“References to an elephant kept popping up,” Camel told Elizabeth Rockwell. “I questioned people but no one tipped to it. Not knowing what it was or what it referred to was starting to get under my skin. Now I know, that’s why I smiled.”
“You do have a passion for secrets, don’t you?”
He squinted another smile. “Tell me another one.”
“As I said, the East India white knight is a solid-gold elephant … approximately eight inches long and eight inches tall, trunk and right foot raised in triumph, the entire piece heavily decorated with various precious gems, diamonds and rubies and emeralds. I saw it many times in J.L.’s collection and could never decide whether it was beautiful or garish. But its monetary value was never in dispute.”
“Three million bucks.”
“That’s the value we settled on for insurance purposes. What it would be worth on the open market I don’t know … probably more.”
“Where is it?”
“The elephant was stolen.”
“By—”
“I don’t know.”
“After Hope was murdered, J.L. never looked at his collection of chess sets again, I guess they reminded him too much of her. I was executrix of his will which was tied up in probate for a long time, all his possessions held by a security company. When we finally got around to doing a complete appraisal we discovered that the elephant, the real East India Chess Set white knight, had been replaced by a copy cast from brass, studded with false gems made of colored and cut glass. A pretty good copy if you didn’t examine it too closely.”
“Who pulled the switch?”
“Pulled the switch.” The phrase amused her. “We assumed someone connected with the security company, in fact we made a claim against that company’s insurance. J.L. left most of his estate to charity, there weren’t any greedy heirs to pursue the matter.”
“Growler stole the elephant before he went to prison.”
“So it seems. No one suspected Donald because the switch wasn’t discovered until last year, after he’d been in prison for six years. But when he was here last night he was very intent on finding that elephant.”
“Who’s got it?”
“I don’t know. Apparently Donald hid the real knight somewhere in Cul-De-Sac but while he was away someone found it and that has made Donald very, very angry. You see … is this starting to bore you?”
Camel assured her he remained fascinated with everything she was telling him.
Elizabeth smiled and touched her hair. “Obviously I’ve been giving this some thought since Donald’s visit. His best friend, his former best friend, is an artist … maybe Kenneth is a sculptor also.”
“Kenneth Norton?”
“Yes. If Donald and Kenneth, they were always up to something, if Kenneth sculpted a copy of the East India elephant … well don’t you see, Donald lived at Cul-De-Sac and had access to J.L.’s collection and could’ve easily made, pulled the switch. Maybe Donald and Kenneth were planning to leave the country, the white knight financing their life in Europe, Donald was always talking about living in Europe.”
“And the murder, its connection to—”
“Maybe Hope found out about the plot and threatened to tell J.L., although I think it’s vastly more likely that she was in on the scheme from the very beginning.”
“You didn’t like her.”
“I hated her.”
“But not enough to kill her?”
Murray didn’t warn Camel to watch his mouth because Murray had become bored with the conversation, was looking out a window, and failed to catch Camel’s implied accusation.
Elizabeth didn’t take offense either, it was too ludicrous. “No I didn’t kill Hope.”
Camel believed she was telling the truth.
“Until last night I was absolutely convinced Donald had killed her.”
“Until last night?”
“He was enraged. Prison has changed him from a weird and rather delicate young man with a taste for the macabre … he kept severed animal heads in his room … to a well-muscled violent psychopath who’s on a mission.”
“A mission?”
“Revenge upon everyone who helped send him to prison. He was most vociferous in proclaiming his innocence. Of course at the trial he claimed he was innocent too but last night for some strange reason I believed him.”
“Then who do you think killed Hope … J. L. Penner? You were saying before that he benefited by inheriting the girl’s share of Cul-De-Sac.”
“I could see J.L. arranging to frame Donald for the murder but no, J.L. didn’t kill her, he was in love with Hope. Donald was too. In fact I don’t think I can recall one man who was immune to Little Miss Hope Penner.”
“She had a lot of lovers?”
Elizabeth laughed. “A lot? She had legions. A ludicrous number of lovers for a girl so young Mr. Camel. She was … well I can’t think how to describe it forcefully enough without being crude. She was sexually active, promiscuous, perverted—”
“Perverted?”
“Do you know about the photographs?”
Camel knew only that Parker Gray had asked if photographs were found at Cul-De-Sac.
“Mr. Camel?”
“No I don’t know about the photographs.”
“We’d better have more coffee … Murray how’s your Ovaltine?”
“I’m bored.”
“I know you are darling, why don’t you go upstairs and—”
“How long you going to be?”
“Mr. Camel and I are going to drink one more cup of coffee each, then we’ll be done with our chat.”
“Caffeine’ll kill you.”
“I know dear, but so very many things will.”
“I’ll wait for you upstairs … you okay here with him?”
“Yes darling, Mr. Camel means me no harm.”
“Better not,” Murray warned before bear-walking from the kitchen.
She watched his departure with obvious fondness, telling Camel, “He’s such a dear … fun to be with, loyal, totally faithful—”
“Yeah I had a dog like that once.”
Elizabeth started to protest the remark but laughed instead, laughed hard enough to wet her eyes … then looked at Camel and said, “Oddly enough I actually enjoy your company.”
“You’re okay too Beth.”
She considered him for a moment then poured the coffee. “As with everything else Hope did, she was an accomplished photographer … won several awards, displayed in local galleries, I mean the girl really was too good to be true. Built her own darkroom, did her own developing. After her death it was discovered Hope had set up a secret camera in a room where she entertained her many lovers … the room where she was killed. Hope hid the camera up on the ceiling, pointed down at a mattress on the floor, rigged to snap pictures at certain intervals. Mr. Camel you can’t imagine what a collection of photographs she must’ve had … riding instructors, soldiers, policemen, actually anyone in uniform, UPS men I’m sure, various samplings of Cul-De-Sac’s political VIPs … J.L. was active in the Republican party … oh, Hope’s list of conquests goes on and on, local boys, gardeners, visiting TV repairmen, a cousin, maybe an uncle, men she met in bars and dragged back to Cul-De-Sac.”
“Did you see the photographs?”
“No.”
“Then how do you—”
“I’m speculating. The apparatus for taking those photographs was discovered during the murder investigation but the police never found any pictures. At his trial Donald was adamant that the photographs would establish his innocence.”
“Because—”
“I suppose he thought one of her lovers killed her or maybe he was hoping the murder itself had been caught on film.”
“Elizabeth … do you know where the pictures are?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “Just before J.L. died he mentioned Hope’s photographs. Maybe he had them from the very beginning, keeping them hidden to ensure Donald would go to prison and then holding on to them over the years because some very prominent men must’ve been caught on film with that seventeen-year-old girl and J.L. liked having leverage over people, especially people with influence.”
“And one of those influential men killed Hope.”
“Entirely possible.”
Camel finished the coffee, told Elizabeth he was grateful for the information.
“I’m just happy someone is investigating this, I find it incredible that Parker Gray—”
“Parker Gray?”
“Yes, he’s an associate superintendent with the state police.”
“I know but—”
“I find it incredible Parker hasn’t sent a detective to talk with me as he promised when I called him last night, God knows what Donald will do to Kenneth Norton or the Raineys … in fact he might have already done something, he made a veiled reference to having harmed them, you should go over and make sure they’re okay.”
“They’re next on my list to visit but why—”
“Good.”
“Why did you call Parker Gray—”
“The obvious person to call since Gerald McCleany is retired.”
“I still don’t—”
“Mr. Camel you should’ve come to me straight off, I could’ve put all your ducks in a neat little row.”
“You’re right, I wish I had talked to you—”
“Gerald McCleany was the state police detective in charge of investigating Hope’s death.”
“Okay, that I knew.”
“And young Parker Gray was his junior partner.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“I certainly hope not, Teddy.”