After all, it was not surprising that Mae had been able to uncover a weak link in Crossley’s chain. She read a lot and she could adopt a detached and critical viewpoint of statements which Pete might accept on their own merits. The more I thought of it the clearer I could see that her argument had been sound. Harry Bartlett had admitted that either Forman Spence, or Tim Reig, could have accepted the watch for repairs without making a record. Bartlett, himself, might have done the same thing. There was no way in the world of checking up to see if any of the three was lying. Marvin had told me that Spence owed the dead banker a lot of money. Pete Crossley knew it too, yet he had apparently been satisfied with the most casual inquiry into any connection the jeweler, and his employees might have had with the affair. While I could not bring myself to think that Forman was connected with it in any way, nevertheless, he., must be classed as a possible suspect worthy of investigation. I stopped the car in front of the County Jail determined to take the matter up with the Sheriff before I left that evening.
When Ed Brown opened the front door in response to the big bell I noticed that there were only three people in the sitting room to the left. I looked at my watch rather apologetically as I walked into the room, and felt better when I saw it was just five minutes past eight. Carl Sanderson was standing with his back to the fire staring straight ahead of him—saying nothing. He was a short ferret-like type of man who wore enormous horn-rimmed spectacles which rested only half way up on his thin nose. I had acted as an expert witness for him, once or twice, in the Circuit Court, and knew him to be a capable and dangerous prosecutor. He had a habit of punctuating his most telling points by lowering his head and looking over the top of his glasses. He would hold that pose for several seconds until he felt that the jury had thoroughly grasped his meaning. Then straightening up he would continue in his loud booming voice that was surprising in a man so slight of stature. It boomed out suddenly as I entered.
“Just in time, Doctor, just in time. I hope you can do something toward getting my fellow-member-of-the-bar here to talk.” He indicated Marvin Lee, who sat, legs outstretched, in the big chair before him. “This is all unofficial—absolutely unofficial,” Sanderson continued. “Mr. Lee could help the Sheriff and me greatly if he would only do so.”
Marvin greeted me with a nod. Pete rose from his chair and selected a villainous looking pipe from a jar on the mantel. The atmosphere of the room was very tense.
“Draw up a chair, Doc,” Marvin said. “And join the fight. The case of the well known State of Florida versus Marvin Lee is in progress. So far it’s a draw. I’ve told my bloodthirsty inquisitor—Mr. Sanderson—everything that I told you last night, but he’s not satisfied. He wants more, and there isn’t any more.”
“Don’t drag me into it.” I pleaded. “I believe everything you say, Marvin, but I still can’t help feeling that Mr. Sanderson has some justification for wanting to know more.”
The young attorney sat up rigidly in his chair, an expression of extreme weariness on his face. “Good Lord, Doc, I’m not disputing that fact. I’m a lawyer myself. Sanderson’s entitled to all the information I can give him, and I’ve given him all I can give him—at least for the time being.” He stood up and faced the State’s Attorney defiantly. “If you think I had anything to do with shooting Mitchell, Carl, go ahead and let Pete arrest me. See if you can get a true bill from the next Grand Jury. Maybe you have enough evidence to convict me. I don’t know. Maybe you can figure out some way I killed Red Salmon, too. You’d make quite a name for yourself.” He picked up his hat and coat that were lying on a nearby chair and started for the door. The big bulk of the Sheriff barred his way.
“Listen wildcat,” he laid one of his ham-like hands on Marvin’s shoulder. “If you don’t put your things down and go back and sit in that chair I’m going to favor you with an old fashioned spanking—and I’m man enough to do it too. Nobody said a word about you being connected with any murder. I asked you here tonight because I wanted your help, and Mr. Sanderson did too. There’re others coming in a few minutes and you can just wait. Go on now and sit down. And don’t fly off the handle like a loose ax.” He relieved Marvin of his hat and coat and led him back to the chair he had just quitted. Marvin hesitated a minute and then sat down with a grin which relieved the tension. The doorbell rang and Pete answered it himself. I heard him greet someone heartily. Then he ushered into the room Forman Spence, the jeweler.
It was evident that our unobtrusive little friend was very nervous. He shook hands with everyone present and I noticed that his hand was cold to the touch. I thought he started and seemed confused when he first saw Marvin Lee, but it may have been my imagination. He placed his dapper felt hat on the mantel and stood beside Carl Sanderson in front of the fire. From where I was sitting I could see him nervously clasping and unclasping one hand which he held in back of him to the warming blaze. With the other he was toying with the bottom button of his overcoat which he had not removed. “Quite a party you have, Mr. Sanderson,” he said. “I hadn’t expected to find all these leading lights of law and medicine. Looks almost like a Rotary meeting.”
“Quite unofficial, Mr. Spence. Quite unofficial. I asked Pete to request you to come tonight in hopes you could help us out a little. We’ve had to impose on Dr. Ryan and Mr. Lee, too. Slip your coat off. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”
“It’s a third degree, Forman,” Marvin muttered from the depths of his chair. “You better retain me right now, and I’ll tell you what questions to answer. You can’t trust a State’s Attorney.”
The jeweler darted a quick look at the speaker as if he felt there might be more truth than jest in his words. Marvin favored him with a wink which seemed to reassure him. In his quick fluttering manner he divested himself of overcoat and muffler, handed them to Crossley, and perched himself like a small gray bird on the edge of a straight backed chair which Sanderson pulled up into the circle. The prosecutor resumed his place in front of the fire and looked down his nose at Forman. “You knew David Mitchell very well, did you not, Mr. Spence?” he began.
“He was one of my best friends. Probably the best.”
“He had some connection with your business, had he not?”
Forman moistened his lips. “You might say that. He helped me start it. In a financial way, that is. After all, that’s rather a personal matter, isn’t it?” He glanced at Marvin and me.
“Quite so, Mr. Spence. Quite so. We won’t go into that now. The main thing I wanted to know was about this.” With the motions of a prestidigitator Sanderson produced from his coat pocket a gold watch and placed it in Forman’s hands. “Can you identify that?”
The jeweler turned it over quickly in his skilled fingers and snapped open the back. “You hardly need my identification, Mr. Sanderson. It is engraved on the inside of the case. It was bought from me by the Chamber of Commerce for David Mitchell. It’s his watch all right.” He handed it back to Sanderson who stared down at it with a puzzled frown.
“Now Mr. Spence, the Sheriff is very anxious to find out for sure that Mitchell had this watch with him when he was killed. There’s no chance that it was in your store for repairs without your knowledge, is there?”
I could see Forman bristle. “I’ve already been into that with Pete. I didn’t take it in from Dave Mitchell, and neither did Tim Reig or Bartlett. There’s not a chance in the world that that watch was in my store.”
“How do you know, Forman?” I asked quietly. “I don’t want to interfere, but my wife brought up that very question at supper tonight. She said there was no way anyone could know about the watch. No matter what happened we would have to depend on the truthfulness of Harry Bartlett and Tim Reig.”
“She’s right, too.” Crossley put in quickly. “You admitted to me yourself, Forman, that things in your store were pretty lax where records were concerned.”
Forman rose to his feet, his face white with anger. “What the devil are you trying to do, Crossley? Tie me
and my employees up with the murder of my best friend? I suppose I don’t know what’s going on in a business I’ve been running most of my life! What right have you to think Tim and Bartlett are lying, or that I’m lying? Answer me that! I tell you Mitchell never brought that watch in the store and that’s all there is to it! “
“Oh forget it, Forman,” Marvin advised with a laugh. “I’ll be in jail for the murder long before you will. You wouldn’t retain me as your lawyer—so I want to ask a question now. Have you any objections?”
“No. Go ahead.” He smiled at Pete apologetically. “I guess I’m upset along with everybody else. I’m sorry, Pete.”
“Well I hope you don’t blow up at this one,” Marvin said. “But I was wondering where you were the afternoon Mitchell was killed?”
“Why I was in the store all day. Didn’t leave there until after seven.”
“Who was there with you, Mr. Spence?” The State’s Attorney looked at Forman over the top of his glasses.
“Why nobody. That’s why I stayed so late. I let both the boys off to go hunting. You see it was the last day of the season—”
“Yes,” said Pete Crossley, “I seem to remember.”
9
When I attempt to analyze my mental reactions to the various events which led up to the solving of our local mystery I find that my mind did not function clearly. Like Forman Spence, I was “upset along with everybody else.” My suspicions swung from one person to another. I was swayed by the slightest bit of evidence, regardless of whether it was real or circumstantial. Marvin’s reticence in the face of an overwhelming need for frankness aroused in me a grave solicitude. I eagerly grasped at the thought that Red Salmon was the guilty one. After Red was killed I reluctantly began to suspect Forman Spence. I could not deny that a strong motive existed to implicate him. His evasion of Carl Sanderson’s question about his financial relations with the deceased banker inspired distrust. I hated myself for entertaining misgivings about old friends. I only needed the flimsiest of excuses to pick other suspects. As soon as I heard that Timothy Reig, and Harry Bartlett, had been hunting on February fifteenth, I pointed at them a mental finger of suspicion without demur.
Ed Brown entered the room carrying a pile of firewood which he dumped noisily on the hearth. Forman was apparently surprised at the turn the questions had taken.
He stood rigidly watching the Deputy stack the wood on one side of the fireplace. When Ed was through, and had brushed the splinters from the hearth into the fire, Pete spoke to him quietly.
“When Tim Reig and Bartlett come I want you to stick around just outside the door, Ed. I want you to hear what they say.”
“Sure,” Ed replied as he left the room.
“You all act as if there was something queer about Reig and Bartlett going hunting.” Forman Spence declared stiffly. “Just because somebody got the fool idea that Dave Mitchell could have left his watch at the store you seem determined to hook one of us three up with his murder. It would seem more sensible, to me at least, if you made some attempt to find the murderer who robbed his victim.”
“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood us entirely,” Sanderson said placatingly. “You know where the watch was found?”
“Everybody within ten miles knows that by now.”
“We’re not trying to hook up any of you with either Red Salmon or Mitchell, Mr. Spence. We’re merely trying to eliminate any possible connection with your store. We must be certain that Mitchell had that watch with him. It’s our only clue. Did you know that his daughter stated that he had made a remark about his watch gaining?”
“No. I didn’t know that. When?”
“According to her it was a few days before his death. She doesn’t remember exactly. Naturally we felt that you, and your employees, would be anxious to help. We wanted to talk to you before we saw them. That’s all.”
“I’ll help in any way I can,” Forman said, mollified. “And I’m sure they will, too. I couldn’t help but feel some resentment at my business being questioned. I’ll just forget it. Is there anything else you want to know?”
“About Bartlett,” Pete said. “Did he do much hunting this season?”
“He went out about once a week, I believe. Things have been pretty slow and I have been letting both Tim and Bartlett have quite some time off. The last day of the season was the only one they were both away at the same time, though.”
“Did Bartlett usually go by himself?”
“I think he did. He has his own dog, and an old Ford. He has stopped at the store once or twice, but I don’t remember seeing anyone with him.”
“How about Reig?” Sanderson inquired. “Did he hunt much?”
“I can answer that,” Pete said. “He was out every chance he could get. He’s not only good on quail, but he’s brought in a lot of turkey, and several nice bucks in the last few years. Ed has been out with him lots of times. He can tell you more about it than I can.”
After Forman had answered a few more questions about Bartlett he excused himself with the statement that Mrs. Spence was waiting for him to start a bridge game. He gave the State’s Attorney further assurance of his cooperation, and departed with evident relief. He had scarcely gone when Ed Brown opened the front door to admit Timothy Reig.
The watchmaker was one of those men whom you see every day for ten years and then cannot describe. He was made up of several things which I noticed individually at different times. When I try to blend them all together and picture him as a whole, I find that one characteristic offsets another, and the picture fades. He becomes just a figure bending over a work bench in Forman Spence’s store. I could pass him on the street and speak to him, and in five minutes forget all about it.
When I try to pick out the most noticeable thing in his makeup I invariably think of his hands. Poised over his work bench, holding the delicate works of a watch, they were the hands of a skillful surgeon. I can never picture them at all hanging by the side of Tim Reig. My strongest impression of him is that I have never seen a man so totally unimpressive.
In the brief moment that he stood in the doorway beside the Chief Deputy, I unconsciously compared the two men. Ed Brown remains much stronger in my memory, although I have seen Tim twenty times to once that I have seen Ed. The Deputy’s face was the bronzed, fearless, almost ruthless face of the born man hunter, tight lipped, and square chinned. The watchmaker’s face was tanned, but it seemed uninteresting beside the Deputy’s. Compared to the officer, Reig was delicately built. I believe that Reig was so average that compared with any other man he became uninteresting. Probably if I had seen him beside Forman Spence I would have been much more interested in the jeweler.
“Hello folks,” Tim greeted us. “Still on the trail of the mysterious watch? Well I don’t know any more about it than I did the last time.” He stopped as he saw Carl Sanderson. Pete introduced them. “I’ll be glad to help if I can,” Tim went on. “You ask, Mr. Sanderson, and I’ll try to answer.”
“Thank you, Mr. Reig. We’re really not so much interested in the watch as we are in getting some information from the hunters who were out on February fifteenth. You were out on that day weren’t you?”
“Yes. I went out to a place called the ‘Possum Farm. It’s a good place for quail.”
“Just where is that, Mr. Reig?”
“It’s about thirty miles west of here on State Road No. 2. It’s a big clearing in the flat woods. Ed Brown knows where it is. I’ve hunted there with him.”
“I see.” Sanderson polished his spectacles and replaced them. “Were you alone?”
“Yes. I generally hunt alone. There are only a few men in this town I trust near me when a covey rises. I’d rather be alone than with any of them. Safer—and more sport.”
“Then Mr. Bartlett didn’t accompany you on your trip?” Sanderson looked over the top of his glasses.
“Bartlett? You mean Harry Bartlett in the store? Why I didn’t even know he was a hunter. What gave you that idea?
”
“He was out that day, and I merely thought you might have been together.”
“No, sir. You’re way off there. Is there anything else?”
“Just one more thing, Mr. Reig. I understand from the Sheriff that you have a small place where you live, ten miles out on the road to Lake Louisa. How is it you do not hunt out in that direction?”
“I do, sometimes, if I haven’t much time. But the hunting around the ‘Possum Farm is much better, and very few people know about it. I’d drive a hundred miles to get good quail shooting.”
There was an interruption caused by the arrival of Harry Bartlett. He acknowledged our greetings, and the introduction to Carl Sanderson. Then he came and sat beside me until Tim had said his “Good nights” and gone. He seemed much older to me than he had when I talked with him in the jewelry store on Saturday night. His eyes showed evidence of loss of sleep, and his face was drawn and tired. I was about to tell him that he was breaking himself down with overwork when Sanderson spoke.
“We’re sorry to bring you here so late, Mr. Bartlett, but I have had a lot to do tonight, and only one night to do it in. I’ll try to hurry things along. You’ve been with Mr. Spence just a short while, haven’t you?”
“Nearly six months.”
“How did you happen to go with him?”
“Briefly, I had been in the jewelry business for eight years.” He named two large firms on Fifth Avenue in New York. “My health was bad, and I went to Miami. The store I was with there failed. That was a year ago. I tried the races.” He smiled. “It didn’t pay. When I was nearly down and out I met a friend from Tampa, and he told me about an opening with Mr. Spence. I borrowed enough to get here and landed the job.”
“You live out near Mr. Reig, don’t you?”
“About a mile beyond him. I bought five acres cheap. I’ve fenced part of it, and have a garden and a two-room house which I built myself.”
“You hunt a lot?”
“I’m very fond of it.”
Blood on Lake Louisa Page 6