The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [112]
That was good thinking on Henny’s part. The editor and publisher of the Island Gazette would be grateful for the news tip and honor-bound to share his gleanings.
“Then I talked to the head night nurse. Bledsoe’s injury is painful and he’s lost a good deal of blood, but it isn’t serious unless infection sets in. He was shot once in the shoulder, but the shot missed the bone. Kathryn Honeycutt was shot three times.” Henny paused and added gruffly, “Once in the face, twice in the chest. She was dead on arrival.
“According to the head nurse, Bledsoe gave this account: He was awakened by the fire alarm. He smelled smoke and heard pops, which he recognized as firecrackers. That puzzled him, but he felt the alarm must be responded to. He wet some towels and awakened his aunt. She had a traveler’s flashlight. He was opening the door to check the hall when the door was shoved hard against him. Caught by surprise, he stumbled backwards. A flashlight turned on him from the doorway and then a gun fired. He was hit in the shoulder. He dived instinctively for cover. Honeycutt apparently aimed her flash at the doorway, screamed, ‘Oh, you—,’ there was a flurry of shots and Honeycutt fell. Bledsoe staggered to his feet, dizzy and weak from blood loss, found Honeycutt—her flash was lying by her, still on—picked her up, stumbled out to the balcony and yelled for help.”
“Did Bledsoe get a look at their attacker?”
“No. Apparently he dived behind the couch, and the rest of it just took seconds, then he was concentrating on Honeycutt.”
“Did anybody see someone running?”
A pause. Henny said kindly, “Dozens, my dear. You’ve forgotten the fire alarm and the smoke bombs and the firecrackers and the tripped breakers.”
“Smoke bombs and firecrackers and an electrical blackout—you know, we need to think about this, really think about it.” Annie shoved a hand through her unruly hair. “What kind of person would go to such elaborate—”
Henny interrupted impatiently. “Billy Cameron, of course.”
For an instant, Annie thought her best customer had taken leave of her senses. Billy Cameron, Chief Saulter’s assistant, was about as imaginative as a Doctor Watson, though incredibly athletic and—“Oh, God, Billy was watching Bledsoe’s suite. Wasn’t he?”
“You got it. He was pretty relaxed. I mean, nobody’d been out in the hall for a couple of hours. Billy was reading the latest George V. Higgins. Quiet as a graveyard. Then some firecrackers—Billy thought some pretty big ones—went off about a quarter to three. Sounded like it was out near the pool. The lights went out. Billy decided he’d better check it out. He started down the stairs and somebody cracked him over the head. He recovered consciousness at the hospital. Doesn’t remember a thing after he started down the stairs.”
“Billy’s going to be all right?” Annie asked anxiously.
“Fine. Nurse said he’d have a lousy headache for a couple of days, but otherwise he’s okay.” A pause, and, for a moment, Henny dropped her investigator’s persona. “Poor Billy. He figures it’s his fault Bledsoe got wounded and Mrs. Honeycutt killed. Billy said he should have realized he was being decoyed, but his first instinct, at the possibility of fire, was to check, to see if he needed to raise an alarm. The chief told him he’d done his best and he was right to think of all the hotel guests and their safety. But Billy’s lower than a hound dog’s belly.”
“Oh, Henny, please tell Billy we’re all proud of him. We know he did his best. And listen, he’d better be glad he went downstairs to see if he was needed. If he hadn’t, what’re the odds he would be dead now, too? This killer doesn’t care who gets hurt.”
But Annie knew just how Billy felt. To think you might have made a difference was painful, no matter how good your intentions.
Annie’s fingers drummed impatiently on the tabletop. “Dammit, Henny, we need to get out of our rooms and find out