The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [134]
“Money.” There was a world of sadness in Annie’s quiet response.
Posey clamped his hands to his hips. “Whose money?”
“His aunt’s. Kathryn Honeycutt’s.”
The circuit solicitor looked like he’d just picked up a hand with thirteen spades. “Would it interest you to know,” he inquired sarcastically, “that Mrs. Honeycutt wasn’t a rich woman? Oh, she had been at one time. But we’ve talked to her bank, checked out her estate”—condescendingly he looked around the room—“amateur detectives lack the resources to fine-comb a victim’s background—”
“Stamps.” Annie spoke with finality.
Posey sensed trouble. “Stamps?”
“American mostly. She collected. Bledsoe knew it I have no doubt that when the contents of her home are evaluated, there will be a fortune in stamps. She once told me, ‘It’s my money. I can spend it any way I want to.’ And a fortune in stamps was even better for Bledsoe’s purposes. What are the odds those stamps would have quietly been lifted and no account given of them in the estate proceedings? Oh, there’s money there. And Bledsoe very deliberately, very cold-bloodedly went after it. He brought the sugar cutter to the conference, knowing that its use as a weapon to kill Stone would confuse the police and perhaps divert the investigation entirely toward Christie fans. He came to this conference knowing that his criticism of Christie would infuriate everyone here. He knew another natural line of inquiry would be directed at his enemies, and he knew that many of those he’d injured in the past would be at this conference. Good, more motives. He persuaded Stone—and I’m sure it will turn out that he took advantage of Stone’s hunger to be published—to fake the ‘attacks.’” Annie’s face tightened. “I imagine it was easy for Bledsoe to convince Stone that the attacks on him were part of a publicity build-up, certain to enhance interest in Bledsoe’s upcoming biography of Christie. Bledsoe must have promised to help Stone meet an editor. So the attacks occurred—and Bledsoe was clearly the object of two murder attempts. All attention was focused on Bledsoe, who was so obviously the killer’s target. At that point, Stone’s fate became certain. He must not be alive when Honeycutt is murdered and Bledsoe wounded. Because Stone alone knew that the first two attacks were bogus. So Bledsoe arranged to meet Stone in his room Tuesday night. Bledsoe knew his own room was being watched—a protective measure—so he went out via the balcony. He detoured by way of Lady Gwendolyn’s room (she’d left her balcony doors open), on an impulse took her cape, then climbed down to the next floor, and hurried to Stone’s room. He had the sugar cutter with him. Probably he made some kind of joke about it. He offered Stone cocaine, then struck him down with the cutter, using the cape as protection against bloodstains. He then smudged the bloody cape against the wall in a trail leading back to Lady Gwendolyn’s room. He’d unlocked her door earlier—what could be easier than tossing in the bloodied cape? Then he regained his own room via the balcony.”
“He was an agile, clever fellow, but altogether a blackguard,” Lady Gwendolyn commented. “At that point the stage was set for the main murder—the death of his aunt.”
“That was quite a production,” Annie said soberly. “Bledsoe was busy as hell the night he killed Kathryn. From the autopsy report, we know that she had spaghetti, a green salad, and ginger ale for dinner. Bledsoe slipped a Valium into her ginger ale. She was a Christian Scientist, had no prescription for Valium, and in fact never took medicines of any kind. But Bledsoe had to be sure she slept deeply that night. It was that single dose of Valium that started me on the right trail. Because it was wrong. And if that was wrong, how wrong were we about everything else? Bledsoe dressed in dark slacks, pullover, sneakers, and the brown cotton gloves that were found on the terrace. Again he left his room by the balcony, without