Fractal Paisleys by Paul Di Filippo

Author:Paul Di Filippo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 1997-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

3.

Detective Grady Stumbo was not in the habit of talking aloud to himself. He had emerged from the Tiger Cages of the Viet Cong without resorting to that stratagem, though it had cost him an arm. He had survived twenty rough-and-tumble years on the force without developing such a quirk. Innumerable cases had been cracked without resorting to interrogating himself. But there was something about the death of Felix Wren that had broken down all his carefully shored-up compunctions against self-interlocutory abuse.

As he drove with one-handed dexterity toward the Wren estate, Detective Stumbo found himself recounting salient facts of this most puzzling case, along with the startling recent developments that had dragged him out just as he was settling behind a large stack of paperwork, having returned from Felix Wren’s funeral and the unsatisfactory attempt at unsettling that damned widow’s complacency.

“No bruises or signs of struggle on Wren. Almost like he cooperated, for Christ’s sake! He knew the killers, that’s certain. But no prints on the needle other than his. That’s easy enough to arrange, though. That Staggers is a bad one. Record a mile long. Been in and out of the pen more times than a hungry hog. Georgia boys think he killed his wife, but they never found her corpse. He claimed she ran away. Couldn’t pin anything on him without a—”

Stumbo removed his hand from the steering wheel and smacked his forehead. His old Escort began to track over the center line, and he pulled it back.

“Of course! What a fool! She did take it on the lam. New identity too. Countess Balyban, my ass!” Stumbo forced himself to cool down. “But even so, I still can’t nail them for Wren’s murder. It’s all circumstantial. The most I could get them for would be forgery, bigamy, kids-stuff. If the will mentions her by name, she’d probably even still end up with the money. If only there was a witness.…”

Using his knees to steer, the detective went through his cigarette routine. “Maybe this latest action is the break I need, though. An intruder in Wren’s lab. Could be an employee who knew something. Accomplice who had a falling-out, trying to pick up evidence we missed to cover his own ass? The dispatcher said the bitch sounded really upset. Maybe she’s gonna crack. Something crazy about a dog, too. Could there be a clue in the kennel? I thought we searched it good.… Shit! It still doesn’t add up! Now, what was Stagger’s wife’s name…?

Stumbo got on the radio. By the time he was pulling into the Wren property, he was muttering, “Perfidia, Perfidia—” Then, a shout: “Yeah, that old Ventures tune!”

Feeling as if he had cracked the whole case, Detective Stumbo parked confidently in front of the mansion, emerged and strode to the front door.

Rowdy Staggers appeared in answer to the bell. He was holding a wet cloth stuffed with icecubes up to a large goose-egg the color of a tropical sunset on his forehead.

“Oh, it’s Lefty,” said the chauffeur.

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