He said, "We've searched the entire house and turned up nothing unusual or significant, except that half the drawers were intact, some closets didn't even look like they'd been searched, the books on the bookshelves weren't pulled out. A very amateur job of pretending it was a burglary."
I said, "It still could have been a junkie, strung out and not real focused." I added, "Or maybe the perp was interrupted, or the perp was looking for one thing and found it."
"Maybe," Max agreed.
Everyone looked pensive, which is good cover-up for clueless.
The striking thing about this double homicide, I thought, was still the outdoor shooting, the bang, bang, right on the deck without much preamble. There was nothing the killer needed or wanted from the Gordons, except that they be dead. So, yes, the killer either had what he wanted from inside the house, and/or the Gordons were carrying what the killer wanted, in plain view, i.e., the ice chest. It came back to the missing ice chest.
And the killer knew the Gordons and they knew him. I was convinced of that. Hi Tom, Hi Judy. Bang, bang. They fall, the ice chest falls… no, it's got vials of deadly virus in it. Hi Tom, Hi Judy. Put that chest down. Bang, bang. They fall. The bullets sail through their skulls into the bay.
Also, he had to have a silencer. No pro would pop off two big boomers outdoors. And it was probably an automatic, because revolvers don't adapt well to a silencer.
I asked Max, "Do the Murphys own a dog?"
"Nope."
"Okay… Did you find any money, wallets, or anything on the victims?"
"Yes. They each had matching sports wallets; each had their Plum Island ID, driver's license, credit cards, and such. Tom had thirty-seven dollars in cash, Judy had fourteen." He added, "Each had a photo of the other."
It's little things, sometimes, that bring it all home, that make it personal. Then you have to remember Rule One: don't get emotionally involved-it doesn't matter, Corey, if it's a little kid who got greased, or a nice old lady, or pretty Judy who winked at you once, and Tom who wanted you to love the wines he loved and who cooked your steak just so. For the homicide dick, it does not matter who the victim is, it only matters who the killer is.
Max said, "I guess you figured out that we never found that ice chest. You're sure about the chest?"
I nodded.
Mr. Foster gave me his considered opinion. "We think the Gordons were carrying the chest, and the killer or killers wanted what was inside, and what was inside was you-know-what." He added, "I think the Gordons were selling the stuff and the deal went bad."
I looked around at the meeting of the kitchen cabinet. It's hard to read the faces of people whose job it is to read other people's faces. Still, I had the feeling that George Foster's statement represented the consensus.
So, if these people were right, that would presuppose two things-one, the Gordons were really stupid, never considering that anyone who would want enough virus and bacteria to kill a zilhon people might not hesitate to kill them, and two, it presupposed the Gordons were totally indifferent to the consequences of their selling death for gold. What I knew for sure about Tom and Judy was that they were neither stupid, nor heartless.
I would also assume that the killer was not stupid, and I wondered if he knew or could tell if what was in the chest was the real thing. How could he possibly know? Hi Tom, Hi Judy. Got the virus? Good. Bang, bang.
Yes? No? I tried different scenarios with and without the ice chest, with and without the person or persons whom the Gordons must have known, and so forth. Also, how did this person or these people get to the Gordons' house? Boat? Car? I asked Max, "Strange vehicles?"
Max replied, "There were no strange vehicles seen by anyone we've questioned. The Gordons' two cars are both in their garage." He added, "Forensics will take them to the lab tomorrow along with the boat."
Ms. Penrose spoke to me directly for the first time and said, "It's possible the killer or killers arrived by boat. That's my theory."
I said to her, "It's also possible, Elizabeth, that the killer or killers arrived in one of the Gordons' cars which the killer may have borrowed. I really think they knew each other."
She stared at me, then said a bit curtly, "I think it was a boat, Detective Corey."
"Maybe the killer walked here, or bicycled, or motorcycled." I continued, "Maybe he swam here, or was dropped off. Maybe he windsurfed in or paraglided. Maybe the killers are Edgar Murphy and his wife."
She stared hard at me, and I could tell she was pissed. I know that look. I was married.
Max interrupted our discussion and said, "And here's something interesting, John-according to the security people on Plum, the Gordons signed out at noon, got into their boat, and headed out."
You could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the silence.
Mr. Foster said to us, "One possibility that comes to mind is that the Gordons had secreted whatever it was they were selling somewhere in a cove or inlet on Plum, and they took their boat there and recovered the stuff. Or maybe they just walked out of the lab with that ice chest, put it aboard, and took off. In either case, they then met their customers out in the bay and transferred the chestful of vials at sea, so when they returned here, they didn't have the chest, but they had the money. They ran into their killer here, and after he shot them, he took the money back."
We all considered that scenario. Of course you have to wonder, if the transfer had taken place at sea, why wasn't the murder also done at sea? When homicide guys talk about the perfect murder, they talk about murder on the high seas-little or no forensic evidence, usually no noise, no witnesses, and most times no body. And if it's done right, it looks like an accident.
It stands to reason that pros who just copped a lethal bug are not going to draw attention to it by killing two Plum Island people on their back deck. Still, it was supposed to look like the Gordons surprised a burglar. But whoever staged that wasn't very convincing. This whole thing looked amateurish, or maybe it was done by foreigners who didn't watch enough American cop shows on TV. Or, something else.
And what about those five and a half hours between the time the Gordons left Plum Island at noon, and the time Mr. Murphy said he heard the Gordons' boat at 5:30? Where were they?
Max said, "That's about all we have at the moment, John. We'll have the lab reports tomorrow, and there are people we have to speak to tomorrow. Can you suggest anyone we ought to see? Friends of the Gordons?"
"I don't know who the Gordons were friends with, and to the best of my knowledge, they had no enemies." I said to Mr. Nash, "Meanwhile, I want to speak to the people on Plum Island."
Mr. Nash replied, "It may be possible for you to speak to some people who work on Plum Island." He added, "But in the interest of national security, I must be present at all interviews."
I replied in my best New York obnoxious tone, "This is a murder investigation, remember? Don't pull that crap on me."
It got a little frosty in the kitchen. I mean, I work with FBI and Drug Enforcement types now and then, and they're okay people-they're cops. However, these spooks, like Nash, are real pains in the ass. The guy wasn't even saying if he was CIA, Defense Intelligence, Military Intelligence, or some other weird outfit. What I knew for sure was that he wasn't from the Department of Agriculture.
Max, feeling I suppose like the host at this gathering of egos, said, "I don't have any problem with Ted Nash being present at any interviews or interrogations." He looked at Penrose.