CHAPTER THREE
1250 Words
CHAPTER THREE
The butler was slumped against the wall, staring with a glazed expression. Ruhl himself felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his lungs.
There the man was, lying on the bed—the rich and famous Andrew Farrell, dead and extremely bloody. Ruhl recognized him from seeing him on TV many times.
Ruhl had never seen a murdered corpse before. He’d never expected the sight to seem so weird and unreal.
What made the scene especially bizarre was the woman sitting in an ornate upholstered chair right next to the bed. Ruhl recognized her, too. She was Morgan Farrell—formerly Morgan Chartier, a now-retired famous model. The dead man had turned their marriage into a media event, and he liked to parade her around in public.
She was wearing a flimsy, expensive-looking gown that was streaked with blood. She sat there unmoving, holding a large carving knife. Its blade was bloody, and so was her hand.
“s**t,” murmured Petrie in a stunned voice.
Then Petrie spoke into his microphone.
“Dispatch, this is four-Frank-thirteen calling from the Farrell house. We’ve got a one-eighty-seven here for real. Send three units, including a homicide unit. Also contact the medical examiner. Better tell Chief Stiles to get over here as well.”
Petrie listened to the dispatcher on his earpiece, then seemed to think for a moment.
“No, don’t make this a Code Three. We need to keep this as quiet as we can for as long as we can.”
During this exchange, Ruhl couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. He’d thought she was beautiful when he’d seen her on TV. Weirdly enough, she seemed just as beautiful to him even now. Even holding a bloody knife in her hand, she looked as delicate and fragile as a china figurine.
She was also as still as if she were made of china—as motionless as the corpse, and apparently unaware that anyone had entered the room. Even her eyes didn’t move as she kept staring at the knife in her hand.
As Ruhl followed Petrie toward the woman, it occurred to him that the scene no longer reminded him of a movie set.
It’s more like an exhibit in a wax museum, he thought.
Petrie gently touched the woman on the shoulder and said, “Mrs. Farrell …”
The woman didn’t seem the least bit startled as she looked up at him.
She smiled and said, “Oh, hello, Officer. I wondered when the police were going to get here.”
Petrie put on a pair of plastic gloves. Ruhl didn’t need to be told to do the same. Then Petrie delicately took the knife out of the woman’s hand and handed it to Ruhl, who carefully bagged the weapon.
As they were doing this, Petrie said to the woman, “Please tell me what happened here.”
The woman let out a rather musical chuckle.
“Well, that’s a silly question. I killed Andrew. Isn’t that obvious?”
Petrie turned to look at Ruhl, as if to ask …
Is it obvious?
On one hand, there didn’t seem to be any other explanation for this bizarre scene. On the other hand …
She looks so weak and helpless, Ruhl thought.
He couldn’t begin to imagine her doing such a thing.
Petrie said to Ruhl, “Go talk to the butler. Find out what he knows.”
While Petrie examined the body, Ruhl went over to the butler, who was still crouched against the wall.
Ruhl said to him, “Sir, could you tell me what happened here?”
The butler opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“Sir,” Ruhl repeated.
The butler squinted as if in deep confusion. He said, “I don’t know. You arrived and …”
He fell silent again.
Ruhl wondered …
Does he really not know anything at all?
Maybe the butler was faking his shock and perplexity.
Maybe he was actually the killer.
The possibility reminded Ruhl of the old cliché …
“The butler did it.”
The idea might even be funny under different circumstances.
But certainly not right now.
Ruhl thought fast, trying to decide what questions to ask the man.
He said, “Is there anybody else in the house?”
The butler replied in a dull voice, “Just the live-in help. Six servants in all aside from myself, three men and three women. Certainly you don’t think …?”
Ruhl had no idea what to think, at least not yet.
He asked the butler, “Is it possible that anyone else is in the house somewhere? An intruder, maybe?”
The butler shook his head.
“I don’t see how,” he said. “Our security system is of the very best.”
That’s not a no, Ruhl thought. Suddenly he felt quite alarmed.
If the killer was an intruder, might he still be in the house somewhere?
Or might he be slipping away at this very moment?
Then Ruhl heard Petrie talking into his microphone, giving someone instructions on how to find the bedroom in the huge mansion.
It seemed like only seconds until the room was swarming with cops. Among them was Chief Elmo Stiles, a bulky and imposing man. Ruhl was also surprised to see the county District Attorney, Seth Musil.
The normally smooth and polished DA looked disheveled and disoriented, as if he had just been roused out of bed. Ruhl guessed that the chief had contacted the DA as soon as he’d heard the news, then picked him up and brought him here.
The DA gasped with horror at what he saw and rushed toward the woman.
“Morgan!” he said.
“Hello, Seth,” the woman said, as if pleasantly surprised by his arrival. Ruhl wasn’t especially surprised that Morgan Farrell and a high-ranking politician like the DA knew each other. The woman still didn’t seem to be aware of much of anything else that was going on around her.
Smiling, the woman said to Musil, “Well, I suppose it’s obvious what happened. And I’m sure you’re not surprised that—”
Musil hastily interrupted.
“No, Morgan. Don’t say anything. Not just yet. Not until we get you a lawyer.”
Sergeant Petrie was already organizing the people in the room.
He said to the butler, “Tell them the layout of the house, every nook and cranny.”
Then he said to the cops, “I want the whole place searched for any intruders or any sign of a break-in. And check in with the live-in staff, make sure they can account for their actions during the last few hours.”
The cops gathered around the butler, who was on his feet now. The butler gave them directions, and the cops left the room. Not knowing what else to do, Ruhl stood next to Sergeant Petrie, looking over the grisly scene. The DA was now standing protectively over the smiling, blood-spattered woman.
Ruhl was still struggling to come to terms with what he was seeing. He reminded himself that this was his first homicide. He wondered …
Will I ever be involved in one weirder than this?
He also hoped that the cops searching the house wouldn’t return empty-handed. Maybe they’d come back with the real culprit. Ruhl hated the thought that this delicate, lovely woman was really capable of murder.
Long minutes passed before the cops and the butler returned.
They said they hadn’t found any intruders or any sign that anyone had broken into the house. They’d found the live-in staff asleep in their beds and had no reason to think that any of them were responsible.
The medical examiner and his team arrived and began to attend to the body. The huge room was really quite crowded now. At long last, the bloodstained woman of the house seemed to be aware of the bustle of activity.
She got up from her chair and said to the butler, “Maurice, where are your manners? Ask these good people if they’d like anything to eat or drink.”
Petrie walked toward her, taking out his handcuffs.
He said to her, “That’s very kind of you, ma’am, but it won’t be necessary.”
Then, in an extremely polite and considerate tone, he began to read Morgan Farrell her rights.
- Writer
