“Why?” Riggs asked.
The doctor shrugged. “Mrs. Abbott insisted. I only saw her a couple of times a year, and she paid me very well. But the truth is that I am out of practice. And this isn’t just anyone. This is Mrs. Francis Abbott we’re talking about here, and I need to be sure.”
Riggs frowned. “You’re not sure about the cause of death?”
“Precisely. And I would hate to be responsible for causing the Abbott family any unnecessary annoyances.” The doctor led them over to the large bed, where the late Mrs. Abbott was lying.
She was a short woman with a slender body, pale skin, and white hair. Even in death, there was a formidable look about her. She had an abrupt jawline and a severe curve to her arched eyebrows. Her nightgown had old-fashioned ruffles and ivory buttons down the front. On her hands were two golden rings, one with five large diamonds clustered together and the other with an enormous ruby. Her fingernails were lacquered with a soft pink polish, but Riggs’ attention kept going back to her face and that proud, determined jaw.
Riggs finally looked up at the doctor. “When did it happen?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” The doctor considered a moment. “At least a couple of hours ago, I should think. But that’s only a guess.”
The inspector nodded. “And what do you think caused her death?”
“You will get a second opinion?” The doctor asked. He was squeezing one of his hands with the other.
“Our police surgeon is already on his way.”
The doctor nodded in agreement. “Good, good, that’s very sensible of you. An old doctor like me can make mistakes, after all. And I wouldn’t want to make any trouble for the Abbotts.”
“So, what do you think?”
“Well, it may have been heart failure,” the doctor whispered nervously. “But I don’t think so. I think this woman may have died of asphyxiation. Specifically, I think she may have been smothered.”
“Why do you think that?”
The doctor took out his handkerchief and patted his neck and forehead. “I’m afraid that I’ve disturbed it,” he whispered as he pointed to the bed. “But when I first arrived, that pillow had two pronounced dents in it, as though someone had gripped it firmly with two hands. I moved it aside when I examined her, and then later, when I noticed some of the signs of asphyxiation, I remembered those indents.”
Riggs looked at the spare pillow that had been tossed aside. Its current shape was unremarkable, and he turned it over and inspected it. There was a tiny smudge of pink lipstick, but nothing else.
Through the open window, they heard an automobile pulling up the driveway. The gravel churned as it turned around the circular driveway and came to a stop.
“That’s probably our man now,” Fisher said.
Riggs turned to the junior investigator. “Try to get him up here before anyone has a chance to talk to him.”
Fisher hurried from the room, and Riggs turned to the doctor. “By the way, Doctor, what reason did you give to Walter Abbott for involving the police?”
“I didn’t give him any reason,” the doctor explained. “I arrived here before him. I told Miss Miller that I had telephoned the police, but she didn’t ask any questions.”
“Miss Miller?”
“Yes, she is…I mean she was Mrs. Abbott’s personal secretary. She’s an exceptionally competent woman, and she’s been with Mrs. Abbott for years. Actually, it was a remark that Miss Miller made that first gave me the impression that something was wrong.”
Riggs put his hands in his trouser pockets. “Really? And why was that?”
“Well, she said, just by way of explanation, that she had thought Mrs. Abbott was already awake because there were papers laying out on her desk. And I had just noticed that the office window was open, which struck me as an odd coincidence, so I asked her to lock the office door.”
“The office?”
Dr. Bowman nodded. “Yes, the room downstairs by the front door. When you approach the front door, the office windows are on the left. One of them was open, but just barely. So when Miss Miller mentioned some paperwork was out of place, I feared there might have been a robbery.”
Riggs looked down at the small body and frowned. “Doctor, am I to understand that this woman was running a business? At her age?”
The old doctor rubbed his forehead with his handkerchief. “Oh, yes. Mrs. Abbott’s mind was as sharp as a whip. She was always involved in her husband’s work. When he died, she moved into his office and took over the Abbott Corporation. Two of her sons were already working at the company headquarters downtown, and she hired Miss Miller to help her here.”
“I see, and were you acquainted with her late husband?”
“Yes.” The doctor smiled proudly. “I attended both of them for several years. Mr. Alexander Abbott passed away ten years ago. When I retired, Mrs. Abbott said that she wouldn’t dream of going to anyone else. She was a very private person, you see, especially where her health was concerned. So, I stayed on.”
“And how was her health?” the inspector asked.
The doctor paused before answering, “That’s a delicate question, Inspector. As a retired medical man, I would have to say that Mrs. Abbott’s health was reasonably typical for a woman of her age.”
“She was in good health?”
The doctor glanced up for a moment and said, “As things were, I didn’t have any particular concerns.”
The door opened, and Fisher entered with the police physician, Dr. Hara. The doctor was a middle-aged man with a dynamic voice. Before the war, his hair had been completely dark, but when he returned from the Japanese-American internment camps, it was streaked with gray. Dr. Hara sized up the living occupants of the room before heading toward the bed.
Just as Riggs was about to head downstairs, Dr. Bowman stopped him with an outstretched arm. “Oh, Inspector, this is the key to Mrs. Abbott’s office. I took the liberty of asking Miss Miller to lock it when I arrived, just as a precaution.”
Riggs smiled. “If you ever decide to come out of retirement, you could start a new career as a police inspector.” He took the key. “And now, I’ll go have a word with this secretary, Miss Miller.”
Chapter Four: Riggs Eavesdrops
Inspector Riggs left Mrs. Abbott’s bedroom and walked along the landing. As he approached the top of the staircase, the front door burst open and loud footsteps came rushing down the hallway. Riggs expected the newcomer to rush up the stairs, but instead, the man stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Riggs couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could see him from the chest down. He was wearing a white Hawaiian shirt with enormous red flowers, tan trousers, black and white pedal pushers, and a big gold watch on his left wrist. He stopped outside the double doors leading to the great room. The man took off his hat, and Riggs could see it at his side; a straw Stetson with flashy floral ribbon.
“What the hell’s going on here?” the man demanded. His voice echoed through the hall. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
Riggs could hear Walter Abbott’s voice from the great room. “No, Paul. It seems Mother passed away in her sleep.”
“My God.” The man in the Hawaiian shirt stood there. “Mother’s actually dead? What, just like that? And after everything she put us through? I thought Camille had gotten the message wrong. I thought Mother was ill…but, how could she be dead? She wasn’t even sick, for Pete’s sake! How did she…”
“We don’t know, Paul.” It was a woman’s shaky voice this time. “It must have happened sometime in the night.”
The man named Paul walked into the great room and out of Riggs’ view.
“I suppose you telephoned her doctor,” Paul asked. “Bowman or whatever his name is?”
“Yes,” Walter said. “Rosemary called him first. He’s up there with her now, he and the other doctor, and— ”
“Well, did he say when it happened?” Paul interrupted. There was a silence, and Riggs suspected that someone was shaking their
head as an answer. Paul’s voice continued, “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I need a drink. Julia? Walter?”
“It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” Julia objected.
“It certainly is,” Paul agreed. “It’s an ungodly time to learn that your beloved mother has passed away, and therefore, I need a drink.” There was the sound of a glass clinking. “Has anyone told poor Freddy?”
“He’s on his way,” Walter said.
A door opened on the opposite side of the hall, and Riggs saw a woman in a green suit cross the hall. Her shoes were fashionable, and she stepped so softly that Riggs could barely hear her. She was in her late twenties, with a slim figure, and her curly red hair was pulled up into a bun. Her stride was confident, but she was wringing her hands. Just before she entered the room, she paused, took a deep breath, and relaxed.
“Rosemary, are you all right?” Julia asked.
“I’m shaken but fine,” Rosemary said. Her voice was deep and composed.
“Did the doctor tell you what time it happened?” Paul demanded.
“He didn’t tell me anything,” Rosemary said.
Julia’s voice was still shaky. “Why on earth would it matter what time mother passed away?”
“I’m only curious,” her brother explained. A glass clinked. “Well, since the old girl is really gone, I suppose I ought to make some telephone calls. I am the president of the company, after all.”
“There’s no one at the office,” Walter reminded him. “It’s Sunday.”
“There may not be anything to do from a financial perspective,” Paul said, “but the board members will want to hear the news from me personally.”
“You’ll have to use the extension in the kitchen,” Rosemary said in her low, even voice. “Your mother’s office is locked.”
Paul chuckled. “That’s fine, Rosemary. Just give me the key, will you?”
“Doctor Bowman took it.”
There was a long pause.
Walter spoke first. “Doctor Bowman took the key to mother’s office? Whatever for?”
“I’m afraid I’ve complicated things,” Rosemary admitted. “When the doctor arrived, I said that I thought Mrs. Abbott was awake because there were papers on her desk. But then Dr. Bowman asked me to lock the office door. And when I did, he took the key.”
Walter frowned. “Which papers, Rosemary?”
“Who cares,” Paul interrupted. “Why did Bowman take the key?”
“I think he was afraid there might have been a break-in,” Rosemary explained. “And after he’d been up to your mother’s room, he telephoned the police.”
“The police!” Paul roared. “We can’t have them here!”
“Calm down,” Julia said.
“Oh, Rosemary, you have made a fine mess of things!” Paul barked. “Just because of Mother’s announcement last night, you figure you can do whatever you want, but you can’t. And I don’t care how many years you put up with her. You’re not an Abbott!”
“That’s enough,” Walter instructed. His voice was controlled but strained. “Rosemary hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Rosemary said, “I’d better help Mrs. Peabody in the kitchen.” And a moment later, the woman in the green suit exited the great room. This time she was faster, and her footsteps echoed down the hall toward the kitchen.
“That wasn’t fair, Paul.” It was Julia, and she sounded stern. “Rosemary is upset. Don’t forget that her life has just turned upside down. After all, this has been her home for the last ten years.”
“Are you referring to all the cash that just flew out the window?” Paul asked.
“Honestly, Paul,” his sister snapped, “how can you even think of money at a time like this?”
Inspector Riggs was still on the staircase above the living room door when Fisher joined him. The rookie leaned over and whispered in the Sergeant’s ear, “Dr. Hara agrees that Mrs. Abbott died of asphyxiation. He says he’ll know more after he examines the body, and he can take the body whenever you’re ready.”
Riggs nodded, and Fisher went quietly back upstairs.
“Look Julia,” Paul said, “let’s not forget whose money Rosemary just lost, just because you are comfortably married to Marcus— ”
“And now you don’t have to marry anyone, is that the point?” Julia demanded.
“Well, at least I don’t have to pretend that marriage isn’t a hoax? Sure, it’s convenient for you. I’m sure you’re terribly happy. That’s right, isn’t it? Marcus is happy, and you’re happy, and what about Walter here? He’s a very happily married man.”
No one spoke, and Riggs stepped slowly down the stairs until he was standing just to the side of the open doorway. He had expected to hear Walter respond, or Julia, but it was Paul who continued. His voice was quiet.
“I didn’t mean that, Walter. I’m sorry.”
“We’re all shaken,” Julia said firmly, “especially after last night, but we’ve got to keep our heads. Freddy will be here soon, and we can all discuss it.”
There was a sound of a stopper being pulled from a bottle, followed by a splash of liquid hitting glass. “She was so damn arrogant and insulting,” Paul complained, “and I was mad as hell, I admit it. I could have killed her. Now this happens. Okay, I guess I’m in shock still, but I won’t say I’m sorry.”
“You should stop talking,” Walter said.
“But we’re all thinking it,” Paul insisted. “One way or another, we are all happy that our mother is dead.”
“That’s enough,” Walter whispered. “You shouldn’t talk like that. This may not be as cut and dry as you think— ”
The front door slammed loudly.
Walter stopped talking, and Riggs looked up to see a man approaching him. He was about thirty years old, shorter than Riggs, and he had a thin build. His sports jacket had leather patches at the elbows, the cuffs on his trousers were a few years out of fashion, and his narrow red tie was askew. His brown penny loafers were worn but well-polished and his black-framed glasses were clean. He was looking at Riggs, and as he neared him, he took off his tweed cap and held out his hand.
“Hello. I’m Freddy Abbott.”
Riggs stepped forward so he was visible in the doorframe. Julia caught her breath, and Riggs could hear stifled noises from the occupants of the great room as he shook Freddy Abbott’s hand.
“I’m Sergeant Inspector Riggs of the Seattle Police,” he told Freddy.
Walter cleared his throat and said, “Freddy, we’re in here.”
Freddy Abbott joined his brothers and his sister in the great room, and Riggs followed him. The ceiling to floor windows behind them towered over and through a dozen scattered fir trees to reveal a crystal blue lake and the purple and white mountain range on the distant horizon. It was a stunning view, but no one seemed to appreciate it.
“Inspector Riggs, this is my sister, Mrs. Shrubb,” Walter said, “and our brother, Paul Abbott.”
Riggs ignored their stunned expressions. As a policeman, he was accustomed to alarming people, but he wasn’t usually lucky enough to eavesdrop on people speaking candidly, especially after a murder. And this was the first time he had actually been caught.
No one spoke.
They were probably wondering how much he had overheard. Good. Michael Riggs would not have any trouble investigating by the book, after all, he’d been on the force for over twenty years, and he had been mentored by the Inspector Riggs. The challenge, Riggs decided, was the Abbott family. They were wealthy and well-connected, and that meant that they might expect—
Riggs stopped himself. As a working-class policeman of poor immigrant parents, he suddenly realized that he really had no idea what the Abbott family expected.
He took off his hat. “I’m sorry for your loss. And I’ll try to wrap up the official business as quickly as possible. Naturally, this process will move faster with your cooperation.”
“Can someone please explain what’s going on?” Freddy dema
nded. He looked from the inspector to his three siblings and back again. “You’re here because our Mother is dead?”
Walter answered, “Yes.”
Freddy shook his head. “But we should have a doctor or something,” he objected, “not a policeman.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, either,” Julia added diplomatically. “Inspector, why are you here?”
Paul jumped in, “Oh, I’m sure it’s just a routine affair, isn’t it, Inspector?” He sat down on the sofa and crossed one leg over the other.
Riggs turned to face Paul. “That depends entirely on your definition of ‘routine,’ Mr. Abbott.”
Paul took a large gulp of the golden beverage in his tumbler. “Well, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” he explained nonchalantly. “Our poor mother passes away in the night, and the next morning there’s a policeman at the house. But I can assure you that there has been a mistake. There wasn’t a robbery or anything like that. Miss Miller, our mother’s secretary, already explained the whole thing and it’s really very simple. You see, she was very emotional this morning when the doctor arrived, and I’m afraid she was sort of babbling a bit, and she said something about some papers. And naturally, poor old Dr. Bowman—he’s not as young as he used to be — he thought Rosemary was reporting a burglary, or some nonsense, which she wasn’t. It was an honest mistake.”
“It’s as simple as that?” the Inspector asked.
“And you know how these private secretaries are,” Paul whispered as though he were sharing a common grievance, “they’re so good at their jobs that they think they’re perfect at everything. Don’t get me wrong, Inspector, Rosemary is a great gal through and through, but I’m sure as soon as you have a word with her, you will understand that nothing here is out of order, except for our mother’s tragic passing, of course.”
Riggs slipped his hands into his pockets. “You bring up a good point, Mr. Abbott,” he said. “I’ll start by interviewing Miss Miller.”
Chapter Five: Rosemary Miller, Private Secretary
Riggs found Miss Rosemary Miller across the hall, sitting alone in the library. It was a large room with three tall windows facing the front lawn. Besides the hundreds of books lining the walls, the room was decorated with ornate Victorian furniture, a crystal chandelier, and an oversized globe. Like Mrs. Abbott’s bedroom, this room seemed locked in the past.
The Charlatan Murders Page 2