Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(45)

“You sound like Deirdre.” Hal’s wife was a writer and teacher. “Anomaly’s above my pay grade. How about, Why was a shot fired if he was already dead? And who fired a gun?”

Sam heaved an irritated sigh. “Coincidence sucks, but maybe somebody was out in the woods and shot off a gun.”

“Once?”

“Seems so.”

Hal persisted. “Right next to a cabin where a guy’s been shot?”

“That,” Sam said ironically, “is the coincidence.”

“Okay.” Hal was equable. “For now let’s skip the seven minutes past ten shot. Whether it killed him or not, he was definitely shot here tonight within the last couple of hours.”

“And the woman we think killed her boss is right on the scene.” Sam’s gaze settled on the chair and the body. “Here’s how I read it. He was sitting in that chair. Jake said he was shot by somebody standing while he was sitting. That correlates with the body slumping off the chair onto the floor.” His gaze flickered to a sofa to the right of the chair. “The sofa is at a right angle to the chair. I picture Ross and a guest, both seated. They had a talk. I’d like to have heard that talk. We can figure that Ross knew something that made him a danger to Wilbur Fitch’s murderer. Ross was used to staying up late, seeing if his boss wanted anything. That was probably true unless Minerva Lloyd was spending the night. I imagine Wilbur gave him those evenings off. Otherwise, he’s on duty until Wilbur sends him away. What happened last night?”

Hal was right with him. “Ross saw something or someone that he linked to Wilbur’s murder. Maybe he was in that cross hallway, about to call it a night, when he heard a knock on Wilbur’s door. Maybe he looked around a corner, saw someone he knew. The visitor didn’t alarm him. Instead, Ross decides he’s off duty and goes downstairs and out to the garage apartment. Or maybe he was on his way to the garage apartment and saw someone in the garden. The person was known to him so he didn’t raise an alarm. He saw someone somewhere. This morning he finds out Wilbur was bludgeoned to death in his study sometime after midnight. He figures the late-night visitor is the killer.”

“He didn’t call us.” There was a note of finality in Sam’s voice. “Instead Ross saw himself riding a gravy train. He knew something, could tell the police something, prove someone was with Wilbur after the party, and no one has admitted seeing Wilbur after midnight. He called Wilbur’s late-night visitor, said something like we have a matter to discuss, like where you were at so many minutes after midnight last night. The police would find that information interesting. But maybe we can work out a deal. I’ll forget all about what I saw for, say, fifty thousand dollars. I’ll take a down payment. Bring five thousand to the lake cabin at, depending on who shot him, either a little before ten if Gilbert’s the perp or a quarter past nine if somebody set her up. After Ross made the demand, he hung up.”

Hal was curious. “Why a quarter past nine?”

The crime techs continued their work, one creating a meticulous drawing to scale of the room and its contents, including Ross’s body, another dusting for fingerprints. A low hum of conversation.

Sam tapped his wristwatch. “Jake pegs him as dead by nine forty-five. If he’s right, the killer probably got here around nine thirty. I doubt they talked long. The killer had already decided Ross had to die. Besides, if Bai—” He caught himself. “—if Gilbert isn’t the perp, the killer had to have time to get her here and then hang around long enough for her to arrive, shoot the gun, get the hell away. Tomorrow I want the woods searched for a gun. And a cartridge. And any traces a car was parked off the road.”

“If the killer isn’t Gilbert”—there was definite doubt in Hal’s voice—“you’re talking a heavy-duty planner.”

“If the killer isn’t Gilbert”—Sam was grim—“somebody did a lot of planning, starting with a fake ransom call to get her to the Fitch study Tuesday night and some kind of call to get her over here tonight.”

“Without leaving a trace anywhere?” Hal was dubious.

“A call to get her here tonight . . .” There was a musing tone in Sam’s voice. He looked at a plump tech with unlikely purple hair and green harlequin glasses. “Abbott, check the phone receiver for prints.”

She nodded, gestured at a table a few feet from her where a landline telephone sat. “That’s next, sir. Almost finished here.”

Hal squinted at the body. “I talked to Ross earlier today. Pretty big guy. Strong. Seemed smart. Pretty stupid to think he could handle a murderer.”

“Terminal mistake.” There was no commiseration in Sam’s voice. Sam didn’t like killers or blackmailers.

Abbott dusted fingerprint powder on the arm of the sofa that sat at a right angle to the chair near the body. She stared at the arm, then pushed her glasses higher on her nose as she turned to look at Sam. She pointed at the sofa. “The armrest doesn’t have a single print. No prints. No smudges. Somebody polished the wood clean.”

Sam looked satisfied. “Alert us if you find any other clean areas.”

“Like you said.” Hal’s gaze was impressed. “Ross in the chair, killer on the sofa.”

Sam pointed at the sofa. “Ross’s guest stood up, walked toward him, reached into a purse or jacket, pulled out a gun, pulled the trigger. That doesn’t square with Gilbert as the perp. She didn’t have time to sit down and have a chat before Warren and Porter heard a shot.”