Once I hit the road, I turned on the Caerphilly College radio station. This close to Christmas most of the students who worked there had left town for the holidays, so the skeleton staff left behind tended to play long, uninterrupted blocks of Christmas music. And they were responsive to requests, so by this time in the season, I could usually count on hearing a few of my favorites. They were really hitting my playlist hard today. I caught most of Odetta’s “Children, Go Where I Send Thee,” followed by Loreena McKennitt’s version of “The Wexford Carol” and Carnie and Wendy Wilson’s glorious “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”
I was in a downright festive mood by the time I turned into the Inn’s mile-long driveway, flanked on both sides by white-painted fences decorated with evergreen boughs, red ribbons, and twinkling lights. My mood persisted as I steered the Twinmobile to an open space in the Inn’s spotless white gravel parking lot. The day might be gray and overcast, but you almost forgot that when you saw the soaring glass walls of the Inn with all the lights, tinsel, evergreen, and colored glass within. Enrique, the bell captain, was in his bright red holiday uniform with gold braid trim and a sprig of holly on the lapel.
My festive mood didn’t even sour when I walked into the lobby to find the chief talking to Vern and Amber Smith. Although it did occur to me that I was walking into a crowd that probably contained Norton’s killer—along with all the chief’s main suspects. After all, while I had no doubt that the Gadfly made enemies wherever he went, here in Caerphilly he hadn’t spent much time anywhere but at the Inn. At the Presumed Innocent conference. So whoever killed him was almost certainly here.
And I’d almost certainly met the killer. I ran through my short list of subjects. Ezekiel. Unable to prevent his exoneration, Norton had done what he could to poison his new life of freedom. Amber, whose bid for permanent freedom Norton was bent on thwarting. The Keepers, Ginny and Janet, who wanted to help the high-school friend who’d been in prison almost as long as Ezekiel. Norton had only been getting started on their case, but anyone could already see how vicious his opposition was going to be. And the same went for the redheads, Madelaine and Ellen—Norton would almost certainly have argued that Madelaine’s mother had committed murder rather than manslaughter and should die in prison.
I’d keep my ears open for other cases that might have caught Norton’s eye and inspired his murder. In the meantime, I hoped those six had good alibis for last night—because as much as I liked all of them, I had to admit that they were all suspects.
I stopped just inside the lobby and did a mental exercise Rose Noire had once suggested, pausing to relish the joyous, peaceful mood the carols had created, and then imagining myself tucking it away in one of my brain’s closets, where I’d have no trouble finding it again when I’d finished whatever practical tasks I’d need to do to help with the conference or the investigation. Then I strolled over to where the chief was standing, right by the wall of glass. He and Vern were looking up at the sky. Amber was watching their faces.
“I think he’s pretty much finished with it,” Vern was saying. “He’s going to send a few bits of evidence down to the Crime Lab in Richmond, and then he can come out here to work this part of the scene.”
Evidently they were talking about Horace. I wondered what they wanted him to work on here at the Inn.
“Good,” the chief said. “As long as we do our best to wrap this up before the snow starts.”
“Are we definitely getting snow?” I asked. “Last time I looked there was only a sixty-percent chance.”
“It’s up close to a hundred percent now,” Vern said. “But Judge Jane says it should hold off at least a few more hours.”
“Do you need permission from the court to have a white Christmas around here?” Amber asked. “What happens if the snow starts early—will they charge Mother Nature with contempt of court?”
“If anyone could do that it would be Judge Jane Shiffley,” Vern said, with a chuckle. “But no, she doesn’t try to control the weather—she just predicts it. Her left knee is more reliable than the weather service. And I’ll check in with Great-uncle Jasper to see if his shoulder concurs,” he added, turning back to the chief.
“That would be helpful,” the chief said.
“Do you need me for anything else?” Amber asked.
“Not at the moment,” the chief said. “Thank you.”
“You know where to find me if you think of something.” She nodded to me and headed away. I thought she was heading for the conference room but then she veered over toward the little side area where the fireplace was. Ezekiel was standing in front of the fire, warming his hands, and Ruth had her front paws up on the hearth as if to get closer to the welcoming heat. I watched as Amber spoke to Ezekiel—asking permission to pet Ruth, no doubt—and then knelt to scratch the dog behind her floppy ears. I smiled at the relaxed look on her face. Then I turned back to Vern and the chief.
“Did Kevin tell you what he and I just figured out?” I asked.
Vern and the chief both shook their heads. And from the hopeful looks on their faces, I suspected they would welcome some good news.
“Maybe you can act surprised when he does,” I said. “Thanks to Delaney’s chickadee-watching, our home security system’s audio was on last night, on top of the video. So whoever reviews the feed—”
“Might detect the gunshot that killed Norton,” Vern finished.
“Excellent,” the chief said. “We’ve agreed on calling him Norton, by the way,” he added to Vern. “Since most of the people we’re interviewing only know him by that name.”
“Makes sense,” he said. “And only takes half as long to say as Niedernstatter.”
We all chuckled at that.
“If the crew checking the video finds anything they think might be a gunshot, I’d be happy to take a listen to it,” Vern said. “I’m pretty good at telling the difference between gunshots and car backfires and all the other noises people sometimes panic over.”
“Good idea,” the chief said. “My experience in that area’s pretty exclusively urban. Sound works differently out in the country.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll go see what I can find outside.” Vern strode off, putting on his coat as he walked.
“Is he looking for something connected with the case?” I asked. “I thought it was pretty definite that Norton was killed where we found him.”
“Absolutely,” the chief said. “But most of the people in town who might have it in for him—in fact, most of the ones who have any idea who he is—would have been here at the Inn.”
“Except when they were over at our house actually committing the deed,” I said.
“Exactly,” he said. “And so, speaking of security systems, we need to figure out if it was possible for Norton’s killer to leave the Inn without being detected. So I’ve given the boys an assignment. Adam, Josh, and Jamie, that is.”
“An assignment?” I echoed. “Not because of some transgression, I certainly hope.”
“No, no.” He smiled. “Not a punishment detail. I’ve challenged them to see if they can find a way to sneak out of the hotel without being spotted on any of those security cameras.”
“Ooh, fun,” I said. “But if the idea is to keep them out of mischief, I’m afraid it will just change the kind of mischief they get into.”
“It’s not busy work, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “It might make a solid contribution to the case if they manage it, because a whole lot of the attendees are on record as never having left the hotel. And Kevin’s set it up so we can scan all the hotel security footage from last night—I’ve sent Sammy back to the station, so he can help George with that as well as the footage from your house. But I’d like to make sure the cameras really do cover all possibilities.”
I thought of pointing out that Kevin had designed the system, and he was pretty good at it. But the chief knew that.
“Good idea,” I said. “Because Kevin would have been designing the system to keep intruders out, not to keep guests from sneaking out to commit crimes.”
“Exactly,” he said. “If the boys can sneak out without appearing on camera, someone else could, too.”
“I bet they jumped at the idea.”
“They did.” He smiled. “Right now they’re scouting out the whole hotel, trying to figure out where all the cameras are and exactly what area they cover.”
“Ekaterina couldn’t just give them a plan of the system?”
“She could, but if someone wanted to sneak out of the hotel for some nefarious purpose, I doubt if they’d blow their cover by asking for specs on the security system. What use would a blind spot or a gap in the coverage be if you can’t deduce its existence without the plan?”
I nodded.
“Eventually, when they think they’ve discovered some holes in the system, we’ll have a test. Ekaterina’s getting her office set up so we can watch the feeds from all the cameras, and we’ll see if the boys can pull off their invisible exit.”
“So are you hoping the boys can’t pull it off?” I asked. “Since that would whittle down the number of viable suspects. Or is there someone you’re hoping will turn out to have holes in their alibi?”
“Hard to say.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “If they can’t pull it off, it won’t prove that it can’t be done. Only that it’s pretty darned difficult. But if they can, I can think of several people who made rather intemperate statements about Mr. Norton. Frankly, from what I’ve learned, I don’t blame them, but if they try to claim hotel security as an alibi, I’d like to know if it’s valid.”
“Who in particular has been badmouthing Norton?” I thought I knew the answer, but I was wondering who he had in mind.
“Well, Ellen Mays and Madelaine Taylor, for example.”
“The redheads,” I said. “Who want to exonerate Madelaine’s mother.”
“That’s them.” He rubbed his forehead, as if feeling a headache coming on. “I talked just now to the police chief of the town in which Mary Campbell, the mother, was convicted. If I listened to him, I’d probably want to arrest both of those ladies, alibi or no alibi. According to him, they’re both dyed-in-the-wool troublemakers trying to manufacture fake evidence to free a bloodthirsty killer. He even hinted that he wishes he could have found enough evidence to prove they were accomplices to the crime.”
“Wow,” I said. “But you said if you listened to him. I gather you’re skeptical.”
“I overheard some of their side of things yesterday. I’ll need to interview them, of course—even if they’re fully alibied—and check out their story about what Norton did to them, since it could have some relevance to other suspects’ motives for wanting to get revenge on him.”
“And what was their story?”
“That there was ample evidence showing that Mary Campbell was the victim of over ten years of domestic abuse.” His expression had gone grim. “Supposedly the judge refused to admit any of that evidence into court.”
“Supposedly,” I repeated. “You don’t know for sure yet?”
“I have a call into Mary Campbell’s defense attorney,” he said. “We’ll see what she says.”
“That’s good,” I said. “But even if it’s true, what does that have to do with Mr. Norton?”
“In their roundtable session yesterday, Ms. Mays and Ms. Taylor asserted that Mr. Norton poisoned the judge against their relative’s side of the case. And they could have a point. I have been able to determine that Mr. Norton did carry on a remarkably intense online campaign to paint Mary Campbell as a mentally unstable person who wanted to do away with her husband for his life insurance. The local paper took the same line in covering the case, although I don’t yet know if the paper influenced Norton or the other way around or if both got their view of the case from a third source.”
“Like maybe that local police chief?”
“It’s possible.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose—another clue that the case was already giving him a headache. “It’s a very small town, and the police chief and the late Mr. Campbell were both lifetime residents, within a year or two of the same age. And maybe it’s just a wild coincidence that the judge is married to a woman whose maiden name was Campbell, but…”
“Yikes,” I said. “Sounds like they have a great case for an appeal.”
“Festus thinks so. But he also thinks that the local authorities are going to do everything they can to derail the appeal, so it’s not going to be easy. Ah. There’s my next interview subject. If you need me, Ekaterina has me set up in the staff meeting room, right next to her office.”
I saw Ginny Maynard looking around as if lost. Or maybe she just looked that way because I was so used to seeing her as part of a pair, her short, plump figure contrasting with Janet’s tall, lean one. The chief strode over to greet her and led her toward his temporary office.
I was heading over to greet Ezekiel and Ruth when my phone dinged to let me know I had a text arriving. From Michael.
“Safely arrived at Dulles,” it read. “And we just claimed Mom’s luggage. What’s the name of that Thai restaurant she liked so much the last time she was here?”
Not that I’d been overly worried, but it was reassuring to know that something was going as planned. Multiple somethings—his drive, his mom’s flight, her baggage, and giving her a lunch she’d adore. I texted back the restaurant’s name and address, along with a greeting for his mother, and then went over to the fireplace to see Ezekiel and Ruth.