Buzz lifted a hand. “Is the murder of Emily Tunbull part of this guy’s plans, or unconnected to him?” he asked.
“Possibly some of each, Buzz,” Carmine said. “I know this is all old ground, but don’t forget our guy likes to play. Not only with the cops, but with other people who may be victims, suspects, or both. Emily Tunbull definitely wasn’t a part of his master plan, but she confused things. The Savovich sisters now tell a story of being sent the ampoules and letter by mail, and at first not setting much store by it. So they just left the package on their artwork desk, a space they share. Just before Emily’s body was found, Davina discovered that one ampoule had been broken and emptied. It was lying on the desk in the open. Both sisters swear they didn’t use what had been in it. Abe has questioned each of them, I’ve questioned each of them, and Delia made it three of us. Delia, what do you think?”
“That they’ll never budge from that story,” said Delia with a sigh. “They claim their involvement is after the fact.”
“Abe?” Carmine asked.
“Davina says that she told Uda to get rid of everything, but Uda says she wanted to hang onto everything as proof of their story, so decided each of the three items would fit inside a gouache paint tube. As a graphic artist, Davina has literally many dozens of gouache colors, a minimum of six tubes per color. The tubes are lead crimped at the bottom, it’s possible to open them there without cutting them down. That’s what Uda did. She squeezed the paint out, rinsed them, and hid each item in a tube.”
“But they wouldn’t be the same shape as real ones,” Liam objected, marooned on the West Coast during the search.
“Every single tube is a little different,” Abe said patiently. “Lumpy, bumpy — lead paint tubes aren’t sleek. It was weight gave them away, not appearance.”
“And that’s it,” said Delia. “One sister, Davina, wanted to get rid of the evidence, while the other sister, Uda, thought it better to secret the evidence in case it might be needed.”
“Davina was right,” Tony said. “If they’d gotten rid of the stuff, we’d be up that creek.”
“And they would be suspect forever after,” Carmine said. “Uda’s way means it’s out in the open and in a court of law.”
“I wish I knew better why John Hall had to die,” Liam said, looking worn from his flight, but wide awake.
“Complex, Liam. Old times, old sins, old jealousies.”
“So who did kill Emily?” Donny demanded.
“Davina,” Carmine said. “She’s a formidable woman, as only some refugee women can be. What the Savoviches endured in their own country, what they had to do to get out of it, probably beggars imagination. And Davina looks after her own. Uda, baby Alexis, and Max. Emily was a danger to her in some way, maybe unconnected to recent events. Davina is quite capable of using the turmoil provoked by John Hall’s murder to eliminate a perpetual burr under her saddle in Emily. Therefore we set that crime aside. The evidence as to its perpetrators deflects us from our real purpose.”
Carmine lifted his rump from the table and began to pace. “That takes care of the three known tetrodotoxin murders, leaving us with the shooting of Mrs. Edith Tinkerman. The perpetrator knew he couldn’t let her live, but he didn’t want to kill her either. So, we can assume at her request, he visited her in the evening of last Monday, January thirteen, and had a drink with her — after he learned what she wanted to see him about. Obviously, the papers in Tinkerman’s secret drawer. Seconal is bitter, so it must have been a highly flavored drink. Or he may have given her a capsule to swallow with some tall tale as to why she should. Whatever. Then he left her to go to sleep, which she did still sitting at Tinkerman’s desk. Our killer didn’t return until around nine on Tuesday morning, bold as brass, entered her home, and shot her KGB style. All of which says that he hated having to kill her, but wasn’t a bit afraid of being caught in the act.”
“If it’s Hunter, how the hell did he escape attention?” Tony asked. “I’m still racking my brains about that, Carmine.”
“It’s winter. People are wrapped up. The wind had a chill factor that morning, and how much do you notice between your house and your car?” Abe asked. “The ambient temperature was 27°F in Busquash, and the chill factor brought it down into the teens. I can understand why no one noticed Hunter, Carmine, but what I can’t understand is how his ancient Chevy clunker wasn’t noticed — in Busquash? People in Busquash don’t drive clunkers, even high school kids.”