CHAPTER TWO
Although Lamont was tolerant of him, I always felt that Commissioner Weston was an eternal obstacle for the crusade of the Shadow. He was always quick to take the simplest solution to a crime, something that inevitably put him at odds with Lamont’s unorthodox methods. Lamont always said that he was an “uncomplicated man with a heart filled with duty”. My opinion is that he was an arrogant man with the heart of a sniveling weasel.
Lamont and Margot were shaking the rain off of their coats in the doorway when they first realized where their race across downtown had taken them:
The Embry Building.
Julius Embry was an aloof man of approximately sixty years and incredible financial means. Former head of a large family business, Embry had taken the company public at age forty, sold his shares, and retired one of the wealthiest men in the city, if not the world. A lover of fine music and art, he was the rare philanthropist who gave generously to many causes without often appearing to accept their accolades. He had married his high school sweetheart and had two very charming sons, both of whom were thought great catches in society circles.
In short, Embry was a wealthy and successful man in every sense.
A short beefy cop recognized Lamont immediately and offered to take the pair’s coats.
“Weston’s upstairs at the scene.”
“What has happened, sergeant?” Margot asked.
The sergeant, a man of many years on the force, turned pale. He spoke softly.
“I wouldn’t like to speak of it to a lady, ma’am. You and Mr. Cranston will have to go up and see for yourselves. It’s the top floor.” He pointed to a brass elevator.
Margot nodded, acknowledging the man’s discomfort. Lamont lifted a curious eyebrow to her and purposefully turned, walking to the elevator the sergeant had indicated.
They took the elevator to the top floor of the building, where the Embrys maintained their residence in the city. After walking out into a large open foyer, Lamont and Margot made their way to a knot of plainclothes and uniformed officers going through the motions that attend a murder scene. Lamont and Margot stepped through them and into the doorway of a large room.
“Lamont...” Margot choked, thoroughly horrified.
Mr. and Mrs. Embry were lying naked in the middle of the floor of a large room, presumably a library, judging by the tall bookshelves lining every wall. They had been stabbed so many times as to defy counting, and their blood was literally sprayed over almost every surface of the room, including the ceiling many feet overhead. Protruding from both of their chests were large ceremonial daggers, presumably taken from a rack of similar implements hanging as decoration on the far wall of the room over a small writing desk.
“Please sit here, Margot, while I go and speak with the commissioner,” Lamont whispered softly and helped Margot into a small chair that the police had placed near the doorway, probably for just such a purpose.
Lamont stepped slowly into the room, careful to avoid stepping on any of the spatters of blood that had spread over the luxurious carpets or hardwood floors. He walked in this manner to the left side of the room to Commissioner Weston, the city’s long-time head of the police department. Weston, a large man, was loudly giving orders to a pair of young officers hurrying about gathering evidence. He turned just as Cranston approached, and his eyes narrowed.
“I don’t recall asking for an outside consultant on this case, Cranston,” his voice rumbled.
Lamont smiled demurely.
“I merely saw the rush of police and the coroner and assumed that my expertise might prove useful to you.” His voice was even and reasonable. “As you know commissioner, I am simply an interested citizen with some expertise in such matters.”
“How does one become an expert on murder, anyway, Cranston?”
“Not by luck, I assure you Commissioner,” Cranston replied with a hint of melancholy. “What have you learned so far?”
The Commissioner started to say something else, thought better of it, and answered.
“It’s basically what you see here, Cranston. Two upstanding citizens butchered by some maniac. The knives come from the display over there,” he gestured to the weapons on the wall, proud of his deduction, “and they may have known the killer, as there was no sign of forced entry.”
Lamont nodded thoughtfully, looking past the commissioner at the wall behind him.
“Probably one of their sons or a business partner,” Weston continued on. “Usually about the money in these cases.”
He paused.
“Cranston! Are you listening to me?”
Lamont returned his focus to the large man and spoke quickly.
“Yes, Commissioner, but I feel that you have reached several wrong conclusions.”
He stepped past the Commissioner to pick up a newspaper off of the small writing desk. He turned and displayed it to Weston.
“As this headline indicates, both of the younger Embrys are currently overseas on a European tour. It is featured here in the society section.”
Weston harrumphed.
“Furthermore, Mr. Embry has divested himself of all business interests and thus has no partners other than Mrs. Embry, who shares his fate. Also-“ Cranston indicated the display of blades “-those daggers could not be the murder weapons, or this spray of blood would have struck the wall behind where they were placed. The spray of blood covers the blades to either side and some of the wall, but there is a conspicuous empty space where the blades would rest.”
Lamont moved quickly to the bodies.
“You can see the rest of that pattern here, on the hilt of these two daggers.”
He looked up at Weston.
“The murder weapon is either somewhere else in this home, or the murderer has taken it with him. In any case, these daggers could not be responsible for the fatal blows of the Embrys.”
He walked back over to the commissioner.
“It is also interesting to note that the murderer or murderers left these valuable jeweled daggers behind and instead removed...” Cranston’s voice trailed off without completing his sentence.
Weston tapped his foot impatiently.
“Removed what, Cranston?” He stared at Lamont suspiciously.
Lamont looked thoughtful.
“The Embrys were of a means to own many items of some value. I see many of them even in this room. I would recommend a search of the entire house with insurance records to determine if any items were missing.”
Weston stammered in surprise.
“Do you mean that someone committed this horrible crime for a robbery?!”
Lamont looked at the Commissioner thoughtfully and then replied:
“I agree with your opinion that a less gruesome crime would be adequate if simple theft were the only goal. This is a crime of great passion - in which case you will probably find the killer or killers...”
He walked past Weston toward the door.
Just as he reached the still-recovering Margot he turned back.
“Or it is a crime of great insanity - in which case you will probably find more victims.”
Margot stood and looked at him, shocked and questioning. Lamont nodded sadly.
“Such a manic taste for blood is not so easily sated. If ever.”
He took Margot by the arm and led her back down the hall.
She trembled when they got back in the cab and Lamont began to answer Schrevy’s questions about what they had found. After informing Schrevy of the gruesome scene in the penthouse, Lamont turned to Margot and looked intently at her.
“Margot, are you all right?”
She smiled weakly.
“Yes, Lamont. I’ve just never seen anything so...so cruel.”
“Or so calculated,” Lamont responded, nodding. “That scene seemed almost theatrical in its effort to shock those that saw it.”
“How could a calculating mind produce such wanton violence?” Margot replied quickly. “Surely only a madman could do such a thing.”
Cranston sat back.
“Madness and calculation,” he said. “The two can go together, Margot.”
“What do you mean, Lamont?”
“That crime has several characteristics that suggest more than the excesses of a maniac.”
He extended one long, pale finger.
“First, Weston mentioned that there had been no forced entry. That means that our crazed madman had to get past a doorman, who was surely armed, and an elevator operator to get to the Embry’s home. Then, he had to enter the penthouse without leaving any marks or procure a key in advance.
“Second,” he extended a second finger. “There were three or four books missing from the shelf behind where Weston was standing when we walked in the room, and there was a a small framed painting or photograph removed from the opposite wall.”
Margot’s eyes grew large. “How do you know that, Lamont?”
Lamont looked uncomfortable.
“It is a distasteful subject, but the pattern of blood across the bookcase and the wall indicated that these objects were missing. That is why I suggested that Weston check with insurance records. He will be more thorough if he can take credit for the discovery of the missing books and frame.”
“He shouldn’t need that kind of motivation,” Margot said, not for the first or the last time.
“Third,” Lamont continued, extending another finger. “The daggers were not the murder weapons, but were placed to suggest that they were. And fourth, The Embrys did not seem to have struggled in any way, indicating that the assailant had some means of subduing them before he stabbed them.”
He curled his four extended fingers into a fist and looked out the window.
“The worst is that this criminal has left no clue as to his identity, and no suggestion as to his motivations.”
Margot exhaled slowly.
“It’s the perfect crime, Lamont.”
Lamont nodded.
“If not so evil, one could admire the skill involved. However, I plan to end this artist’s career as soon as I can.”
“We’ll see how ‘artistic’ he is when he meets the Shadow!” Schrevy chimed in.
Margot chuckled lightly, but Lamont only looked out the window, lost in thought. As they sat in silence, Cranston’s words continued to chill her more than the rain that still poured down ever could:
If ever.
Chapter Three
Lamont and Margot were shaking the rain off of their coats in the doorway when they first realized where their race across downtown had taken them:
The Embry Building.
Julius Embry was an aloof man of approximately sixty years and incredible financial means. Former head of a large family business, Embry had taken the company public at age forty, sold his shares, and retired one of the wealthiest men in the city, if not the world. A lover of fine music and art, he was the rare philanthropist who gave generously to many causes without often appearing to accept their accolades. He had married his high school sweetheart and had two very charming sons, both of whom were thought great catches in society circles.
In short, Embry was a wealthy and successful man in every sense.
A short beefy cop recognized Lamont immediately and offered to take the pair’s coats.
“Weston’s upstairs at the scene.”
“What has happened, sergeant?” Margot asked.
The sergeant, a man of many years on the force, turned pale. He spoke softly.
“I wouldn’t like to speak of it to a lady, ma’am. You and Mr. Cranston will have to go up and see for yourselves. It’s the top floor.” He pointed to a brass elevator.
Margot nodded, acknowledging the man’s discomfort. Lamont lifted a curious eyebrow to her and purposefully turned, walking to the elevator the sergeant had indicated.
They took the elevator to the top floor of the building, where the Embrys maintained their residence in the city. After walking out into a large open foyer, Lamont and Margot made their way to a knot of plainclothes and uniformed officers going through the motions that attend a murder scene. Lamont and Margot stepped through them and into the doorway of a large room.
“Lamont...” Margot choked, thoroughly horrified.
Mr. and Mrs. Embry were lying naked in the middle of the floor of a large room, presumably a library, judging by the tall bookshelves lining every wall. They had been stabbed so many times as to defy counting, and their blood was literally sprayed over almost every surface of the room, including the ceiling many feet overhead. Protruding from both of their chests were large ceremonial daggers, presumably taken from a rack of similar implements hanging as decoration on the far wall of the room over a small writing desk.
“Please sit here, Margot, while I go and speak with the commissioner,” Lamont whispered softly and helped Margot into a small chair that the police had placed near the doorway, probably for just such a purpose.
Lamont stepped slowly into the room, careful to avoid stepping on any of the spatters of blood that had spread over the luxurious carpets or hardwood floors. He walked in this manner to the left side of the room to Commissioner Weston, the city’s long-time head of the police department. Weston, a large man, was loudly giving orders to a pair of young officers hurrying about gathering evidence. He turned just as Cranston approached, and his eyes narrowed.
“I don’t recall asking for an outside consultant on this case, Cranston,” his voice rumbled.
Lamont smiled demurely.
“I merely saw the rush of police and the coroner and assumed that my expertise might prove useful to you.” His voice was even and reasonable. “As you know commissioner, I am simply an interested citizen with some expertise in such matters.”
“How does one become an expert on murder, anyway, Cranston?”
“Not by luck, I assure you Commissioner,” Cranston replied with a hint of melancholy. “What have you learned so far?”
The Commissioner started to say something else, thought better of it, and answered.
“It’s basically what you see here, Cranston. Two upstanding citizens butchered by some maniac. The knives come from the display over there,” he gestured to the weapons on the wall, proud of his deduction, “and they may have known the killer, as there was no sign of forced entry.”
Lamont nodded thoughtfully, looking past the commissioner at the wall behind him.
“Probably one of their sons or a business partner,” Weston continued on. “Usually about the money in these cases.”
He paused.
“Cranston! Are you listening to me?”
Lamont returned his focus to the large man and spoke quickly.
“Yes, Commissioner, but I feel that you have reached several wrong conclusions.”
He stepped past the Commissioner to pick up a newspaper off of the small writing desk. He turned and displayed it to Weston.
“As this headline indicates, both of the younger Embrys are currently overseas on a European tour. It is featured here in the society section.”
Weston harrumphed.
“Furthermore, Mr. Embry has divested himself of all business interests and thus has no partners other than Mrs. Embry, who shares his fate. Also-“ Cranston indicated the display of blades “-those daggers could not be the murder weapons, or this spray of blood would have struck the wall behind where they were placed. The spray of blood covers the blades to either side and some of the wall, but there is a conspicuous empty space where the blades would rest.”
Lamont moved quickly to the bodies.
“You can see the rest of that pattern here, on the hilt of these two daggers.”
He looked up at Weston.
“The murder weapon is either somewhere else in this home, or the murderer has taken it with him. In any case, these daggers could not be responsible for the fatal blows of the Embrys.”
He walked back over to the commissioner.
“It is also interesting to note that the murderer or murderers left these valuable jeweled daggers behind and instead removed...” Cranston’s voice trailed off without completing his sentence.
Weston tapped his foot impatiently.
“Removed what, Cranston?” He stared at Lamont suspiciously.
Lamont looked thoughtful.
“The Embrys were of a means to own many items of some value. I see many of them even in this room. I would recommend a search of the entire house with insurance records to determine if any items were missing.”
Weston stammered in surprise.
“Do you mean that someone committed this horrible crime for a robbery?!”
Lamont looked at the Commissioner thoughtfully and then replied:
“I agree with your opinion that a less gruesome crime would be adequate if simple theft were the only goal. This is a crime of great passion - in which case you will probably find the killer or killers...”
He walked past Weston toward the door.
Just as he reached the still-recovering Margot he turned back.
“Or it is a crime of great insanity - in which case you will probably find more victims.”
Margot stood and looked at him, shocked and questioning. Lamont nodded sadly.
“Such a manic taste for blood is not so easily sated. If ever.”
He took Margot by the arm and led her back down the hall.
She trembled when they got back in the cab and Lamont began to answer Schrevy’s questions about what they had found. After informing Schrevy of the gruesome scene in the penthouse, Lamont turned to Margot and looked intently at her.
“Margot, are you all right?”
She smiled weakly.
“Yes, Lamont. I’ve just never seen anything so...so cruel.”
“Or so calculated,” Lamont responded, nodding. “That scene seemed almost theatrical in its effort to shock those that saw it.”
“How could a calculating mind produce such wanton violence?” Margot replied quickly. “Surely only a madman could do such a thing.”
Cranston sat back.
“Madness and calculation,” he said. “The two can go together, Margot.”
“What do you mean, Lamont?”
“That crime has several characteristics that suggest more than the excesses of a maniac.”
He extended one long, pale finger.
“First, Weston mentioned that there had been no forced entry. That means that our crazed madman had to get past a doorman, who was surely armed, and an elevator operator to get to the Embry’s home. Then, he had to enter the penthouse without leaving any marks or procure a key in advance.
“Second,” he extended a second finger. “There were three or four books missing from the shelf behind where Weston was standing when we walked in the room, and there was a a small framed painting or photograph removed from the opposite wall.”
Margot’s eyes grew large. “How do you know that, Lamont?”
Lamont looked uncomfortable.
“It is a distasteful subject, but the pattern of blood across the bookcase and the wall indicated that these objects were missing. That is why I suggested that Weston check with insurance records. He will be more thorough if he can take credit for the discovery of the missing books and frame.”
“He shouldn’t need that kind of motivation,” Margot said, not for the first or the last time.
“Third,” Lamont continued, extending another finger. “The daggers were not the murder weapons, but were placed to suggest that they were. And fourth, The Embrys did not seem to have struggled in any way, indicating that the assailant had some means of subduing them before he stabbed them.”
He curled his four extended fingers into a fist and looked out the window.
“The worst is that this criminal has left no clue as to his identity, and no suggestion as to his motivations.”
Margot exhaled slowly.
“It’s the perfect crime, Lamont.”
Lamont nodded.
“If not so evil, one could admire the skill involved. However, I plan to end this artist’s career as soon as I can.”
“We’ll see how ‘artistic’ he is when he meets the Shadow!” Schrevy chimed in.
Margot chuckled lightly, but Lamont only looked out the window, lost in thought. As they sat in silence, Cranston’s words continued to chill her more than the rain that still poured down ever could:
If ever.
Chapter Three
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