The Condemned Don’t Pay Well Chapter 6

Ray Irish Mystery Case File #3

The shamus hurried out on the balcony, then went across the roof to a window leading into the room next to Anderson’s. The old man told Ray about his study next door, which he kept locked as well. Irish locked the door to the study after going into the hallway and pocketed the key.

After going back to the master bedroom door, Ray unlocked the door and handed the key back to Anderson.

“Remember, I’ll signal you.”

The old man nodded; uncertainty filled his face.  

A few minutes later, Crawford met Irish at the bottom of the stairs. The broker hurried up to tell Irish about the shots he heard. He held a flashlight in his hand. It appeared the same type that Anderson carried outside earlier.

“Where is the cook?” Irish barked.

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen him,” Crawford said. “Did you shoot at someone?”

“Come with me, we’ll find Ainsworth.” The shamus intentionally ignored the question as he started toward the kitchen.

“What about Mr. Anderson?”

“Someone tried to strangle him, but I interrupted the party,” Irish replied.

“Is he alright?”

Ray looked at Crawford with a puzzled expression.

“Don’t worry, your gravy train is still alive and kicking. I’ve got him locked in his room. He’s got his gun cocked and ready to fire at the slightest noise.”

Crawford’s face screwed up briefly. Then he changed the subject.

“What do we do now?”

“I’m going after the most likely suspect,” Ray told him. “When I’m finished, we’ll bring Anderson to the car.”

“He agreed to leave?” Disbelief filled the broker’s voice.

“It doesn’t matter. Come on, you can help me find the cook.”

The two men entered the dark kitchen. Ray had his gun out, sending his flashlight beam towards the darkest shadowed areas of the large room. Crawford called out to Ainsworth several times, but only silence greeted them as they pushed through into a servant’s room.

“That’s Ainsworth’s room,” Crawford explained when Ray glanced back.

Irish entered the room, pointing the broker to the closet.

“Open it,” he said.

Crawford nervously pulled open the door and moved aside. However, the closet was empty.

“I guess he wasn’t planning on staying,” Ray observed.

“You think he did this?”

Irish pointed his flashlight to the bed. On top of the cover was an open suitcase, mostly filled with clothes.

“Sure looks like it. Let’s go find him.”

“But my duty is to Mr. Anderson,” the broker protested as he flashed his light into Ray’s eyes. “I’m not a detective.”

The shamus shielded his eyes with one hand.

“All right, do you think you can convince the old man to leave?”

“No, you know that. He’s not been listening to me,” Crawford admitted.

“Then you can go wait outside the old man’s room and talk with him. But be careful. I told him to shoot at anyone coming to that door. When I come back, we’ll take him out of here, whether or not he likes it.”

“How?” the man suddenly wavered. His eyes glanced up at the ceiling. “Anderson is stubborn and won’t leave his room. The power plant isn’t working. Can we get it started again?”

“I’ll see if I can get that engine going again. If not, my car will crash through that gate,” Irish said sharply. “I’ll make sure that I occupy the cook’s time. He’s got to be outside.”

Ray caught the man’s sudden frown at the statement as he went outside.

He pulled his gun again and carefully took the same route around the mansion. The shamus had a pretty good idea about the two rats waiting for him to let down his guard again. Irish confirmed they needed two people to pull off the scheme. Unfortunately for the mastermind, Ray failed to follow their expectations. His stubbornness against the idea of ghosts and specters reinforced Anderson’s desire to remain in the house.

After he left Anderson, Irish kneeled outside the door, waiting for the lock to turn. He inspected the lock and found the key remained in the lock. However, the scratches around the steel place showed him that someone, armed with long-nose pliers, twisted the key from outside to get into the room. The culprit simply grabbed the key on the way out and locked the door.

The shamus felt like he understood the plan now. He berated himself for not seeing some clues earlier. They played him for a fool. Ray planned on smoking them out.

As he got to the old icehouse, he quickly scanned the ground for footprints. However, the high grass made it too difficult to determine the direction from where his attacker went after the exchange of gunfire. The man carefully entered the underground room, but only silence and the smell of diesel greeted him.

When he reached the panel that started the generator, he saw the cut white and black wires drooping down like wilted lilies. The discovery confirmed the guy shooting at Irish worked with his partner to time the event. Still, Ray wasn’t sure why they left Anderson alive. After all, there was plenty of time to murder the man. Irish couldn’t cross the tree limb quickly enough if they really wanted the old man dead.

As he came out of the icehouse, the shamus turned toward the back of the house. The surrounding silence reminded him too much of death. Even the night creatures remained quiet in the trees that encircled the house.

After taking a half-dozen steps, he nearly tripped over an object that looked like a rolled-up bundle lying in the path. Ray pointed the flashlight beam at the object and realized it was a leg.

Drawing closer, he found the body of Ainsworth. His eyes remained open, and his mouth still showed the shock of his death. Ray moved the beam down the body to see the dark stain covering his shirt. A sizable gash near the middle of the man’s chest showed the fatal wound. The man’s right hand laid out on one side with a few of his fingers still looking like they clasped something.

Ray scanned the area with the flashlight, soon finding the expected shell casings on the ground. Three shots, as expected. He picked up one casing and looked it over.

As he worked, he continually peeked back at the house windows on the first floor. Also, he glanced upstairs to the lit room of Anderson as well, but he did not see the old man in the window.

Well, that leaves only one rat!

The shamus kneeled by the body and quickly searched for a wallet. However, he came up empty. The death of the cook certainly changed his thinking, but only for a moment.

There’s no honor among thieves. Or, in this case, murderers!

Irish shut off the flashlight, straightened up. He heard a door open above him and the shamus looked up at the light coming from the balcony. Then something exploded against his skull. Irish reached out with his gun, letting off a shot. However, as he slumped to his knees, his muddled brain knew he missed his target. Another blow sent him face first into the ground. He smelled blood and earth as blackness overcame him.