Endgame (10 page)

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in Janice's room, David sat on the bed feeling for a pulse, but her arm was stone cold. Like the rest of her. He laid the arm aside and turned to Edwards.

“Must have happened a while ago. Sometime in the middle of the night, I'd guess, though I'm no doctor.”

Edwards shook his head. “I can't believe this is happening,” he confessed in a worried tone, dropping his professional demeanour.

“That's what I think,” David said. “And I'm worried. You?”

Edwards nodded.

“So why were you in that video last night?” David asked.

For a moment, he thought Edwards wasn't going to reply. Then the man turned his gaze full on David.

“Because I was there,” he said.

“At the party?”

Edwards shook his head. “Not exactly. I drove a cab back then. Around midnight, I got a call to pick someone up. Not at a house, but down the street around a corner. I didn't piece it together till later.”

“Go on,” David said quietly.

Edwards took a deep breath before he continued. “When I arrived, there were two guys waiting for me. They had a girl with them. She couldn't stand up. They said she'd had too much to drink. They waved a hundred in my face and said they'd give me her address if I'd take her home. Then once they got her in my cab they both took off.”

“And they left a note saying to take her to a hospital,” David continued.

“Yeah.” Edwards looked at him. “How did you know?”

David made a face, but didn't answer.

Edwards continued. “I noticed the girl was breathing funny. I drove her to the nearest hospital, but I didn't stick around. I didn't want to get involved. I dropped her off outside emergency and left.”

“Where she wasn't discovered for nearly half an hour …” David said, looking down at Janice's dead body.

Edwards smacked the bedside table with his fist, making the lamp and a glass of water jump.

“Yes.” He looked at David pleadingly. “I left her there with the note. How was I supposed to know it would get misplaced?”

David put a hand on his shoulder. “It's all right.”

“It's not all right,” Edwards said, shuddering. “It hasn't been all right for a single day since then. If I hadn't been such a coward …”

David waited a moment then said, “I think … we're in trouble here. All of us.”

“You weren't in that video,” Edwards said, watching David's face. “Or were you?”

“Never mind that. The thing is, we're all here now and we've got to figure out what's going on. I know it sounds ludicrous, but I think we've been set up.”

“You mean …?”

“I mean someone's brought us here to punish us. To kill us.”

Edwards shook his head. “That can't be,” he said. “It's crazy. It's insane.”

“Exactly. My cellphone went missing last night and today everyone else is finding their phones have disappeared, too.”

Edwards felt a shiver run through him.
I'd better tell him
, he thought,
before he suspects me of arranging this
.

“I took them …” he began.

“You what?” David said.

But before Edwards could finish his explanation, Spike burst through the door carrying an armload of file folders. Max and Pete were right behind him.

“Someone,” Spike began, “has compiled medical histories for everyone in the house.”

All eyes were on him.

“Look at these,” Spike said. “Every major and minor illness I've had since I was born. And Max's lists his shellfish allergy.” He looked at Janice's body. “Hers is here, too, but Sandra was right. There's nothing about a problem with codeine.”

Verna was looking over his shoulder. “There's my allergy to wasps,” she said, incredulously. “They even know about that.”

At that moment, Edwards felt his phone buzz. No one noticed as he slipped out into the hall in all the commotion. He pressed “Receive” and his BlackBerry quickly downloaded the message.

It took only a second to read the two words. A dark look spread over his features. Now he knew for sure he'd been set up. He headed down the stairs.

He'd just reached the front door when Verna arrived.

“Everything all right?” she asked.

Edwards turned to her with a blank expression. “Yes — fine. I've got to go pick up Mr. Keill immediately,” he said, remembering to smile reassuringly.

He went to the hall closet and pulled out a raincoat.

“Wait,” Verna called to him. “Shouldn't someone go with you?”

“I will,” said a voice behind her. It was Sandra.

“No.” Edwards looked panicked. “No one's coming with me. It's too risky. The water's too rough. I'll be back in an hour with Mr. Keill and we don't want the boat overloaded.”

With that, he rushed out the door and headed for the cove.

Spike had just come downstairs followed by David and Pete when they heard the boat engine start up in the distance.

“Where's Edwards?” Spike demanded.

“Gone to get Harvey Keill,” Verna said.

Spike rushed to the door and looked out. The boat could be seen racing off in the distance. It was nearly swamped by waves as it pushed forward in the water and finally rounded the tip of the island, heading back to the mainland.

The others had come downstairs by this time. Their faces were uniformly stricken with worry and fear.

“What's going on?” Max demanded.

“We think it's Edwards,” David told him.

“What's Edwards?”

Spike looked at Max. “We think he's been arranging these … these deaths.”

“Murders,” David's voice boomed around the room.

“It's probably revenge,” Spike said. “Revenge for that girl's death.”

“What are you saying?” Crispin called from the dining room where he sat with his hands on his tape recorder.

“That girl. The one who died of an overdose at Janice's party,” David said.

“You know about that?” Sami Lee demanded.

“Edwards just told me. He was the taxi driver who took her to the hospital.”

“What?” Verna said.

“He told me. Upstairs.”

“Jesus,” said Max.

David nodded. “He left her outside the emergency room door and just tossed the note beside her. It must have blown away before anyone found her.”

“Oh!” Verna cried. “I can't believe this.”

“And he was the one who took all our cellphones,” David continued. “He just finished telling me he took them when Spike came in with the medical records.”

“I hate this shit,” Sami Lee said. She turned to Max. “Get us out of here, Maxie. Now! I want to leave.”

“Fine,” Max said, his anger barely controlled. “You find us a boat and I'll be in it in a second.”

“Are you saying all our phones are gone?” Sandra asked.

“That's what Edwards said. ‘I took them,' is what he told me.”

“When did he do that?” Sami Lee demanded.

“I don't know,” David said. “He just said he took them.”

“So we can't even phone for help?” Verna asked.

A look came over David's face. “Wait a minute. He didn't get Noni's phone. He still had it on him when he died.”

He raced up the stairs two at a time with Spike following right behind. The door was locked. Spike looked at David.

“Edwards has the keys,” David said, in answer to Spike's look.

“Fuck that. It's just a door,” Spike said.

“You really want to break it down?”

“Don't you?”

“Okay. Let's try it.”

Taking turns kicking at the handle, they soon had the lock splintered. The door swung open on its frame. Noni's body lay exactly where they'd left him the night before.

David looked at Spike.

Spike shrugged. “Go ahead.”

David went over and felt inside Noni's jacket pockets. He pulled out a wallet and a small notebook. The other pockets were empty.

“Shit! He got Noni's, too,” David said.

“Are you sure?” Spike asked.

“Be my guest. Frisk the dead guy, if you don't believe me.”

“I believe you. I just wondered if you were thorough. I'm not touching him.”

“You carried him in here last night,” David said incredulously.

“Yeah, well that was last night.”

David bent over Noni's body and went through his clothing again. “It's not here.”

The pair went back downstairs and looked at the grim faces assembled in the dining room.

“No phone,” David said, shaking his head.

“We had to break down the door to his room,” Spike added.

“We heard you,” Max said.

“So we're cut off, then,” Crispin said softly. “Unless” — he tilted his head toward the others in that peculiar manner he had of looking at a person while looking through them — “unless one of us has a cellphone hidden away that Edwards didn't dispose of.”

“Anyone?” David asked, surveying the faces around him.

His question was returned with silence.

“Very interesting,” Crispin pronounced in a solemn voice.

“Interesting?” Verna exclaimed. “It's not interesting. I think it's vile.” She sat with a sulky look, arms wrapped around her pendulous breasts.

“Merely a clinical observation,” Crispin replied.

“What about that laptop of yours, Crispin?” Spike said. “I saw you tapping on it last night when I went upstairs to bed. You left your door open a crack.”

“I did?” Crispin asked with a start. “That's news to me. I had no idea my door was open. I shut it when I went upstairs after Mr. Embrem's death.” He nodded softly. “Maybe Edwards came looking for my laptop, too. In any case, it's worthless for telecommunications. It has no wireless capabilities, I'm sorry to tell you. It serves as a word processor solely.”

“So he murders two people and then gets away,” David said.

“Of course, we may be jumping to conclusions,” Verna said. “We don't actually know that anyone's done anything to anyone else to cause them harm.”

“Don't we?” David said. “I think two deaths in less than twelve hours is more than enough reason to conclude that someone's been murdering the guests in this place. And the prime suspect has just fled the scene.”

Spike turned to Sandra. “How well did you know Edwards?”

She shook her head. Her voice was faint. “Not at all. I met him on the boat yesterday when we all came over in the first group.”

Spike nodded. “It's possible Edwards will turn up in half an hour with Harvey Keill and the new drummer in tow. But somehow I doubt it.”

Pete had been sitting silently on the edge of the group. He started blubbering. “He won't be back,” he said in a childish whimper.

“Why do you say that, Pete?” Max asked.

“Because,” Pete said, “the chess game keeps changing.”

“What are you talking about?” Max demanded.

Pete pointed in the direction of the drawing room. “Go check it. I was just in there. There are four pieces down.”

The others looked at one another in bewilderment.

“What do you mean?” Verna asked.

“Let's go have a look,” Spike said, with a glance at Pete.

They all wandered into the drawing room, Crispin following slowly behind. They stood staring down at the chessboard, which most of them hadn't noticed till now.

“When we got here, there were twelve pieces on it,” Pete told them. “Eleven upright, and one down. Now there are four down.”

They all looked at the board. Indeed, there were four pieces lying on their sides. A white rook had been placed alongside the black queen.

“There was one down when we got here. A white pawn. The second piece, a black knight, went down last night after Noni died,” Pete continued. “This morning, when we heard about Sarah — or Janice — the black queen went down. And now the rook is with them.”

Crispin shook his head. “I don't understand,” he said. “What's this got to do with these deaths and whatever is going on around here?”

“Can't you see?” Pete shouted. “Every time someone dies, another piece gets knocked over.”

He was nearly incoherent. He seemed to be frothing at the mouth as he spoke.

“How did you come to notice this?” Spike asked.

“I … I count things,” Pete said slowly, looking down at the floor.

“OCD,” Sandra said quietly. “I noticed him doing some odd things yesterday with his hands.”

“OCD?” said Verna.

“Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.”

Spike sighed impatiently. “That's just Pete. He's always been a bit off that way.” He glanced at Sandra. “He did a few too many drugs back when the band was together.”

“It's quite common, in fact,” Sandra replied. “Many people suffer various forms of OCD. They need to count or touch certain objects or wash their hands frequently. It's usually an attempt to bring order to the world or to have some sort of control over one's environment in order to relieve anxiety.”