An Unconventional Murder (5 page)

"That figures. I've never seen a blizzard like this. I'm Arthur Upton, by the way.
President of the CFWA."

Cameron grunted an acknowledgment.

"What are we going to do?" Rena said. "I don't mean to sound insensitive, but we've got
two more sessions in this room this afternoon. We can't just leave a dead body--"

"We'll have to hold them somewhere else" Upton told her.

"Why? He probably just had a heart attack or something. Can't we just -"

"Rena, this matter isn't as simple as it seems."

"Oh?" Cameron said. " What are you suggesting, Mr. Upton?"

Upton felt bitterness rising up into his throat, making it hard to even speak. "Rena, do
you remember when I first arrived at the hotel this morning, I asked you if anyone had turned in
my ski hat?"

"I do. But what--"

Upton aimed an accusing finger in the direction of the dead man. "It's sitting on that
man's head!"

"What are you talking about?" Rena said. "How could your hat be--"

"I have no idea. But that's my hat. I have no doubt about that."

Cameron squatted down next to the corpse. "Are you suggesting he met with foul play
because he's wearing your hat?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Upton growled. He focused upon the dead man with
narrowed eyes. "It just strikes me as very peculiar that he's wearing my hat. And that's not all.
Rena, go find Royce Fontaine. There's something I want him to take a look at. Come to think of
it, round up the whole CFWA Executive Board. Quietly, of course. But hurry!"

"Yes, your highness," she snapped, glaring. "I'll go fetch them." She stormed off.

"Do you know who he was, Mr. Upton?" Cameron said.

Upton shook his head but kept his gaze focused on the corpse. "I have no idea. I've never
seen him before. I'm hoping someone on our Executive Board will be able to I.D. the body."

In a quietly assertive voice, Cameron said, "Tell me about the hat."

Upton looked up sharply. He took his time considering the implications of the question.
"I had it with me last night. I'm sure of that. It was probably stuffed in one of my coat pockets.
This morning I was running late and I couldn't find a parking space under the hotel. When I
realized I'd have to hike through the snow, I reached for my hat. It wasn't there."

"Why were you asking Ms. Oberhaus about it at that particular point in time?"

"She's in charge of this convention. She also happened to be the first person I bumped
into when I arrived this morning. I figured, if anyone had turned it in, she was the most likely
person to know about it. But no luck. Of course, I had no idea it would wind up on the head of a
dead man."

"I see," Cameron said. "When Ms. Oberhaus came to get me, she mentioned something
about a murder mystery. What was that all about?"

"One of the convention volunteers told us that people had been asking about the fake
body in this room. They thought we'd cooked up a murder mystery to liven up the convention. It
actually would have been a nice touch, had we thought of doing it. But we didn't. Of course, I had
no idea there was a real dead body in this room. Especially one dressed like that."

Cameron looked toward the body and observed, "He certainly is dressed strangely."

"That's why I want the board members to take a look at him. There are things that may
be significant about--"

Rena entered the room, accompanied by the members of the CFWA Board: Royce
Fontaine; Randy Callahan AKA Theia Rand; Suzanne Gibbons-Powers and Ashley Wade, a
distinguished-looking man in his forties.

She herded them over to where Upton and Cameron were standing. "I haven't told them
anything yet."

"Good thinking." Addressing the newcomers, Upton gestured toward the corpse. "We
have a problem, folks."

Everyone spoke at once.

"What sort of problem?" Royce wanted to know.

Suzanne GP blinked her blue eyes. "Is he dead?"

"What happened to him?" Ashley said.

"We don't know yet," Upton answered. "Does anybody recognize him?"

"I do not," Royce Fontaine declared.

"Me, neither," said Randy Callahan. "I've never seen him before."

Ashley Wade studied the dead man's face. "Same here."

Rena said, "I don't know who he is."

"That makes it unanimous," Upton said. "Now tell me, does anything about the body
strike anyone as being odd?"

Randy frowned. "You mean other than the obvious fact that he's dead?"

"I do."

"He certainly had odd taste in clothing, if that's what you mean," Suzanne GP observed,
wrinkling her nose. "Yuck!"

"That's part of it," Upton agreed. "Don't ask me to explain how it got there, but that's my
hat sitting on his head. And that's all. There's something familiar about the muffler wrapped
around his neck." He turned to Fontaine. "Royce?"

Fontaine exclaimed, "Why, that looks like my scarf! Arthur, do you remember my
asking you--?"

"I do. That's why I'm mentioning it now."

Before anyone could stop him, Fontaine strode over to the body and reached down to
touch the woolen cloth. "That's unquestionably the Armagh family tartan." He stood upright
again. "My mother was an Armagh. Arthur, this is definitely my scarf. What the devil is it doing
around this fellow's neck?"

Randy Callahan was scratching his left leg with the heel of his right cowboy boot. "You
know, now that you mention it, that overcoat he's got on looks an awful lot like mine."

Cameron had apparently been caught off guard by Royce, but when Randy took a step
toward the dead man, the detective sprang into action. "Don't touch that," he barked, reaching out
to restrain Callahan. "Particularly since this death is sounding more and more suspicious."

Callahan stepped back, away from the body.

"Does anyone else recognize anything of theirs?" Cameron said.

GP spoke up. "You know, when I first saw him, I thought that those sunglasses looked
awfully silly. Those are designer frames. And much too frou-frou for a man, even if he were gay.
I can't swear to it, but I think they might be mine." She leaned forward, squinting to get a better
look at the corpse. "In fact, I'm pretty sure of it."

"Had you noticed that they were missing?" Cameron asked.

"No," she replied. "As far as I knew, they were tucked away in the pocket of my
coat."

"Which is where?"

"It should still be on the rack in the main hallway."

Cameron turned to Randy Callahan. "What about you? Were you aware that your
overcoat was gone?"

"No, siree. I thought it was hung up on the rack like everyone else's." He scratched his
ear. "I haven't the faintest notion how that man got hold of it."

Ashley Wade abruptly reached for his left wrist. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed, raising his
arm to show it was bare. "My wrist watch!" He advanced a step toward the body. "I don't
suppose..."

"Please let me do this," Cameron said. Leaning carefully over the body, he lifted the left
arm, revealing a fancy sports watch on a gold band. "Is this yours?"

"It sure as hell is! How on earth did it end up on a dead man?"

Upton turned to Cameron. "You understand, don't you, that this man is wearing
something that belongs to each of the CFWA Board members? That makes this something very
personal."

Rena reached out and touched Upton's arm. "Now I understand what you were so
concerned about. Sorry."

"That's okay."

Callahan pursed his lips in a silent whistle. "Damn, this gives me the willies! Why
would someone go to all that trouble to steal stuff from all of us, and then dress up a dead man
and dump him here on the floor? I don't like this one bit."

"I don't either," Cameron said as he looked down at the dead body. By then, a sickening
thought had occurred to him.

Something of
his
was missing, too.

Actually, several somethings.

He bent down over the body. In the recesses of his mind, he already knew--and
dreaded--what he was going to find. His hands turned clammy as he unwrapped Royce Fontaine's scarf
from the upper torso of the dead man. The gasp of half a dozen voices filled the room as
Cameron's worst fears were confirmed: twisted tightly around the corpse's neck was one of the
two items that had vanished from the
Weapons of Mayhem
display case.

The garrotte was no longer missing.

It had been used to commit a murder.

Cameron cursed aloud and reached once again for his cell phone.

"I know it's snowing outside," Cameron told the dispatcher, "but we've got a homicide
here!" Had he been somewhere private, instead of talking on his cell phone in a room full of
civilians, he might have added that the victim was killed with a weapon supplied by the
Lakewood Police Department. "There must be someone who can--yes, I know. I--yes, I know.
Everybody's busy. You've already told me that!
Look," he finally ordered the woman at
the other end of the line, "transfer me upstairs to Lieutenant Brookstone. Yes, Brookstone. I don't
care. Just do it!"

He waited for a full minute before a gruff voice said, "Brookstone."

"Lieutenant, this is Mitch Cameron. I'm calling from the Marquis Hotel."

The lieutenant responded in a tone that was sympathetic but not friendly. "I know. They
told me. You've got a homicide."

"Right. And it's not the ordinary--"

"I know the situation. You're on the scene by yourself and you need backup. Any other
day, I'd gladly oblige. But today I can't help you. Period. We've got a hostage situation at the
Heritage Center. Some nut running around with a shotgun, a couple of automatic rifles and God
knows what else. He's holding nearly fifty people and he's threatening to start shooting them, one
by one. I've got every spare officer out there. Plus help from Jefferson County and Denver, at
least the ones who managed to get through all the snow. We expect fatalities. Possibly a lot of
them. And every available tech will be needed afterwards, to clean it up. I know you've got a
murder on your hands, but I can't help you. You're a detective. I'm designating you as the Incident
Commander. Do the best you can on your own. As soon as I can free up some help--
if
I
can free up some help--you'll get it. Got it?"

"Got it," Cameron muttered. The air of finality in the lieutenant's voice made clear that
the conversation was over. "I'll handle it, sir."

"That's the spirit, Mitch. Hold down the fort until we can send in the cavalry."

Cameron broke the connection and glared at the phone.

Upton said, "Problem?"

"Nothing I can't handle," Cameron snapped. Under the circumstances, he needed to
establish his authority over the situation as quickly as possible.

"Forgive me for eavesdropping on your phone call, but it sounds like you're going to be
stuck handling this investigation all by yourself."

Cameron shrugged. "Just for the time being."

"I told you I used to be a cop," Upton reminded him. "It's been a long time, but I still
remember the routine. Even with new technologies, I can't imagine that the basics have changed
all that much. Why don't you let me help you?"

Cameron took time to study the writer. "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm dead serious, Cameron. I know I'm one of the suspects, at least technically. For all
you know, I killed that man in cold blood. Especially with the stiff wearing my hat when he was
found. But first off," he said, meeting Cameron's eyes, "you have my word as a cop, even a
former cop, that I had nothing to do with this. Second, the way I figure it, you can't gather all the
information you're going to need and still stay here babysitting the body. It's physically
impossible, even if you lock the corpse in this room and get back to it later. You're going to need
help. And I'm a logical person to render that service. Third, it pisses me off that this happened at
my
convention!"

"All of us are willing to help," Rena offered in an earnest tone. "Just tell us what to do
and we'll do it."

The other board members indicated their unanimous agreement.

Cameron just stared. Getting these people involved in his investigation was out of the
question. In fact, it was totally absurd. A committee of amateurs offering to help solve a real life
murder? Not a chance!

Ashley Wade grinned at the Detective. "Just think of us as the Baker Street Irregulars.
Only better educated."

"The Baker Street what?"

"He's referring to Sherlock Holmes," Upton explained. "He sometimes used the Baker
Street Irregulars to help him--"

"I get it," Cameron interrupted. "Thanks, but I'll have to pass. This isn't fiction. This is
the real deal."

"Maybe so, but you've still got a problem you can't handle by yourself."

Cameron pursed his lips. Like it or not, he had to admit that Upton had a point. There
were several hundred people at this convention. And a crime scene to secure and inspect. He
couldn't do everything alone.

Upton said, "I know what you're thinking, Cameron. These people know absolutely
nothing about criminal investigation. They're likely to do more harm than good. Especially if one
of them happens to be the one who committed the crime. But you don't have a lot of options here.
You know my background. Feel free to call New York, if you'd like. There must be a dozen men
in the Nineteenth Precinct who still remember me. The address is 153 East 67th Street. If I put
my mind to it, I can probably pull up the phone number. I know the area code is 212. I--"

Cameron pulled out the little notebook he had brought for his presentation. "When did
you join the department? Understand, I'm not agreeing to--"

"Nineteen seventy-five," Upton said. "It was shortly after they introduced the new
shoulder patch on their uniforms."

Cameron gestured meaningfully toward the others.

Upton answered the unspoken question. "They aren't trained investigators but they might
still be useful. They could gather all sorts of information for you. Ms. Oberhaus and Mr. Wade
are both mystery authors. Ashley is a financial planner. He also writes police procedurals. He
knows the drill."