The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [135]
Posey had had enough. “You sure Clark Kent wasn’t out there that night?”
Annie ignored him. “We all saw Bledsoe go up the side of the building after the vase was pushed over. Without having seen that, I might never have figured it out But Bledsoe couldn’t resist posturing, demonstrating just how brave he was, and revealing just how athletic he was. That explains the bloodhounds, Posey. Bledsoe came down the side of the hotel, climbing down those ornate pillars (and that’s why the lady on the second floor was right; she did see the murderer go by), and then he jumped to the top of the wall and dropped onto the terrace. The bloodhounds picked up the murderer’s trail—Bledsoe’s trail—where he started, not where he stopped. He ran fast, throwing firecrackers and smoke bombs, hurrying to the closet where he pulled the breaker switches, then up the stairs—more firecrackers and smoke bombs—and here came Billy. Bledsoe knocked him out and the coast was clear. Running up to the third floor, he opened his door, woke Kathryn. She would have been very muzzy, very sleepy. He got her up and as far as her door, then he sprinted a few feet to the foyer, turned, pinned her in the flashlight and shot her. Then he stripped out of his clothes, dropped them in his room, got a wet towel, returned to the living room—”
“You amateurs.” Posey luxuriated in his disgust “Think you’re so smart.”
Lady Gwendolyn sniffed. “Annie is absolutely correct on all counts.”
Posey directed a supercilious smile at the English author. “Your lack of knowledge about police work is astounding, madam. Any doctor knows the difference between a contact wound and one from a distance of six feet or more. And Bledsoe was shot from a distance of at least six feet.”
Lady Gwendolyn threw up her hands. “My dear man, obviously Bledsoe took this into account.”
“He didn’t forget that.” Annie shivered. “He didn’t forget anything. He dropped the towel by Kathryn’s body in readiness, wired the gun (he still wore gloves, of course) to the iron grillwork, attached a string to the trigger, carefully stepped off the distance, and pulled the trigger.”
“Shot himself?” Henny asked. Then, she answered herself. “Of course. So macho and a hell of an alibi.”
“It must have hurt like hell.” Annie remembered the little boy who’d refused to cry so long ago. “He didn’t have to hurry now. He picked up the towel, used it to staunch the blood, undid the string from the trigger and the wire from the gun, went out to the balcony and tossed the gun and wire and gloves into the night. You remember there were no lights in the hotel. People were screaming, running across the terrace. It was absolute chaos. Hurrying back to Kathryn, he picked her up, and stumbled out to the balcony.”
“The wire that was found on the terrace,” Saulter didn’t give further provenance, “tested positive for residue from gunpowder.”
“Neil had himself a damn good time, didn’t he?” Hillman said bitterly. “Except—what the hell happened to him?”
Annie looked at the editor in surprise. “But that’s already been made clear—thanks to our outstanding circuit solicitor.” She managed to sound admiring without gagging. “As Mr. Posey insisted—since the door was chained and no one else was visible on the balcony—Bledsoe’s death was most certainly accidental.”
Max’s lake blue eyes narrowed.
Annie faced Posey. “Of course there was a reason why Bledsoe ran to his death. However, we may never know quite how or why it happened. My guess is that he found a picnic basket outside his door. He brought it inside and opened it and—”
Chief Saulter reached down behind the podium and picked up a finely meshed wire cage and dropped open the door. “Handsome fellow, isn’t he? A red rat snake. We found him curled up, fast asleep on top of the four-poster in Bledsoe’s room. Red rat snakes climb real good.”
Someone in the audience said, “Jesus, look at that bloody