Death at King Arthur's Court by Richard; Forrest Page A

to a nine-hole golf course. The open land between building clusters was crisscrossed with landscaped walks, cross-country ski trails, outdoor jogging trails, and interspersed with various types of courts where games with various small rubber balls were played. The area was immaculately maintained through immense monthly charges.
    He wondered if there was a pattern between this construction and the condo-monstrosity going up next to Nutmeg Hill. The days when homes were built around schools and playgrounds seemed past. Perhaps the affluent portion of the human race would eventually perish due to the lack of living quarters that permitted children.
    Lyon added another mental note to his ever-expanding list of Clay queries. Why was the young CPA so obsessed with the distribution of the trust money when his present income was obviously more than adequate?
    â€˜We have a fat list of things to ask Clay about,’ Lyon said.
    â€˜Uh huh,’ the chief replied as he drove through the security gate leading into the project. The irate guard was obviously perplexed when the police cruiser swept past. ‘Which of these miniature mansions is his?’ Rocco asked.
    â€˜Follow this road to the end and turn down the cul-de-sac to the right and he’s the last unit nearest the lake.’
    â€˜How can a CPA who does your taxes afford to live out here with all these yuppies?’ Rocco asked as his internal police alarm clicked in.
    â€˜Like I said,’ Lyon answered. ‘We have a book of questions for Clay.’
    They wondered if any answers were to be provided after Rocco’s persistent ringing went unanswered. Clay’s metallic voice finally blurted from a small unit on the wall. ‘I’m too upset over my brother’s death to talk with anyone today.’
    Lyon nudged Rocco and pointed to Bambi’s pickup parked in the drive. ‘Hers,’ he mouthed.
    â€˜You want I should get a warrant, Mr Dickensen?’ Rocco said without a hint of warmth.
    The front door jerked open as far as its chain allowed. Clay peered anxiously through the narrow opening. ‘Do I need a lawyer?’
    â€˜Not if you answer a few questions.’ Rocco automatically put the tip of a size-fourteen brogan into the door’s aperture.
    Clay looked down at the invading foot. ‘I assume this is about Morgan?’
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜I’m really tied up right now,’ Clay said. ‘If you need a statement of some sort, I can meet you down at your office in an hour. OK?’ He tried to shut the door without waiting for an answer.
    â€˜This will only take a few minutes,’ Rocco said as he pushed the door with enough pressure to snap the chain from its mounting and slam it back against the wall. ‘Oh, sorry. Don’t know my own strength.’
    â€˜Hey!’ Clay protested. ‘You can’t do that! You can’t come in here unless I invite you.’
    â€˜Lyon has an income-tax question, and that’s our reason for entry,’ Rocco said.
    Lyon followed Rocco inside as Clay continued protesting their entrance.
    A woman’s clothing trail led through the living room and out the sliding glass doors to a rear deck. The path was well marked, beginning with a blouse strewn haphazardly on the floor near the couch. A very large red bra was draped across an armchair, followed by a puddle of jeans that Lyon recognized. The path culminated with red bikini panties drooped across the metal door sill.
    Clay’s protest stopped abruptly as he watched them follow the clothing trail through the room and out the open doors. A nude Bambi Dolores reclined on a chaise lounge in the sun. Her head was turned to the side, with a folded towel covering her eyes.
    â€˜Our creature of the woods?’ Rocco asked.
    â€˜Bambi Dolores,’ Lyon answered. ‘Morgan’s late-night visitor.’
    â€˜Miss Dolores had a trying time,’ Clay said. ‘She’s exhausted