reservation clerk could have known that the voice on the telephone wasn’t your father’s. I think this Graves, whoever he is, maneuvered your parents into his room when they left to go down to the Blue Lagoon. Was able to persuade them to go into 17E.”
“Probably at gunpoint,” Lieutenant Hardy said.
“Oh, wow!” the boy said.
“What I think your mother carried in that brooch, Guy, was a deadly poison. We’ll know for sure presently. There was just a trace of it left in the brooch, and the police lab is testing it out now.”
“Why would Rozzie carry poison?” Guy asked.
“I don’t know this for sure, Guy, but I think she had it to use in case someone planned to harm her to get your father to give away secret information.”
“How could she get anyone to take it?” Guy asked.
“Not anyone, Guy—herself. She could die painlessly, or at least quickly that way, and not be used to force your father’s hand.”
“I’m afraid that’s why the priest wanted you, boy,” Hardy said. “They no longer had your mother to use to force your father to talk.”
The boy’s whole body shook like a palsy victim. He was hanging on Chambrun’s arm as if his life depended on it. “Are you saying that Rozzie—that my mother killed herself?”
Hardy’s grim face offered little hope. “I’m sorry, boy.”
“But that’s in no way certain,” Chambrun said, briskly, like a man getting his second wind. “It’s a pretty sound guess, I think, that this man who calls himself Henry Graves is not a friend of your father’s, Guy. Oh, he may have posed as a friend, even convinced your father that he was a friend. But he was ‘the enemy.’ As such, he would have studied your father carefully and in detail, his habits, his likes and dislikes, how he might react if it came to a showdown. He might know about that brooch of your mother’s and how she intended to use it if it came to it. You think your mother would have the courage to take her own life if the danger was great?”
Tears had surfaced in Guy’s eyes once more. “Rozzie would have the courage to do anything she had to do if my dad was in danger or threatened in some way—or if someone planned to use her to make him betray some of the secrets of his job.”
“It was understood between your parents?”
“They never talked about it in front of me,” Guy said. “But when you suggest it may have been that way, I believe it could have been.”
“So your parents had been forced into Henry Graves’s room,” Hardy said. “Your mother was threatened, or actually attacked in some way, and she took the poison in the brooch.”
It was too much for the boy, and he lowered his face against Chambrun’s shoulder and wept.
Chambrun gave the boy a cheerful pat on the back. “There are other possibilities, Guy. As I suggested, Graves may have known a great deal of intimate detail about your parents. He may have known about the brooch. When he had your parents under his control in 17E, he may have ripped the brooch off your mother’s dress, dumped the poison out of it, and tossed the brooch into the corner of the room. Your mother no longer had her grim method of escape.”
The boy looked up, cheeks tear-stained. “Could that be?”
Hardy answered him. “My lab technicians are going over the room now, boy. If they find traces of the poison on the rug, or on a piece of furniture, it would make Mr. Chambrun’s explanation likely.”
“But if she took the poison, what did they do with her?” Guy asked.
The alternatives were obviously not pleasant to present to the boy. If she had taken the poison and was dead, how had Graves disposed of the body? How could they have taken her out of the hotel, alive, with hundreds of people looking for her? I asked those questions to satisfy my own curiosity.
Chambrun gave me the look of a patient parent trying to deal with a dim-witted child. “You’re not thinking, Mark,” he said. “Hundreds of people were
“Probably at gunpoint,” Lieutenant Hardy said.
“Oh, wow!” the boy said.
“What I think your mother carried in that brooch, Guy, was a deadly poison. We’ll know for sure presently. There was just a trace of it left in the brooch, and the police lab is testing it out now.”
“Why would Rozzie carry poison?” Guy asked.
“I don’t know this for sure, Guy, but I think she had it to use in case someone planned to harm her to get your father to give away secret information.”
“How could she get anyone to take it?” Guy asked.
“Not anyone, Guy—herself. She could die painlessly, or at least quickly that way, and not be used to force your father’s hand.”
“I’m afraid that’s why the priest wanted you, boy,” Hardy said. “They no longer had your mother to use to force your father to talk.”
The boy’s whole body shook like a palsy victim. He was hanging on Chambrun’s arm as if his life depended on it. “Are you saying that Rozzie—that my mother killed herself?”
Hardy’s grim face offered little hope. “I’m sorry, boy.”
“But that’s in no way certain,” Chambrun said, briskly, like a man getting his second wind. “It’s a pretty sound guess, I think, that this man who calls himself Henry Graves is not a friend of your father’s, Guy. Oh, he may have posed as a friend, even convinced your father that he was a friend. But he was ‘the enemy.’ As such, he would have studied your father carefully and in detail, his habits, his likes and dislikes, how he might react if it came to a showdown. He might know about that brooch of your mother’s and how she intended to use it if it came to it. You think your mother would have the courage to take her own life if the danger was great?”
Tears had surfaced in Guy’s eyes once more. “Rozzie would have the courage to do anything she had to do if my dad was in danger or threatened in some way—or if someone planned to use her to make him betray some of the secrets of his job.”
“It was understood between your parents?”
“They never talked about it in front of me,” Guy said. “But when you suggest it may have been that way, I believe it could have been.”
“So your parents had been forced into Henry Graves’s room,” Hardy said. “Your mother was threatened, or actually attacked in some way, and she took the poison in the brooch.”
It was too much for the boy, and he lowered his face against Chambrun’s shoulder and wept.
Chambrun gave the boy a cheerful pat on the back. “There are other possibilities, Guy. As I suggested, Graves may have known a great deal of intimate detail about your parents. He may have known about the brooch. When he had your parents under his control in 17E, he may have ripped the brooch off your mother’s dress, dumped the poison out of it, and tossed the brooch into the corner of the room. Your mother no longer had her grim method of escape.”
The boy looked up, cheeks tear-stained. “Could that be?”
Hardy answered him. “My lab technicians are going over the room now, boy. If they find traces of the poison on the rug, or on a piece of furniture, it would make Mr. Chambrun’s explanation likely.”
“But if she took the poison, what did they do with her?” Guy asked.
The alternatives were obviously not pleasant to present to the boy. If she had taken the poison and was dead, how had Graves disposed of the body? How could they have taken her out of the hotel, alive, with hundreds of people looking for her? I asked those questions to satisfy my own curiosity.
Chambrun gave me the look of a patient parent trying to deal with a dim-witted child. “You’re not thinking, Mark,” he said. “Hundreds of people were
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