Chapter 50
A. X. L. PENDERGAST ARRIVED AT the bedroom door just as the medical team was taking out the body.
It was zipped into a white bag set on a stretcher, being carried by two bored EMTs.
Pendergast stood aside to allow the body to pass by.
Then he turned and entered the room, pausing to cast his gaze around, his silvery eyes taking in the details.
The morning sunlight illuminated an elegant and spacious bedroom, with an antique four-poster bed, wood-paneled walls, and a brick fireplace flanked by bookshelves.
In front of the fireplace was a sitting area with two brocaded armchairs and side tables.
The wall to the right had shelves displaying a collection of antique Chinese jades and snuff bottles, and resting on the mantelpiece was what Pendergast recognized as an antique Tibetan silver-inlay Kangling trumpet made from a human femur bone.
The room was crowded with people. No crime scene perimeter had been erected, and no CSI measures had been taken to exclude visitors.
There were two police officers who had nothing to do, standing around looking uncomfortable and out of place.
The attending physician, Pendergast knew, had swiftly concluded that Telligren died of natural causes—cardiac arrest.
Many of the people in the room were clustered around a grieving man whose back was turned, head bowed, offering him their condolences and sympathies.
Pendergast recognized the curly yellow hair of Dr. Magnus.
He was once again wearing a beautiful suit and, even bowed by grief, he maintained an aristocratic mien.
As Pendergast circled around closer to the group, he could see the doctor struggling to maintain his composure in the face of his mentor’s sudden death.
The attending physician had left when the body was taken away, but Telligren’s friends, along with the mayor and the district attorney, remained in the room, comforting Magnus in his hour of grief.
Pendergast, drifting still closer, picked up murmured phrases: “We know how much he meant to you… A good life, well led… A fine man… Not altogether unexpected, but still a tragedy… At least he didn’t suffer… I feared for him, weak heart and all… Heartfelt condolences…”
Pendergast, drawing his face into a mask of sympathy, approached Magnus and held out his hands. Magnus turned toward him and accepted the proffered handshake of sympathy, clasping Pendergast’s hands with both of his. “So good of you to come,” he said.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” said Pendergast.
“Thank you.”
“I know how close you were, how much Dr. Telligren meant to you.”
“He was like a second father to me.”
“It seems he died alone,” said Pendergast. “Poor man. I hope he didn’t suffer.”
“The doctor assured me it was instantaneous—like falling asleep. Nobody had any idea until his housekeeper found the body, two hours ago.”
“That must have been a shock,” said Pendergast.
“A shock for us all.”
Pendergast released the hands and stepped back, his glance falling on a side table, where a folded section of the Times-Picayune and a glass of half-consumed sherry could be seen. “I observe,” said Pendergast, “that Dr. Telligren’s last moments were taken up with a crossword puzzle.”
“He was so fond of those,” said Magnus. “It was part of his routine before bed—a glass of amontillado and the Times-Picayune crossword.”
Pendergast casually picked up the folded newspaper while glancing at Magnus, who was watching him keenly, and glanced over the block letters filling the crossword squares.
“It seems he almost completed it—save for a single clue.” Continuing to hold Magnus’s eye, Pendergast casually folded the section of newspaper containing the puzzle and slipped it into his suit coat pocket.
“Delightful to have seen you again, Agent Pendergast,” said Magnus, taking his hand once more.
“I offer you my most sincere condolences at this difficult time.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
Pendergast turned and walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the street. The curb in front of the house was lined with black cars. At the far end stood an idling Rolls, which when Pendergast appeared moved away from the curb and drove up abreast of him.
Pendergast got in and eased himself back into the buttery leather, his face a mask of ice.