“Staffing?” asked Ray.

“Let’s bring people in on overtime. And Ben Reilly said he’d like to work occasionally, get him.”

“Okay. I will talk to the cast members and everyone else who was backstage. I’ll let them know what’s happened. I’m sure there’s been a lot of speculation by now. I will get a list of their names, contact information, and where they were at the end of the first act. I’ll try to find out if anyone saw anything suspicious.” Ray, using his phone, checked the time. “Given the hour, unless someone has evidence that would take us to the killer, we should organize an interview process and have people lined up to talk to tomorrow morning. We’ll have Grubbs get us a place to do the interviews and have Shevlin identify everyone backstage at the time of the murder. Is your Jeep close?”

“Near the entrance. I’ll have Harry bring it up here. I’ll be able to start taking photos before Dyskin arrives. After the body is removed, I’ll take some more pictures and start working the scene.”

“What kind of help do you want?”

“Just secure the building. I need to get a sense of this place. It’s not like any scene I’ve ever worked.”

“There’s a wife out there,” said Ray. “I’ll have Grubbs help me locate her and other family members.”

“How about the family?” asked Ray when he next encountered Grubbs standing with Sterling Shevlin in the hallway outside the green room.

“His daughter-in-law, she’s in the cast…well they all knew…she was very upset. Her husband, Elliot, Malcolm’s son, he came back here, and she told him. Elliot took her out of here. There was nothing I could do.” He gave Ray a helpless look.

“How about Wudbine’s wife?”

“I think I’ve told you already, she never comes to colony events.”

Ray stood for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Where do you think they went?”

“Probably to Malcolm’s place, Gull Cottage, unless they went to their own cottage.”

“I want you to go with me. We’ll start at Gull Cottage.”

“Let’s take my golf cart,” suggested Grubbs. “There’s a paved path.”

“Have you seen Gull Cottage?” asked Grubbs, as they slowly rolled along a macadam ribbon through the woods, the dense fog that was blowing off the lake limiting the beam of the headlights.

“No,” responded Ray. He was working to control anger, trying to focus on the crime.

“After his divorce from Verity, he bought this big old cottage, gray-weathered-shake shingle siding, very New England. It was a beautiful place. He modernized and expanded it, ruined the proportions. Then ten or fifteen years ago, he had it leveled. Rumor has it that he was celebrating his first billion. Malcolm loved gulls, he wanted to capture their energy and freedom in a building. Hired a disciple of Saarinan—concrete, cables, titanium, and glass, sort of like the Dulles airport, only more delicate and flight-like. They did a prototype in canvas, making changes along the way. Malcolm wanted it large. The architect convinced him to build smaller, in scale with the landscape and then add guest cottages and other structures away from the shore so nothing would distract from Gull Cottage.”

Ray could see the glow as they approached through the mist, the features becoming clearer as they neared the edifice. One of the twin entrance doors swung open before they had alighted from the cart.

“Hello, Pepper,” said Richard.

“Everyone is gathered in the great room,” the young woman announced, then led the way.

Ray stood for a moment and observed the family and friends scattered across the room on large, carefully arranged groupings of couches and chairs. The room was brilliantly illuminated by the beams of dozens of small lights mounted in the high, sloping ceiling. Everything was in white, the carpeting, the fabric on the furniture, the vaulted plaster arching above. The only exception was an ebony grand piano at the rear of the room, its relative size providing a scale to the dimensions of space. It appeared to Ray to be a mise en scene, the curtain had just gone up and all the actors were in place, silent, holding drinks in delicately shaped martini glasses, looking very composed.

Grubbs provided the opening line to put the scene in motion. “This is the Sheriff of Cedar County, Ray Elkins. Sheriff, this is Mr. Wudbine’s wife, Brenda, his son, Elliott, and Jill, his daughter-in-law.”

Finally Brenda Wudbine looked up at Ray, her manner unsteady, “Elliott told me what happened. Is it true? Is Malcolm really dead?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to tell you that it is true.”

“And that he was murdered?”

“Yes, that appears to be the case.”

“How, how was he killed?”

“We will know more after the autopsy.”

“Sterling said he was stabbed,” said Jill.

Everyone in the room looked at Ray. “It appears that he died of a puncture wound. Like I said, we will have a precise cause of death after the postmortem examination.”

“And when will that happen? When will the body be returned to us?” Jill asked. “We need to begin planning his funeral. My father-in-law was a very important public personality. We need to plan an event that’s befitting his many life accomplishments.”

“I will know more by Monday. In the meantime I will need to talk with each of you and the members of your staff.”

“What on earth for? How would I know anything about this?” asked the new widow, pique in her tone.

“Sheriff,” said Jill Wudbine, “we need time to adjust to this. I think we need to be alone.”

“I plan on beginning these interviews tomorrow.”

“Sheriff, I was Malcolm’s personal attorney for the last two decades. From this point forward I will act as the family’s legal counsel in this matter,” her tone flat and businesslike. “I will facilitate scheduling these interviews at a time that’s convenient to family members and not disruptive to work schedules of our employees. You must understand that Mr. Wudbine’s death comes as a great shock to all of us. If you provide a phone number, I will be in contact. Now please leave us to our grief.”

Ray handed her a business card. “I will begin the interviews tomorrow afternoon. Memories fade quickly. I need your cooperation in finding the killer.” He spoke directly to Jill Wudbine, then slowly made eye contact with the other people in the room.

Jill rose, she appeared to Ray to be a bit unsteady. “Ms. Markley will escort you out, Sheriff. I will be in contact with you relative to the interviews in the morning.”

Once outside, Ray walked across the drive and then turned back toward the structure. He wanted to get a sense of the building, and he needed a few moments alone to reflect on what had just happened.

“She has a heart of ice, doesn’t she?” said Grubbs as Ray slid onto the seat of the golf cart.

“Who is that?”

“Jill, the family attorney. No emotion with that woman, ever. She’s totally cognitive. I hope she doesn’t get in your way too much. She’s probably more into protecting the family than finding out who killed her employer, father-in-law, whatever.”

12

Ray was leaning against his car stretching his back when Sue’s Jeep came creeping up the narrow road. She parked next to him.

“Short night,” he said, lifting his vacuum coffee mug.

“Too short, way too short.” She took a long moment to stretch, leaning against her Jeep and rotating from side to side, extending her back. Then reached back into her vehicle and retrieved a tall cardboard coffee container.

“What did you learn from Dr. Dyskin?”

“Not much more than Hanna told me. The victim died from the wound near the base of his skull. Dyskin said that it appeared to have been made by an extremely sharp instrument. The skin was cut rather than torn. He also said that a lot of force would be needed to drive the weapon through the spine. And he went on to say that in his long tenure in Wayne County looking at hundreds and hundreds of murder victims, he’d never seen anyone killed in quite this way.”