Bill Pronzini: Schemers

“What was the cause of his death?”

“Cancer. Esophageal.” She winced and shook her head as she spoke. “It was a long and painful death, very difficult on all of us.”

Flash memory of Colleen in the hospital bed, close to the end, her body and her face wasted, ninety-six pounds when she died… He put a block up against the memory, locked his mind against its return.

“Your husband and his brother were close to their father?”

“Oh, yes. Very close.”

“What kind of man was he?”

“A good man. Warm, generous.”

“Marks against him, trouble of any kind he might have had?”

“None that I ever knew about.”

“Enemies, business or personal?”

Emphatic headshake. “Lloyd was a dentist. And very involved in the community. Men like that don’t make enemies, any more than men like my husband and his brother do.”

“Somebody made one somewhere, Mrs. Henderson.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, but…” Words failed her; she shook her head and finished what was left in her glass.

“I stopped by the cemetery earlier,” Runyon said. “No grave in the family plot for Cliff and Damon’s mother.”

“That’s because she’s still alive.”

“Living where?”

“Assisted living facility in Sonoma. At least she was as of a year ago.”

“So your husband doesn’t have much contact with her.”

“Almost none, as a matter of fact. She… well, neither Cliff nor Damon is close to her.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, they blamed her for breaking up their family. They were just boys at the time, not much older than my girls, and it’s natural for children to take sides in a bitter divorce.”

“Why was it bitter?”

“Mona just decided one day that she’d had enough and was leaving. Blindsided poor Lloyd, evidently. Everyone suspected… well, another man. She married again as soon as her divorce was final, a plumber in Sonoma.”

“Any children from that marriage?”

“No.”

“Did she remain married to her second husband?”

“Until he died of a stroke about three years ago. Her health began to deteriorate afterward and that’s when she went into the facility.”

“What’s the name of the facility? And her full name?”

“Sunset Acres. Mona Crandall. Are you planning to talk to her? I can’t imagine what she could possibly have to tell you.”

“Neither can I, right now.” Runyon made a note of the names. “I take it your father-in-law had plenty of friends. Who were the closest?”

“Well, Hayden Brock, for one. They played golf together every weekend. And Dr. George… George Thanapolous.”

“Dentist or medical doctor?”

“Orthopedist. He’s retired now. Hayden still practices law even though he’s well into his seventies. His offices are downtown on Spring Street. Brock, Leland, and Brock.”

Runyon added that information in his notebook.

“If you want to talk to Cliff,” Mrs. Henderson said, “he should be home around five or so.”

“Not necessary. You’ve given me all the information I need for now. You can fill him in on what we discussed.”

The dog started barking again, long and loud, when he left the house. He could still hear it when he was half a block away, even with the car windows rolled up.

S amantha Henderson was waiting for him when he arrived at the home she shared with Cliff’s brother, Damon. Development of tract houses in a country setting west of town-the custom-built, expensive variety on large lots with plenty of landscaping to give the illusion of privacy. Some enterprising developer’s idea of gracious living, small-town version.

The two-car garage was detached, separated from the colonial-style house by a walkway and a narrow strip of ground planted with flowers and low-growing cypress shrubs. The door to the garage was on that side, not quite directly opposite a side door into the house. Mrs. Henderson stood by while Runyon examined the door. The lock wasn’t much, just the standard push-button variety. It would have taken little effort to spring it with a credit card, much less a tire iron. But the perp had made more noise doing it than he’d bargained for.

“Damon was in the bathroom when he heard it,” the woman said. “He grabbed a flashlight and rushed out there. He should have called the police instead.”

Runyon agreed without saying so. He pushed the door open, stepped inside. Mrs. Henderson followed him and put on the lights. One car parked in there now, a silver Lexus that was probably her husband’s; it had brand-new tires. The Mitsubishi wagon parked in the driveway would be hers.

He glanced around, getting the lay. Long cluttered workbench along this wall, the cartons of files in a triplestacked row on the other side of the door. More cartons and gardening equipment along the far wall, three bicycles at the back end. Nothing disturbed or out of place that he could see.

He asked her, “Where was your husband when you found him?”

“There on the floor, next to his car.”

“So he was attacked as soon as he opened the door and came inside.”

“Yes. He hadn’t taken more than three steps.”

“Was his flashlight on?”

“When he came in, yes, but he was hit so quickly… he dropped it and it went out. He didn’t see anything.”

“How did the man leave? Same way he came in?”

“No, through one of the automatic doors. It was open.”

“Overhead lights on when you came in?”

“Not until I put them on.”

“Show me the button that works the garage door.”

It was on the wall near the light switch. But not too near. Runyon pushed it, watched the door slide up quickly and with a moderate amount of noise. There was a light on the unit above the door, but it didn’t come on. Broken? Looked that way.

The perp couldn’t have been inside very long before Damon came blundering in. Just long enough to shine a flash beam around and break the door opener light. Why? There didn’t seem to be any reason he’d want to leave that way, with the noise the unit made when it was activated, when he could slip out quietly in the dark the way he’d come in.

Samathana Henderson said, “My God… do you suppose he was in here before that night?”

“It’s possible. Side door always kept locked?”

“At night, yes, but not always during the day. But he wouldn’t… in broad daylight? Would he take that kind of risk?”

He might, if he was bold enough. Or crazy enough. The question, if he had been here before, was why take the risk? Hunting for something, maybe?

Runyon asked, “Have you looked through the garage since the attack? Checked to see if anything is missing?”

“Missing? I don’t understand.”

“Could you check now?”

“But… I can’t imagine what…”

“Please, Mrs. Henderson. Just have a look around.”

She spent fifteen minutes doing what he asked. Once she said, “I can’t tell if any of Damon’s business files are missing, you’d have to ask him.” A little later she said, “As far as I can tell everything seems to be here,” but two minutes later she contradicted herself.

Some boxes and a small trunk were jammed under a corner of the workbench. When she dragged the trunk out and opened it, she made a small, surprised sound. “Somebody’s been in here.”

Runyon went to peer over her shoulder. Photo albums, loose photos, loose letters, childhood drawings, other memorabilia.

“It was neatly arranged,” she said. “The letters, the photos, all in packets. “Damon would never make a mess like this. Neither would Michael… my son, Michael. He’d have no reason to poke around in here.”

“Some of those photos look fairly old.”