Giles Blunt: Crime Machine

“Guess he didn’t like the atmosphere,” Cardinal said.

Delorme turned her attention to bullets, perhaps unconsciously keeping her back to the two dehumanized shapes. There was a slug embedded in the wall behind the male, another under the sideboard. She made out marker cards for Ident to photograph.

Collingwood was examining the corpses, going over the fur coats with the concentration of an ape grooming his mate. Cardinal was contemplating the table, trying to make sense of the set-up. Three shot glasses. A bottle of Stolichnaya.

“Judging by the position of the bullets,” Delorme said, “it looks like they were shot by someone sitting here.” She indicated a chair that was pulled away from the table.

“We don’t know for sure they were shot yet,” Cardinal said. “But since the rest of it is post-mortem, yeah, I could see it. He shoots the man first, possibly right in the face, and the bullet ends up in the wall behind him. Then he shoots the woman, maybe through the side of the head, and it exits this way and ends up on the floor. Then he pulls out the axe.”

Cardinal looked briefly over the living room, which was neat and undisturbed. He went down a gleaming hallway, his paper suit making swishing sounds with each step. Two of the bedrooms appeared not only undisturbed but underfurnished, as if no one lived in them. Lots of the houses in this area were vacant most of the winter, their owners having another residence in town. He checked the bathroom briefly, and finally the master bedroom.

He stood in the doorway, arms folded. One window completely smashed-outward, not inward-the chair it had been attacked with lying on its side. No other signs of violence. The bed was made up, but when Cardinal lifted the corner of the bedspread, there was only a mattress pad underneath. The closet was virtually empty, as were the dresser drawers. No sign of any suitcases.

He went to the window and looked out. Arsenault had set up so many lights, it looked like a movie set. He was on his knees, bent low over something.

Cardinal asked him how it was going. Arsenault stood up. “Fantastic. I’m taking moulds before it melts.”

“Give me the short version.”

Arsenault pointed to two sets of tracks coming up from the lake. “Those are the two boys’. The prints right by the house-up to the back door at least-are mostly ours. I’m betting all the rest are crime related. That window you’re standing in? Someone came out of there pretty hard. Cut themselves up, too-we got blood on the left hand, blood on the knee. Fairly small person. Took off that way. Comes back this way.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, there’s a whole story out here, if we can just get it down before it melts or it snows again.”

“I’ll send Collingwood out.”

He went back to the dining area. The scene didn’t get any easier to take.

Delorme held up her notebook. “Clothing labels are all American. Barneys, Bonwit Teller, Lord amp; Taylor.”

Collingwood, the younger half of Ident, was plucking invisible items from the man’s coat with a pair of tweezers.

“Hair?” Cardinal said.

Collingwood nodded. He almost never spoke.

“Arsenault needs you outside. He’s hit the motherlode.”

Delorme pulled back the sleeve from the dead man’s arm. “Rolex watches, both of them. Fur coats, expensive labels. I’d say we’re dealing with some seriously wealthy people here. Whoever killed them took their wallets but left all this stuff.”

“Idea being to hide their identities rather than get rich, maybe.” Cardinal looked around. “Where’s Dunbar?”

“He went to canvass the neighbours on either side. See if they saw anything.”

“Nearest house must be two hundred yards away. If they were even here. Not too many people live out here in winter. I don’t think it even gets ploughed this far, unless you want to pay a private contractor. Did you tell him to canvass the neighbours?”

“That was his idea.”

“Self-motivated,” Cardinal said.

“Probably just wanted to get away, like the coroner. Can’t say I blame him for that.”

“Not for that. No.”

Cardinal was beginning to feel a peculiar ache in his bones. Not from cold-the house was warming up now-but from whatever it was that emanated from the two headless beings seated at the table.

Cardinal and Delorme stayed silent for a couple of minutes. Cardinal was waiting for that big picture to develop, but at this moment it was all detail and no picture. He went to the front vestibule. He opened the door and examined the outside lock. There were scratches around the keyhole that could mean it had been picked, but he couldn’t be sure if the scratches were new.

When he came back to the living room, Delorme said, “Not much blood. Considering.”

“Considering. Pretty gory next to the chairs they’re sitting on, but nothing like what it’d be if the heads had been removed before they were dead.”

“We’ve got those.” Delorme pointed to two circular smears of blood, one near the entrance from the kitchen, one on the other side of the table. “But no drips moving away from the table, or away from the blotches. So the killer puts them into something-plastic bag or whatever-before he leaves. What did you mean before? When you looked at the house and said ‘isolation’?”

Cardinal shrugged, making the paper rustle. “That we’re probably not looking at a sudden explosion of violence.”

“We’re looking at-what-the end result of a plan?.”

“The end result of a plan. Exactly.”

Delorme went into the kitchen and there was the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing. She came back with a small green box. “No garbage bags. Just these.”

Compost bags. The dimensions were printed on the top.

“Might hold one head,” Cardinal said.

“It might. But these aren’t really leak-proof. You ever see the inside of your compost container?”

“I try not to.”

“I think he brought his own box, bag, whatever.”

“That’s why I’ve always found you to be extremely intelligent, Sergeant Delorme. You have exactly the same thoughts I do.”

Arsenault called Cardinal’s cell and asked him to come up to the road. “We’re in a hydro access about a hundred yards before the driveway.”

There were already a couple of reporters trying to get by PC Rankin, who had moved his perimeter to the far side of the access road. They yelled at Cardinal for a comment as he went by. He told them he couldn’t say anything just yet.

Snow glittered under the lights the ident team had set up. More tire tracks.

“Our runner,” Arsenault said. “We follow his trail through the woods on the west side of the drive. He comes out to the road and then it gets hard to see, but we’ve got blood-not a lot, but enough to see he hits the road, comes this way, and bingo-car.”

Cardinal and Delorme stood looking at the tire tracks.

“Much smaller car,” Cardinal said, “and there’s hardly any tread. Are we looking at a third vehicle?”

“Very good,” Arsenault said. “Could be a glamorous career waiting for you in Ident. Notice also we have four tires, four different treads, which probably means an old vehicle in pretty bad repair.”

“Tail light,” Collingwood said. He was holding up a fragment of red plastic.

“Show him the casings,” Arsenault said.

Collingwood held up a Baggie. “Found ’em at the top of the drive.”

“So we’ve got a chase that starts at the broken window and ends here?” Delorme said. She put her hands on her hips. “Got a lot to work with, anyway. Hair, fibre, ballistics, footprints, tire tracks…”

“We may have something even better,” Arsenault said.

“Oh?”