The Condemned Don’t Pay Well Chapter 5

Ray Irish Mystery Case File #3

Ainsworth, the cook

Irish paced around the library for a while, waiting for Anderson. He told Crawford some of the conversation and the broker’s expression could not contain his joy.

“That’s great news. We can finally get out of here.”

“It will certainly change my idea about who committed the murders.” The shamus pulled back a curtain to look outside.

“What do you mean?” Crawford asked. “Do you really think someone killed those men? That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

Ray stared at the man for a moment.

“No, it’s cold-blooded and calculated. And the signs point to the owner of this place.”

“Christ, that’s impossible,” the broker stood up from the couch. “Anderson couldn’t do something like that.”

“Start asking about motive and opportunity,” Ray replied calmly.

The tubby man’s eyes widened at the thought. He started pacing around the room. Irish watched him with interest as the man placed his arms behind his back and thought about the implications of Ray’s statement.

“It doesn’t make sense. Why bring a private detective into a place where you want to murder people?”

“From what I’ve seen, certain people have inflated egos of themselves. Maybe it’s a test of wits?” Ray shrugged, looking back out the window.

“Or it’s providing himself with an alibi,” Crawford suggested. “Could Mr. Anderson order me to bring you up here so he could commit murder and have an alibi at the same time?”

“That’s not bad,” Irish agreed. “But I don’t see a motive.”

“Maybe Mendez and Dodson had something on Mr. Anderson? After all, the old man acted like they were his friends, but he never seemed that close to him. At least, not until tonight.”

Ray glanced over at Crawford.

“I sense that you like mysteries,” he joked.

“Well, I do pride myself on solving those mystery radio programs you hear each week,” the broker pulled on his suit’s lapels with smugness showing on his face.

“Well, that’s interesting…” Irish suddenly pushed away from the radio and headed toward the front door of the mansion.

“Where are you going?” Crawford’s surprised tone caught Ray’s attention.

“I thought I saw someone moving around outside. Stay here and stay alert. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Once outside, the shamus immediately took a path toward the shadow he saw outside a few minutes before. As he reached the edge of the mansion, Ray peaked around the corner. However, the darkness swallowed up any traces of the person he saw earlier. As he rounded the corner, he heard metal scraping along concrete.

Placing his hand on his gun that was tucked under his arm, Irish moved through the shadows next to the house. The darkness made it hard to see, but the increasing level of noise caused by the generator’s exhaust told him he was getting near the power plant.

Crawford told Ray that Anderson was too cheap to bring in electric lines from the road. So, the old man got his electricity from a surplus diesel generator he had installed in the old icehouse next to the mansion.  

As he drew closer to the icehouse, Ray noticed the open door. The light shining down from the second floor only partially showed the ground. An ancient tree blocked off the reminder of the light coming from Anderson’s room.

He looked up to see the balcony door was open again and the shadow of Anderson pacing showed through the curtains of one window. A closer look at the tree showed Irish one heavy limb came parallel with the balcony.

Looks like a quick way to leave or enter his bedroom.

As he contemplated his next move, Irish glanced over at the open door of the icehouse. He drew closer and saw the outline of the loud generator as it ran. Guessing Ainsworth might have checked to see if the power plant had enough fuel for the rest of the night, he called out to the cook. However, nothing moved inside the room, and he heard no reply.

Must have gone back inside.

Standing below Anderson’s lighted window, Ray noticed the old man was no longer near the window. His earlier conversation with Anderson still bothered the shamus. The man’s sudden need for isolation, along with a tree to escape his room, was obviously suspicious. Yet Ray couldn’t believe Anderson had the strength to haul up unconscious men into trees, even with the help of a partner.

Looks like I’ll ask him a few more questions after I go in the back door.

He looked over the enormous tree trunk and pulled himself up to the large first branch. A few minutes later, Irish was out of breath and cursing himself for acting like a kid. Wearing a suit and leather shoes made the journey to third limb difficult. However, he was almost opposite the illuminated balcony window.

As Ray caught his breath, he watched Anderson pace for a moment, then stare at his closet. Finally, the old man went to the closet door and opened it. Surprisingly, the man stayed in the closet. While the shamus waited, he grew curious.

Who stands in the closet for that long?

As Irish took a step toward the balcony to step off the limb, he heard a mantel clock start to chime from the bedroom. Then the generator suddenly stopped. Immediately, every light in the house went out, leaving him standing out on the limb in the dark. He dropped to a crouch to keep from falling.

A half second later, a gunshot rang out, sending bark down on his head. As the man pulled his gun, he focused his attention on the ground near the icehouse, where the shot came from. A shadow moved, and pulled the trigger on his .45 auto three times. The flash from his gun partially blinded him.

As he scanned the dark shadows below, he could no longer see the vague outline from before. Irish suddenly heard a weak cry coming from the bedroom.

Anderson!

He immediately climbed up the tree, heading back to the closet limb to the balcony. Dangling precariously over the ground with one hand still holding his gun, the shamus jumped to the second floor of the mansion.

When he entered the bedroom, he heard a tussle on the ground near the door. A weak gasp came to Irish amid the noise as he pulled his flashlight and turned it on.

On the floor by the open door to the bedroom, he saw two figures rolling around. However, the beam of the flashlight caused the person on top to suddenly scramble away, quickly closing the door as they retreated into the hallway.

Irish ran to the door, finding it locked. He stubbornly tried to pull on the doorknob for a couple of seconds when he heard the wheezing voice of Anderson behind him.

“He had—another key,” he coughed out. “He locked it from the other side.”

Ray’s flashlight blinded the old man when he turned around. However, around his neck was a short noose, which Anderson was trying to loosen.

“What the hell!”

The shamus went over and helped Anderson remove the noose. Then, he helped him to a chair where the man leaned back, struggling to hold his emotions in check.

“I had my door locked, and he still got in—right when the lights went out, I heard something make a clicking sound, as if the key was being turned from outside. When I went to my revolver, someone struck me and got this damn noose around my neck. He was trying to strangle me before you showed up.”

He looked around suddenly.

“I heard shots. What happened?”

Irish stood over the man, debating how much to say. He sighed as he went over to pick up the revolver from the floor. The shamus opened the breech and grunted. The weapon remained unfired.

“I tried to get the gun but—that’s all I know,” Anderson explained. “I want to leave this house at once.”

“Well, I’ve figured out that you have two people involved in this scheme,” he said. “Somebody shooting at me from the ground while you’re getting strangled on the second floor. That’s the second time it’s happened. Plus, we have only two other suspects besides you. I’m not a genius detective, but it doesn’t sound like a ghost to me.”

Ray leaned over to the man.

“Now, are you ready to fight back, or do you want to run away?”