The Condemned Don’t Pay Well Chapter 4

Ray Irish Mystery Case File #3

[Author’s Note - I’m moving my books to Ingram so my apologies for the delay in this posting.]

It took a while to get back to the spot where Mendez’s body lay. He didn’t want to use the car and attract unwanted attention. Irish found it difficult to believe that he killed the man from the initial look at the body.

He found the corpse, then scanned the area for footprints. After finding nothing of interest, he went back to the body and searched the pockets. The man’s wallet revealed nothing but his name and a few dollars. Ray slid the leather holder back in the man’s pocket before he scrutinized the body. He pulled down the man’s collar to find something he suspected. Around Mendez’s throat, he found a nasty rope burn. Irish grunted at the confirmation, then rose to walk over to the nearby tree.

It took a bit of work, but after climbing into the tree, Irish found the place where something ripped through the bark. It left an impression on top of the thick limb that Ray laid out on. Hanging out on the limb, he got a better look at the damaged bark, which showed the width about the same as the wound on the body below. It would take some experiments to prove it, but the evidence convinced him.

No ghosts or apes here!

Irish frowned at the cold-blooded nature of the killing as he snapped off the light. He sat in the tree, listening to the still night while pondering the case. Three suspects were in the same house, and each might have a motive to kill. However, the method appeared focused on Anderson by the buildup of old tales the old man laid out to Irish earlier.

While Mendez died in a similar manner as Dodson, there was no placard on the tree. The obvious difference came when Ray struck the man hanging from the tree. But it left more questions for the shamus.

Who removed the rope and why?

The only obvious reason came to Irish, and it made him angry. From his view, someone wanted to scare the old man and used Ray as the patsy. Still, it didn’t explain how the rope disappeared from the dead man’s neck. Crawford reached the body before him, but Ray didn’t think there was enough time to remove the rope and hide it.

Irish snapped on his flashlight to light the way down. Almost simultaneously, a gunshot cracked in the night air. The bullet ripped through leaves near his head, almost causing him to fall out of the tree. Scrambling to hold himself on the limb, then turning off the light, he grimaced as the rough bark cut into his ribs. Finally, he slid down to the limb below, where he pulled his .45 out.

There were no more shots, but the would-be assassin must realize Irish remained alive. Otherwise, his body would be on the ground close to Mendez. The shamus heard the underbrush crack and snap. However, the shadows hid his opponent well.

Quietly, Ray lifted the flashlight above his head and propped it into a spot between limbs. After he wedged it into place, he lowered himself down to another thick branch. Holding his pistol toward the underbrush where he heard movement, he turned on the flashlight.

The assassin fired straight at the flashlight. Irish saw the white flare of the person’s gun and he fired two shots in return. However, the angle and distance made him miss. However, his opponent took off, crashing through the underbrush. By the time the shamus got to the ground, he no longer heard the person who shot at him. Ray took off in the general direction, but after a while, he gave up.

A platoon might be in those woods, and I’d never see them.

When Irish arrived back at the mansion, Crawford was pacing the living room floor.

“He’s still in his room. I haven’t heard a word from him,” he said while visibly upset.

“Are you sure that either him or Ainsworth didn’t leave this building?”

The broker looked confused, then shook his head.

“I can’t really say. I’ve been here the whole time. Did something happen?”

“Stay here,” Irish ignored the question. “I’m going to have a talk with Anderson.”

The shamus went upstairs and eventually found a locked door which held the bedroom of Anderson. After several knocks, the man’s voice finally came through.

“Who is it?”

To his surprise, the voice appeared calm and collected.

“Ray Irish, we need to talk now!”

Anderson finally unlocked the door several minutes later. While Irish impatiently waited, he heard scraping noises coming from inside the room. When the door opened, Anderson looked around the hallway before letting the shamus inside.

The first thing Ray noticed was the open balcony window across the room.

“What took so long?” Irish walked past the man and went to the window.

The thick branches of an ancient tree were close enough for anyone to use the balcony for an exit. He glared at the old man, who remained silent for too long.

“Well?”

“I—just wanted to be alone. Being alone helps me think,” Anderson explained, with eyes darting between the window and his closet.

“Seems you’re holding out on me, Mr. Anderson. You’ve lived here in isolation for so long and now everything is happening at once. What do you suspect is happening?”

“I told you that already,” the man told him. “It’s those spirits causing this.”

“Bull!” Irish slammed the balcony window closed. ”Ghosts don’t take potshots at me when I’ve figured out some of this charade. How long have those old signs been on those trees?”

“Wait, what do you mean?” The old man gasped, then turned away while running his hands through his hair. “Someone shot at you?”

He turned back to Ray.

“Those plaques are ancient; you saw them yourself.”

“Somehow, you never noticed them before after living here so long. Why don’t I believe you?”

“No—no, you’ve got it all wrong. I don’t leave the house much, well, not until Dodson discovered them. I told my servants this was rubbish at the start. Their sturdy fellows, not likely to turn tail on me. But I made sure Dodson and Ainsworth walked with me around the estate. I started finding more and more information supporting what the book said.”

The old man was pacing back and forth as he talked. Ray noticed how he kept glancing at his closet.

“You said you trusted your servants. Why the need for them to go with you?”

Anderson stopped his pacing and glanced at Irish.

“Well—you see, that’s when I discovered the information about the tombstones. Ainsworth mentioned it when he came back from getting our supplies from the gate. He said he spoke with the grocer who waited at the gate.”

Irish sighed.

“I know it’s hindsight, but did you ever stop to think that some of this is coincidence or damned convenient? You have a book suddenly appears and right after that all the information magically comes together. Now you believe this tale and you’re a mess. Tell me, why would someone want to kill you?”

Anderson turned away and looked through the window into the night.

“Despite what you think, I’m not a fool. My life has become a hell on earth. In the past, I used to trust people. That got me nothing but heartache,” the old man’s bitterness came out loud and clear.

“I came here so they couldn’t swindle me anymore. Something you said made me realize something. I’ve gotten old and death scares me but, by God, I’ll cheat that gallows tree.”

“Alright, then you need to leave this place. I think you’re only at risk while you’re here.”

The old man gave Ray a thin smile.

“Well, it appears I have a decision to make. Can you leave me? I can’t think unless I’m by myself.”

Irish gave him a glare, then shrugged. After he walked out, he heard the lock click immediately after the door closed.

Ray found Crawford at the bottom of the stairs. The broker appeared more relax after Irish told him some of the conversation.  

“That’s odd, because he’d told me he was afraid to be left alone. The man contradicts himself every time he talks.” Crawford looked up at the dark hallway above.

“What do you think of all this?”

“I have some ideas, but none of them are good,” Irish grunted. “I don’t like the way Anderson is acting. He’s planning something.”