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Gig Garrett to the mouth of Cabin John
Creek wasn't visible in the ruins of his cabin, since the only
evidence of wealth was the gold melted onto his little finger.
    What Inspector Bullard did find after a study
of the charred crime scene was the story of Drew and Garrett's
deaths. A week after Drew's funeral, he recited it for my parents
and me in our living room. He began by leaning forward in his chair
with his hat in his hand and absently stroking his perfect
mustache. Drew's wife Susan was there too.
    Yes, Drew was married for the last four years
of his life. To a pleasant, pear-shaped woman who bustled around
the house while talking cheerfully to herself. Susan wanted nothing
more than a warm kitchen where she could stir pancake batter and
bake pies, and a well-tended bungalow to hold gatherings with
friends and family. After she married Drew, that life seemed within
reach. But while Susan was born to be a mother, infertility and
Drew's death left her destined to be a nurse. By mid-summer she'd
moved out of the home she shared with Drew and back in with her
parents in Alexandria.
    "When Garrett opened the door," Bullard said,
"Drew had his revolver ready." He raised his hand to pantomime a
drawn gun. "I've concluded that he wasn't alone, because of what
happened next.
    "Let's assume that Owen is right," he said,
glancing at me. Bullard's eyes were sparkling now, and it was hard
not to contrast his animation with my father's vacant stare. "Let's
assume that Drew is at the door with Henry Zimmerman," continued
Bullard, "and Henry has his gun drawn too.
    "They walked to the cabin together after
deciding not to wait for Owen." He turned toward me again. "Drew
was your older brother, so it would be natural for him to try to
protect you. Perhaps your panic at the culvert made him doubt you
were ready for this adventure. Or maybe he felt that two armed men
would be enough, and he decided not to worry about you."
    I shifted in my seat as I felt my mother's
eyes settle on me. I didn't want to look at her because tears might
be forming, and I wouldn't know whether to attribute them to Drew's
death or my own weakness.
    "But I had the handcuffs," I managed
hoarsely. "And Drew said we could never make him cooperate without
them."
    "Precisely!" Bullard said, springing to his
feet and looking at the four of us in turn.
    My father exhaled audibly and buried the
lower half of his face beneath his hand. "Inspector, I'm not sure I
follow you."
    "When Garrett opens the door, Drew and Henry
tell him to turn around with his hands behind his back. But then
they realize that neither one of them has the handcuffs. So they
march Garrett into the cabin and Drew says that he'll stand guard
while Henry runs to find Owen, who should be waiting a few minutes
away on the towpath."
    "Why wouldn't Drew have run back to find me
himself?" I asked.
    "Maybe he should have," Bullard said gravely.
"But maybe he didn't completely trust Henry. Or perhaps he wanted
to talk to Garrett alone."
    This last possibility hadn't occurred to me,
and for over two decades I've wondered what Drew and Garrett might
have had to say to each other. Had Drew been trying to make sure he
had that opportunity?
    Bullard was still standing, acting out the
scene while stepping in place.
    "They know that even though Drew is armed,
leaving him alone with Garrett is risky. Garrett might charge him
or try to make a break for it. So they decide to make Garrett stand
in the wood cellar. They remove the trapdoor cover and tell him to
jump down. The cellar is five or six feet deep, and there's a notch
on a post that you use as a foothold to climb out. It's below
ground, with no other exit, so Drew can stand guard from above.
    "Drew keeps his eyes and revolver trained on
Garrett through the opening in the floor while Henry leaves to find
Owen," Bullard said, pausing to make sure we were all still with
him. "And then things start to go wrong."
    From the love-seat she shared with my mother,
Susan