Wild fire

“Goes without saying.”

Kate asked our host, “How many security guards are actually here this evening?”

He seemed to read the subtext, and smiled slightly, the way Count Dracula would do if his di

Madox answered, “I think there are ten men on-duty tonight.”

There was a knock on the door, and it opened, revealing Carl wheeling in a cart, atop which was a large covered tray.

Carl carried the tray to the coffee table, set it down, and removed the cover.

And there, on a silver tray, were dozens of pigs-in-the-blanket, the crust slightly brown, just the way I like it. In the center of the tray were two crystal bowls-one holding a thick, dark deli-style mustard, and the other, a thin, pukey yellow mustard.

Our host said to us, “I have a confession to make. I called Henri and asked him if either of you had expressed any food preference, and-voilá!” He smiled.

That wasn’t the confession I was hoping for, and he knew that, but this wasn’t bad either.

Carl asked, “Is there anything else?”

Madox replied, “No, but”-he looked at his watch-“see how di

“Yes, sir.” Carl left, and Madox said, “No woodcock tonight-just plain steak and potatoes.” He turned to me. “Have one of these.”

I caught Kate’s eye, and clearly she didn’t think I could resist a little piggy, drugged or not. And she was right. I could smell the aroma of the crust and the fatty beef hot dogs.

They all had toothpicks stuck in them-red, blue, and yellow-so all I had to do was guess which color marked the safe piggies. I chose blue, my favorite color, and picked one up, then dipped it in the deli mustard.

Kate said, “John, you should save your appetite for di

“I’ll just have a few.” I popped the pig in my mouth. It tasted great-hot, firm crust, spicy mustard.

Madox said to Kate, “Please help yourself.”

“No, thank you.” She shot me a concerned look and said to him, “You go ahead.”

Madox also picked a pig with a blue toothpick, but chose the yellow mustard. So maybe I picked the wrong mustard.

Actually, I felt fine and had another, this one with the yellow mustard, just to be on the safe side.

Madox chewed, swallowed, and said, “Not bad.” He chose a red toothpick and offered the piggy to Kate. “Are you sure?”

“No, thank you.”

He ate it himself, this time with deli mustard. So I had another.

Hot dogs made me think of Kaiser Wilhelm. His absence at his master’s side was a case of The Dog That Did Not Fart in the Night.

Dogs alert their masters, and everyone else, that someone is approaching-and I had the strong feeling that Madox did not want Kate and I to know if anyone was outside those doors.

Also, if Kaiser Wilhelm was here, I’d feed him about twenty pigs to see if he keeled over, or if Madox stopped me.

On the other hand, maybe I was over-analyzing this, as I tend to do when my bloodhound instincts are aroused.

I thought it was time to increase the discomfort level, so I said to Madox, “I, too, have a confession to make. You know about the Borgias. Right?”

He nodded.

“Well, after you invited us here, we got this toxicology report on Harry Muller showing high levels of sedatives in his blood. And, Kate has been… well, concerned about… you know.”

Madox looked at me, then Kate, then back at me, and said, “No. I don’t know.” He added in a curt tone, “And perhaps I don’t want to know.”

I continued, “I guess this comes under the category of being bad di

Mr. Madox did not comment on that, but he did light a cigarette without asking if anyone minded.

I made eye contact with Kate, and she seemed more uncomfortable than Bain, who actually appeared offended.

To make him feel better, I took another pig-in-the-blanket-blue toothpick, yellow mustard-and popped it in my mouth. “On the other hand,” I went on, “it appears that Detective Muller was sedated by means of a tranquilizer dart, followed by two hypodermic injections to keep him sedated.” I looked at Madox, but there was no reaction. “So, maybe we can rule out a Mickey Fi

Madox sipped his scotch, drew on his cigarette, then asked me, “Are you suggesting that someone here is trying to… sedate you?”

“Well,” I replied, “I’m just extrapolating from the evidence at hand.” I made a little joke to lighten the moment. “A lot of people say I need sedating, and maybe it would do me some good-if it wasn’t followed by a bullet in my back.”

Madox sat quietly in his nice green leather chair, blowing smoke rings, then he glanced at Kate and pointed out to her, “I think if you believe that, then di

Good one, Bain. I really liked this guy. Too bad he had to die, or if he was lucky, spend the rest of his life in a place less comfortable than this.

Kate decided to take the offensive. “I’m interested in Carl.”

Madox stared at her, then said, “Carl is my oldest and most trusted employee and friend.”

“That’s why I’m interested in him.”

Madox replied sharply, “That’s almost the same as an accusation against me.”

“Perhaps Detective Corey and I should have informed you that no one who was on this property this weekend is above suspicion. And that includes you.”

At this point, Madox should have told us to forget di

In fact, this is the point where you’ve crossed the threshold, and now you begin the transition from the unknown suspect to the person you’re speaking to. Hopefully, the suspect has already said something incriminating, or will when you start to bully him. Lacking that, you need to rely on the existing evidence and good hunches. It all ends with me saying something like, “Mr. Madox, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Federal Agent Harry Muller. Please come with us.”

Then, you take the guy downtown and book him. Or, in this case, I’d have to take him to state police headquarters, which would make Major Schaeffer happy.

On that subject, I was starting to think that Schaeffer’s surveillance team hadn’t seen us going to the Custer Hill Club, or if they had, and reported it, Schaeffer was not doing anything about it. And why would he? More important, I pictured Tom Walsh having di

This case, however, had some unique problems, like the suspect’s private army, and some familiar problems, like the suspect’s status as a rich and powerful man.

And, of course, aside from the homicide, there was the suspicion that the suspect was involved in a conspiracy to nuke the planet. And that was my more immediate concern, and my and Kate’s jurisdiction.

So, with that in mind, it was time to go nuclear, and I said to Bain Madox, “Speaking of houseguests, you had a guest who arrived Sunday, and has apparently not left yet. Will he be joining us for di

Madox stood suddenly, then walked to the bar. As he poured a short one, he remarked, “I’m not sure what-or who-you’re talking about.”

I didn’t like him being behind me, so I, too, stood, and motioned for Kate to stand. As I turned toward the bar, I said to Madox, “Dr. Mikhail Putyov. Nuclear physicist.”

“Oh. Michael. He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I have no idea. Why?”

“Well, if he’s not here,” I said, “then he seems to be missing.”