From The Grave

Chapter 26

"Bryce Deadmarsh." Gretta turned her laptop around for Arny to see. "Recognize him?"

"He's the guy alright. Where did you find him?"

"He worked in the civil service for a while and he was also with a private security firm. Prints are automatically filed when they get vetted."

"And now he's a gunman for...?"

"My guess? Gravestone." She printed out a snapshot of Bryce Deadmarsh and shut off the computer.

"So now what, we confront Gravestone?"

"Nope. First we find Bryce. Let's not cut speculative corners."

"Okay, how?"

"He listed the same address for both jobs; we'll check that out first, he might still be there. From the address I think it' a house; pretty unusual for a single guy."

The street was in the east end of the city in the Beach district. South of the last main street and north of the lake. The house was a smallish bungalow, brick and white siding with black shingles on the roof. A small square of lawn, well maintained was divided by a front walk of cement slabs.

Monstrous old maples hid the sky from sight and the thick branches stretched ominously toward the house itself. Gretta marched right up to the font porch, climbed the steps and jammed a thumb against the door bell. Nothing. Arny wandered down the side drive and around to the rear of the house. A glass table with folding chairs stood on a lock-stone patio to one side of the rear entrance.

Another large maple shaded the narrow yard. He knocked on the back door, listened, and heard nothing. Back out the front Gretta was speaking with a neighbor and as he came up she thanked the elderly lady and steered Arny down the walk and back to their car.

"What was that about?"

"That was Mrs. Bindle, long time neighbor of the Deadmarshes. Bryce lives there alone now but today he arrived home in a taxi instead of his car and a few minutes later an EMS van showed up and he was put in the back.

"He got sick?"

"She has no idea but we can check with the hospital. Let's go."

The East General Hospital held an emergency waiting room with the usual number of unhappy people supporting various and sundry illnesses. EMS staff stood around chatting while their cargo groaned or slept on gurneys, waiting for attention from the triage staff.

Gretta spoke to a triage nurse and was directed to the admitting desk where she further learned that Mr. Bryce Deadmarsh was admitted with a gunshot wound to the leg and was now in recovery on the third floor.

"There he is." Arny pointed to a bed, one of four, in a corner by a window that overlooked the parking lot.

They walked over and stood beside the bed, looking down at the man who had just recently held both of them at gunpoint.

"Shoot yourself in the leg, Bryce?" Gretta asked.

He looked up and his face collapsed.

"That's right, it's us, Pinky's guests, remember?" Gretta leaned on the bed and Bryce winced. "We'd like to know where the stamp went, Bryce."

"I don't have it."

"No, I expect not, considering your condition. Somebody rob you too?"

"I've got nothing to say."

Arny pulled the curtain around the bed and Gretta watched the concern register on Bryce's face.

"I think you have plenty to say, Bryce. And if I was you I'd start darn quick." She sat on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on his bandages leg. "I won't kid you, Bryce. If you don't answer the question, you won't be getting out of here for some time." She underlined her threat with a squeeze of the wound. Bryce started to call out but Arny's hand clamped over his mouth and the buzzer was unclipped from the pillow and tossed on the table.

"The stamp." Gretta squeezed again and his eyes rolled up into his head. Arny tapped his cheek and gave him a sympathetic look.

"Gravestone..." The name scraped out of his throat and he tensed again as she increased the pressure.

"I hope that's the truth, Bryce. Did he shoot you?" Bryce nodded, his eyes mashed shut against the excruciating pain.

"Okay. That wasn't to bad was it." She slapped his leg and stood up, yanking back the curtain and allowing Bryce's yell to echo down to the nurse's station.

Outside, Arny steered off the parking lot and waited for directions.

"That was kinda mean, don't you think?"

"You think he would have kissed you if we had tried something at Pinky's?" She indicated a left turn and he complied, swallowing his comment.

---------------------------

The huge house was set well back from the rarely travelled road, almost hidden from view by the massive Blue Spruce trees that dotted the front of the property. The building itself was a grey concrete structure with Ionic pillars flanking the wide front entrance. A shake roof, stained almost black, sloped steeply over the second story and around the row of dormers that delineated its individual rooms.

The drive was an intricate pattern of hand-cut flagstone curving from the gated street entrance to a wider parking area adjacent to the front steps. Inside, in a room heavily decorated with hanging rugs and unmatched antique furnishings, Serge Vostad reclined in a massive leather Lazyboy with a phone against his ear. The chair was so incongruously out of style with the room it was almost painful to accept.

"I am sad to hear, Mr. Deadmarsh, but please, how does this affect what we discussed?"

Bryce went through his tale of the events since they had last spoken and Serge listened without interruption then repeated his question.

"You came to me with this offer Mr. Deadmarsh. I believed it was serious and I treated it as such, going so far as to suggest a range within which I was willing to deal. Now you are telling me it is all off, that you can't deliver on your promise?"

"I tried to explain. I got shot for heaven's sake!"

"As unfortunate as that may seem to you, Mr. Deadmarsh, it is considerably less than others who have chosen to renege on arrangements with my company."

"For God's sake, Serge, I'm not reneging, Gravestone shot me and took the stamp; he wants to deal directly with you!"

"You gave him my name?"

"I- well yes. Serge, he shot me!"

"Goodbye, Mr. Deadmarsh."

"Serge!"