a supply of the banned rat poison left over from decades ago. He put me in charge of disposing of it, along with everything else. I never got around to it. I could use all I want and nobody would miss it, since nobody was supposed to still have any.”
“But the well water would’ve made the crew sick eventually, that was the joke, wasn’t it Matthew?” she said.
Mr. Drexel looked aside, but nodded.
“Because it was tainted with gas,” said Mrs. Risk. “The water table was slowly being polluted from those pipeline leaks you were supposed to clean up and eliminate years ago. You never finished that job, either, did you?”
“I started it, but the costs were astronomical. The pipes were so old—the engineers said they had pinhole leaks, maybe even only one or two, that we couldn’t find. The only solution they recommended was to dig up and replace the entire pipeline. I did replace some of it, but there were miles of pipes!”
“And since you were in charge, you were able to keep anyone at the company from knowing all the facts of the clean-up operation, weren’t you? Nobody but you knew that you’d left it unfinished. And so slowly, gas has continued to leak into the water table at the east end of the village. The leak hadn’t spread to my property yet, and the only people living between NSIC and Phantom’s property are rarely there to notice anything. The plots are so large on my side of town, it played to your advantage, isn’t that right, Matthew?”
“I would’ve done the job, in time.” His voice sounded plaintive, as if he felt she should see the reasonableness of his actions. He looked up at her. “The gas was taking years to spread. But no, Mr. Garrett wanted everything done immediately. NSIC would’ve gone broke.”
“Not broke, but the stock price would’ve been greatly depressed, wouldn’t it, Matthew?” murmured Mrs. Risk.
He nodded, still looking only at her. “The stock price had already dropped in reaction to Aisa’s huge expenditures. I’d gotten several loans, using that stock as collateral. If the value dropped again—I would’ve had to come up with money I didn’t have to back up those loans. It’s expensive, living the way I do. Everybody knows I’m Aisa’s heir. I’m an important man, I have appearances to maintain.”
Mrs. Risk looked away from him for a moment, the muscles in her jaw working, then continued, “Too bad you couldn’t have—economized your lifestyle a little—enough to buy that land yourself.” She still spoke with that strange intensity of tone that carried throughout the room without being loud. The crowd stood breathlessly silent, listening.
“Purchasing the land yourself would’ve bought you more time—time you needed to wait for Aisa’s death. Because when Aisa died, your inheritance would not have just paid off your personal debts. You could’ve discreetly replaced the pipelines and still maintained your lifestyle…maintained your—your rightful position—in the village, and in the Manhattan society of which you’re so fond.
“But instead,” she continued, “you were greedy. In order to stop construction, you chose to kill the poor carpenter. When the police decided the murder was an accident, work on the project continued. Then you were driven to kill someone else, but this time merely broke the leg of the construction boss. Nothing seemed to go your way. Nobody would stop working on that house. Mark never publicized your anonymous letters, either, which might have stopped things. You must have been horribly frustrated.”
“I was,” he said. “I was.”
“Poisoning the water nearly brought you success…nearly. You didn’t want to keep murdering people, but what else could you do, Matthew? What else could you do?”
Matthew Drexel let out a long, pent up breath. “Everybody was frantic to get that house built, to have that rock star live here. I didn’t care, myself, until they picked out that one piece of
“But the well water would’ve made the crew sick eventually, that was the joke, wasn’t it Matthew?” she said.
Mr. Drexel looked aside, but nodded.
“Because it was tainted with gas,” said Mrs. Risk. “The water table was slowly being polluted from those pipeline leaks you were supposed to clean up and eliminate years ago. You never finished that job, either, did you?”
“I started it, but the costs were astronomical. The pipes were so old—the engineers said they had pinhole leaks, maybe even only one or two, that we couldn’t find. The only solution they recommended was to dig up and replace the entire pipeline. I did replace some of it, but there were miles of pipes!”
“And since you were in charge, you were able to keep anyone at the company from knowing all the facts of the clean-up operation, weren’t you? Nobody but you knew that you’d left it unfinished. And so slowly, gas has continued to leak into the water table at the east end of the village. The leak hadn’t spread to my property yet, and the only people living between NSIC and Phantom’s property are rarely there to notice anything. The plots are so large on my side of town, it played to your advantage, isn’t that right, Matthew?”
“I would’ve done the job, in time.” His voice sounded plaintive, as if he felt she should see the reasonableness of his actions. He looked up at her. “The gas was taking years to spread. But no, Mr. Garrett wanted everything done immediately. NSIC would’ve gone broke.”
“Not broke, but the stock price would’ve been greatly depressed, wouldn’t it, Matthew?” murmured Mrs. Risk.
He nodded, still looking only at her. “The stock price had already dropped in reaction to Aisa’s huge expenditures. I’d gotten several loans, using that stock as collateral. If the value dropped again—I would’ve had to come up with money I didn’t have to back up those loans. It’s expensive, living the way I do. Everybody knows I’m Aisa’s heir. I’m an important man, I have appearances to maintain.”
Mrs. Risk looked away from him for a moment, the muscles in her jaw working, then continued, “Too bad you couldn’t have—economized your lifestyle a little—enough to buy that land yourself.” She still spoke with that strange intensity of tone that carried throughout the room without being loud. The crowd stood breathlessly silent, listening.
“Purchasing the land yourself would’ve bought you more time—time you needed to wait for Aisa’s death. Because when Aisa died, your inheritance would not have just paid off your personal debts. You could’ve discreetly replaced the pipelines and still maintained your lifestyle…maintained your—your rightful position—in the village, and in the Manhattan society of which you’re so fond.
“But instead,” she continued, “you were greedy. In order to stop construction, you chose to kill the poor carpenter. When the police decided the murder was an accident, work on the project continued. Then you were driven to kill someone else, but this time merely broke the leg of the construction boss. Nothing seemed to go your way. Nobody would stop working on that house. Mark never publicized your anonymous letters, either, which might have stopped things. You must have been horribly frustrated.”
“I was,” he said. “I was.”
“Poisoning the water nearly brought you success…nearly. You didn’t want to keep murdering people, but what else could you do, Matthew? What else could you do?”
Matthew Drexel let out a long, pent up breath. “Everybody was frantic to get that house built, to have that rock star live here. I didn’t care, myself, until they picked out that one piece of
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