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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Duke Serisburg’s mountain retreat was smaller than Chomps had expected: two floors, maybe three times the size of Devereux’s home, with a modest four-car parking area. Apparently, the duke had been serious about this being a place to get away to, as opposed to an alternative venue in which to entertain friends or impress colleagues.

Still, the outside stonework was definitely on the elaborate side, as was the tailored landscaping.

Previously tailored, anyway. In the months since the deaths the groundskeepers seemed to have abandoned the place. Hopefully everyone responsible for the retreat’s interior had gone away, as well.

Including whoever had set the duke up to be murdered.

The place hadn’t been neglected to the point of leaving any of the doors and windows unlocked, of course. But Chomps hadn’t expected it to be that easy.

He began by walking around the building, checking and observing, making careful mental notes of anything that looked like it might be the mark of a breaching tool. Finishing his first circle, he took another round, this time paying special attention to the second-floor windows and the sections of wall beneath them.

Terry spent that time at the front of the house, leaning against the side of her car with her arms folded across her chest in silent protest.

Finally, Chomps returned to the front door. “Well?” Terry asked.

“He got in around back,” Chomps said. “Do you want to see it, or should I just go in and open the front door for you?”

Terry pushed herself away from the car. “Lead on.”

With Chomps in the lead, they walked to the back of the house. “There,” he said, pointing up at one of the second-floor windows. “The frosted glass on the lower half marks it as a bathroom, traditionally one of the favorites of the break-and-enter crowd.”

“How did he get up there?” Terry asked. “That wall’s sensor-pocked six ways from April. Putting a ladder or platform anywhere near it would trigger an alarm.”

“Which is why he didn’t use a ladder.” Chomps turned around and pointed to a nearby tree—a Shelton willow, he tentatively identified it. “You can see that that branch is long enough to get someone into working distance of the window without touching the wall hard enough to trip the sensors. All he had to do was bend the branch to the horizontal, climb along it, and he was in.”

“Lucky for him Shelton willows are that flexible.”

“I doubt there was any luck involved,” Chomps said. “Just lots of good planning.”

“And some damn good fine-tuning,” Terry murmured. “Especially since he had to figure out how his weight would affect the limb’s dip and compensate for it.”

“Oh, this guy’s a pro, all right,” Chomps agreed. “You might want to start a data search for the upper crust of the B and E types.”

“Already on it,” Terry said, punching keys on her uni-link. “And this part, at least, will be admissible.”

“Right,” Chomps said. “So far everything we’ve done has been in plain sight.”

“I assume that’s about to change?”

“It is.” Chomps took a deep breath. “Okay. He probably used weights or guy lines to adjust the branch. Let’s see how it handles Sphinxian body mass.”

Given the grounds’ state of neglect, he guessed that the alarm system had likewise been shut off or at least was no longer being monitored. Still, he watched Terry out of the corner of his eye for a warning as he carefully crept along the branch toward the house. The limb was dipping more than he really wanted, and by the time he got within arm’s length of the window the end was scraping the wall. “Any alerts?” he asked.

“Nothing yet,” Terry said, peering at her uni-link. “I assume the window has its own set of alarms?”

“It did,” Chomps said, studying the frame. “Our murderer has kindly done all that disabling for us. Let me get this open and I’ll come around and pop the front door for you. By the way, did you ever find out who stood to gain from the duke’s secret will?”

“We couldn’t even find the duke’s secret will,” Terry said sourly. “If it even exists, which I’m starting to doubt. Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because this little exercise would seem to prove that none of the duke’s staff was involved in setting him up,” Chomps said. “No need to go to all of this effort if you already have a key to his retreat.”

“So any household bonuses that might be in the will are off the table.”

“Which would seem to leave the ex-wife,” Chomps said as he worked at the window latch. “Or any boyfriends, current husbands, or hungry lawyers. Anyone like that in the picture? Or hasn’t anyone bothered to look?”

“Well, I’ve looked,” Terry said. “So far nothing. The ex remarried four T-years ago, and they live way the hell over in San Giorgio. I haven’t found any record of them coming to Serisburg in at least three T-years.”

“Does she need money?”

“Doesn’t everyone? Seriously, though, they seem to be doing pretty well for themselves.”

Which could be more illusion than reality, Chomps knew. But natural cynicism aside, he had to concede the ex was looking less and less like a good candidate. “Okay, I’ve just about got it. Go back around, and I’ll let you in.”

As he’d guessed, the window did indeed open into a bathroom. Not just a bathroom, though, but the duke’s private spa bath suite. Even as Chomps worked his way through the window and set off across the thick white carpet he found his face warming at some of the decorations and sculptures along the walls. Clearly, the duke and duchess had had a healthy and robust relationship.

He passed through the spa and master bedroom and out into the hall. Four other, much smaller bedrooms were at the other end—the children’s quarters, presumably. Midway along the hall was a wide wooden staircase leading down to the edge of a greatroom. Chomps started down, pausing halfway to give the greatroom a brief bird’s-eye scan. Everything seemed a little dusty, but he didn’t spot anything that was obviously wrong or misplaced. A pair of glass-fronted gun display cases flanked the fireplace, with a nice mix of modern and antique weapons. Circling around the edge of the room, he walked through the foyer to the front door. There he paused again, studying the three sets of locks on the door and the security control box set into the wall. Keying what he hoped was the off switch, he unfastened the locks and opened the door.

Terry was waiting, her hands gloved, her sour expression firmly in place. “You stop for a nap or something?” she growled.

“I was looking at the security system,” Chomps said, pointing to the box. “Are you sure the house hasn’t triggered an alarm?”

“Well, if it has, no one at the office is paying attention,” Terry said, consulting her uni-link again. “Nope. Nothing. Probably set just to fire off a local alarm instead of sending to a remote.”

Chomps focused on the landscape of trees and mountains stretching out behind her. “Like there’s anyone out here to hear anything.”

“Maybe it was reset after the accident when caretakers were coming in and out and tidying up.”

“If they were tidying, their hearts weren’t in it,” Chomps said. “There’s dust everywhere.”

“It’s not much fun cleaning a dead man’s house,” Terry said. “For the record, there’s no sign of forced entry.”

“I thought we agreed he came through the window.”

You agreed he came through the window. The stuff in the back of the house could have been a red herring.”

“I suppose,” Chomps murmured, an odd thought suddenly occurring to him. “I wonder if it could have been a sudden threat that caused the duke to grab his family and take off.”

“You mean like an intrusion alarm going off from the rear of the house?” Terry shook her head. “No, he wouldn’t run. Not the duke. You throw even a hint of trouble at him—” She broke off. “And he would go for his guns. That’s how we see if he was reacting to an alarm.”

“Doesn’t look like any of them are missing,” Chomps said, taking another look at the gun cases. “All the display prongs are taken.”

“Did you look under the bed in the master bedroom?”

“I glanced at the edges near the headboard,” Chomps said. “There was nothing obvious.”

“Go double-check,” Terry said. “I’ll see if there’s anything in the kitchen.”

“Okay,” Chomps said, heading back to the stairs. “And don’t forget the pantry.”

“You think he might have had one of those quick-and-dirty safe rooms put in?” Terry called after him.

“A lot of the Lords did,” Chomps said over his shoulder. “The Volsung invasion got people worried about fifth columns, and retrofitting a pantry was one of the cheaper ways to feel safe.”

Feel being the operative word,” Terry said sourly. “If you find a gun box and it’s empty, don’t touch it.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chomps called back. “I had figured that out.”

But she was already gone. Rolling his eyes, Chomps headed up the stairs.

There were no gun boxes under either side of the bed. Or in the nightstands, behind the headboard, in the master bath, or either closet. He left the bedroom and headed back down the hall, studying the walls for signs of a hidden compartment. Some of the Lords had put in those, too. He reached the stairs and started down—

“Chomps!”

He had the Drakon out and unsafetied before he reached the foot of the stairs. He hit the door jamb leading into the kitchen, bouncing off at an angle across the opening in case there was someone in there ready to open fire.

And came to a confused halt. Terry was standing in front of the double-sized refrigerator, staring at the closed door, a rigid expression on her face.

“What is it?” Chomps demanded, trying to look all directions at once as he crossed to her.

“Open the door,” Terry instructed, taking a step backward. Her voice was as rigid as her face.

Chomps stepped up to it, feeling his teeth setting in anticipation. Keeping his gun ready, he pulled open the door—

And slammed it shut again as a horrible odor slammed into his nostrils.

“Oh, my God,” he breathed.

“Relax—it’s not that bad,” Terry said, some of the life starting to come back into her voice. “We’re not talking about a dismembered body or anything. It’s just sour milk.”

Chomps frowned, running the last wisps of odor across his memory. Sour milk, all right. “Yeah, got it,” he muttered, feeling like an idiot.

“You’re missing the point,” Terry said. “There are a half dozen cartons of chocolate milk in there. Probably Benjamin’s.”

“He’s the one who had the cold?”

“Yeah,” Terry said. “Anyway, he loved the stuff. The problem is that properly sealed milk should never go bad—that’s what sterilization’s for. So what happened?”

“Must have left one open when they rushed out.”

“They didn’t. All the cartons are still sealed. I saw that much before I closed the door.”

“But one of them was opened to the air,” Chomps said slowly. “If it still looks sealed, that means it was done surreptitiously. Something was taken out…or something was put in.”

For a long moment neither of them spoke. “The child wasn’t just sick,” Terry said, her voice soft and dark. “Someone made him sick. Sick enough that the duke bundled the whole family into the air car and headed for home and a doctor.”

“Why didn’t he screen ahead?” Chomps asked.

“Why did he crash?” Terry countered. “I’m guessing it’s part of the same package.”

“And so he piled them all in,” Chomps said, wincing, “and drove them to their deaths.”

Terry hissed out a curse. “It wasn’t just the duke. They wanted the whole family.”

Chomps nodded. And with that, the card castle he’d been trying to build out of motive, method, and opportunity—a castle that had never been solid enough to stand up—was suddenly gone. In its place…

He looked at the refrigerator. “We need to go back in there,” he said.

“Not we,” Terry countered. “I. And this time, we need that warrant.”

“We still have the problem that getting a warrant will tip our hand.”

“No way around it,” Terry said. “If we’re right, this whole thing is a lot nastier than anyone thought. We need a proper chain of evidence. You and I will just have to stand guard over the house until Vespoli and an analysis group gets here.”

“Wait a second,” Chomps insisted. “Let’s think this through. I saw—” he pulled up the mental image “—five cartons of chocolate milk in there. Right?”

“Six,” Terry said. “There was one more off to the side.”

“Fine, six,” Chomps said. “If someone gimmicked them to make the boy sick—who said he had a cold, by the way?”

“It was in the report.”

“I know it was in the report,” Chomps growled. “I’m asking who put it into the report.”

“I don’t know,” Terry admitted, frowning. “It was cold season. I suppose someone made an assumption and it just stuck.”

“No one did autopsies?”

“Of course,” Terry said. “But I’m guessing no one looked past the obvious trauma of the accident. Plus the duke’s supposed alcohol level.”

“Yeah,” Chomps said. Sloppy, like so much else connected to this case. “Fine. So we—”

“Hold it,” Terry interrupted, pulling out her uni-link. “Something coming through.” She keyed it, and Chomps saw her eyes tracking as she read the report.

Saw her eyes falter. Saw them slow down.

“What is it?” he asked.

She closed her eyes briefly. “They found Devereux,” she said quietly. “He was pinned under his car in his garage.”

Chomps stared at her, feeling a sickness in his stomach that had nothing to do with the lingering odor of sour milk. “Damn. How?”

“They think he was working on the counter-grav and the jack slipped,” Terry said.

“So they’re calling it an accident.”

“There’ll be an investigation. But yeah, that’s probably how it’ll go down.”

“Like hell it will,” Chomps bit out. “They send you pictures?”

“They’re coming through now,” Terry said, flicking through various pages. “No signs of a struggle…jack fallen to the side…nothing that looks staged…a bunch of tools laid out…yeah, it looks exactly like an accident.”

“The killer probably spun some sort of plausible story that got him out to the garage,” Chomps said. “Maybe said there was something dangerous under his car that he needed to get rid of.”

“Or there was some evidence there that would link the car to the duke’s death,” Terry offered doubtfully.

“Let me see,” Chomps said, holding out his hand.

“Sure.” Terry handed over the uni-link. “I just can’t believe he fell for whatever the story was. I’d have thought having his shed blown up would have kicked his paranoia level into the stratosphere.”

“So would I,” Chomps agreed, scrolling through the pictures. Devereux on the garage floor, his head and torso blocked from view by the car. A closer view of the scene, showing the tools laid out neatly beside him. A close-up of the garage door, showing no forced entry.

He frowned, scrolling back a shot. The tools…

He looked up at Terry. “He didn’t fall for it,” he told her. “He was playing along, hoping for an opening to get away. Only he never got one. But he left us a clue.”

“Where?” she asked, stepping close beside him and looking at the uni-com.

“Right there,” Chomps said, pointing at the tools. “Screwdrivers, wrenches, probes, disconnects…and a chisel.”

“That’s a clue?” Abruptly, Terry’s eyes widened. “I’ll be damned. A chisel.”

“The tool he said he’d used to get the computer out of the wrecked car,” Chomps confirmed. “And that tells us where he hid the computer.”

“He put it back in the car?”

“Exactly,” Chomps said. “The killer must have looked at the car some time after he blew up the shed and realized it was missing. He probably poked around for a few days, checking to see whether it had turned up in the sheriff’s evidence locker—”

“Or in your room in the inn.”

“Or there,” Chomps agreed, wincing. “When it didn’t, he realized Devereux must still have it and went to his house to look.”

“But in the meantime Devereux had hidden it in the last place anyone would look,” Terry said. “Because everyone had already looked there.” She plucked the uni-link out of his hand. “Come on—we need to get back there.”

“In a minute.” Chomps pointed to the refrigerator. “This first.”

Terry looked at the refrigerator, pursed her lips, then looked back at Chomps. “All right. Convince me.”

“Okay,” Chomps said, working through the logic. “Whoever wanted the boy sick couldn’t know which box of milk they’d pull out for him, right?”

“Probably the closest,” Terry said. “But the killer could hardly take that chance. You’re saying he gimmicked all of them?”

“Right. If he injected them with something, that would have provided the opening for bacteria to get in and start the souring process.”

“So we could take one carton and get it analyzed, and if it’s positive for something nasty we can come back with a warrant and use that to get the other ones tested.”

“With a clear chain of evidence,” Chomps said. “We won’t have touched or disturbed those cartons, which will presumably still hold the fingerprints and DNA of the duke’s family.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or, if we’re lucky—”

“The killer’s?”

Chomps nodded. “If we’re really lucky.”

For a long moment she looked at him, her mouth half puckered. Then, she huffed out a breath. “It still may not fly,” she warned. “But you’re right. The killer’s already tried to get rid of the car computer. We don’t want him getting to the drugged milk, too.”

“Yeah.” Chomps looked at the refrigerator. “I wonder why he didn’t come back and clean everything out months ago.”

“Maybe he figured interest in the case was dying down and didn’t want to risk another intrusion.” Terry hesitated, then handed him her uni-link. “Fine. But I’ll do all the collecting and bagging. You’ll stand out of the way and record everything.”

“How about I record with both?” Chomps suggested, taking his own uni-link in his other hand. “A dual record’s always harder to corrupt or alter. Any idea who we’re going to bring this to, by the way?”

“I have a couple of ideas,” Terry said. “Let’s worry about that after we get the sample.” She pulled out an evidence bag from the dispenser on her belt and cleared her throat. “Okay, start recording. This is Sheriff’s Deputy Theresa Lassaline, recording from Duke Serisburg’s mountain retreat on the seventh day of…”

Chomps watched in silence, recording Terry’s every move, sorting these new bits of data into the stack in his mind. The computer was still the key, but if Devereux had indeed hidden it right under the killer’s nose that key would soon be available to them.

And if his growing suspicion on what that key would show proved to be correct, he might have the pieces he needed to finally make this card castle stand.


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