Capacity for Murder (Professor Bradshaw Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the deputy cleared his throat. “That room there is Arnold Loomis, then your friend Mr. Pratt, and his niece next to him.” Both doors were firmly shut. Henry was a late sleeper. Missouri, he knew from the brief months she’d lived in his home when she first moved to Seattle, had likely been awake for hours, and was either writing in her journal or already out on the beach. Was Colin?
    “And here are the Hornsbys’ private rooms, the doctor’s office, and electrotherapy room. We can return to those; do you want to see the third floor?”
    They climbed the stairs to the topmost floor, empty of guests and staff.
    “Hornsby says these rooms fill up a few times a year, but they weren’t being used when the accident happened.”
    Bradshaw opened a door to an empty room on the front of the house and crossed to the window. He saw his son and Paul digging, Mrs. Prouty reading under an umbrella, and his students launching a kite into the air. Missouri was not with them.
    They returned to Hornsby’s office where they found the doctor in his white suit, looking as if he’d not slept much.
    Sensing the doctor would appreciate a businesslike approach to keep his emotions at bay, Bradshaw launched directly into his investigation. He asked the deputy for the door key, and after opening it as he had the night before with his fingertips, he pulled his magnifying glass from his pocket to inspect the glass knobs on both sides of the door. The pristine flat planes of the cut glass on the outer knob sparkled with reflected light. He detected a faint whiff of vinegar.
    “How often are the doorknobs cleaned, Dr. Hornsby?”
    “Daily. Every morning by seven, when we have guests. Abigail was here cleaning this morning, but she only cleaned that outer knob.”
    Bradshaw aimed his magnifying glass at the inner knob with slightly more hope. Smudges dulled the reflection of several flat surfaces. He’d need more light to see if distinct fingerprints were visible.
    “Abigail hasn’t cleaned that knob since Monday.”
    Monday. The morning of David’s death. He asked for more light, and Hornsby produced one of the lanterns from the previous evening. The light shining up through the glass revealed two muddled prints, one on top, likely a thumb, the other on a lower right facet, likely an index finger. But they were layered, one print on top of another, and impossible to separate. The prints told him only that since Abigail had cleaned the knob Monday morning prior to seven, only right-handed visitors had turned the knob. He vividly recalled that Arnold Loomis was left-handed.
    He took the light to his electrotherapy outfit.
    “Before David’s session on Monday morning, when had the machine last been used?”
    “I don’t give treatments on Sundays, so it would have been the day before that, Saturday, on Mr. Thompson, the only other guest undergoing electrotherapy.”
    “What time Saturday?”
    “Ten in the morning. We finished at half-past the hour.”
    “Between half-past ten on Saturday, and David’s session on Monday at—?”
    “At about a quarter of ten, it was supposed to be earlier, but Martha sent him up to the garden for blueberries, so he was delayed.”
    “For those intervening hours, was this room used? Did anyone other than you or David enter?”
    “Mrs. Thompson came to speak to me Monday morning, before David arrived. She didn’t enter, though. She stood in the open doorway.”
    “On Sunday evening, Doctor, did you observe the phenomenon of the glowing sand?”
    “Glowing sand? Oh, yes. I’d nearly forgotten. Seems a lifetime ago.”
    “Did you go out and walk in the sand?”
    “Certainly, we all did. All the staff and patients. It’s very rare to see that phosphorescent glow. I’d only seen it once before myself. It actually sparked when you kicked it. We were like children out there playing. David had us all laughing….”
    “Pardon me? Glowing sand?” The deputy leaned forward.
    Dr. Hornsby said,