"What kind of mood did Mrs. Mellis seem to be in?"

"Funny you should ask. She was as nervous as spit on a hot kettle. Even my boy noticed it. Usually she's calm, always has a

pleasant word for everybody. But that night she was in a tearin' hurry."

"One more question. Did any strangers fly in that afternoon or evening? Any unfamiliar faces?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Just the regulars."

An hour later, Lieutenant Ingram was on the phone talking to Nick Pappas. "What I've got so far," he told the New York detective, "is damned confusing. Friday night Mrs. Mellis arrived by private plane at the Islesboro airport around ten o'clock, but her husband wasn't with her, and he didn't come in by plane or ferry. In fact, there's nothin' to show he was on the island at all that night."

"Except the tide."

"Yeah."

"Whoever killed him probably threw him overboard from a boat, figuring the tide would carry him out to sea. Did you check the Corsair?"

"I looked it over. No sign of violence, no bloodstains."

"I'd like to bring a forensics expert up there. Would you mind?"

"Not as long as you remember our little deal."

"I'll remember. See you tomorrow."

Nick Pappas and a team of experts arrived the following morning. Lieutenant Ingram escorted them to the Blackwell dock, where the Corsair was tied up. Two hours later, the foren-sics expert said, "Looks like we hit the jackpot, Nick. There are some bloodstains on the underside of the lee rail."

That afternoon, the police laboratory verified that the stains matched George Mellis's blood type.

Manhattan's "silk stocking" police precinct was busier than usual. A series of all-night drug busts had filled the prisoners' cage to capacity, and the holding cells were crowded with prostitutes, drunks and sex offenders. The noise and the stench competed for Peter Templeton's attention, as he was escorted through the din to Lieutenant Detective Pappas's office.

"Hey, Peter. Nice of you to drop by."

On the phone Pappas had said, "You're holdin' out on me, chum. Be at my office before six o'clock, or I'll send a fuckin' SWAT team to bring you in."

When his escort left the office, Peter asked, "What's this all about, Nick? What's bothering you?"

'I'll tell you what's botherin' me. Someone's being clever. Do you know what we've got? A dead man who vanished from an island he never went to."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Tell me about it, pal. The ferryboat operator and the guy who runs the airport swear they never saw George Mellis on the night he disappeared. The only other way he could have gotten to Dark Harbor was by motorboat. We checked all the boat operators in the area. Zilch."

"Perhaps he wasn't at Dark Harbor that night."

"The forensic lab says different. They found evidence that Mellis was at the house and changed from a business suit into the sailing clothes he was wearin' when his body was found."

"Was he killed at the house?"

"On the Blackwell yacht. His body was dumped overboard. Whoever did it figured the current would carry the body to China."

"How did—?"

Nick Pappas raised a beefy hand. "My turn. Mellis was your patient. He must have talked to you about his wife."

"What does she have to do with this?"

"Everything. She's my first, second and third choice."

"You're crazy."

"Hey, I thought shrinks never used words like crazy."

"Nick, what makes you think Alexandra Mellis killed her husband?"

"She was there, and she had a motive. She arrived at the island late that night with some cockamamy excuse about being delayed because she was waitin' at the wrong airport to meet her sister."

"What does her sister say?"

"Give me a break. What the hell would you expect her to say?

They're twins. We know George Mellis was at the house that night, but his wife swears she never saw him. It's a big house, Peter, but it's not that big. Next, Mrs. M gave all the servants the weekend of. When I asked her why, she said it was George's idea. George's lips, of course, are sealed."

Peter sat there, deep in thought. "You said she had a motive. What?"

"You have a short memory span. You're the one who put me on the track. The lady was married to a psycho who got his kicks sexually abusing everything he could lay his fists on. He was probably slapping her around pretty good. Let's say she decided she didn't want to play anymore. She asked for a divorce. He wouldn't give it to her. Why should he? He had it made. She wouldn't dare take him to court—it would touch off too juicy a scandal. She had no choice. She had to kill him." He leaned back in his chair.

"What do you want from me?" Peter asked.