The Charlatan Murders

by Jennifer Berg

  “Is Victoria a blonde?”

  Riggs’ eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he flipped through his notepad. “I think Freddy said that Victoria had brown hair—”

  “But that doesn’t mean anything,” Fisher objected. “Especially if no one has seen her lately. You know how women are, a few hours at the hairdresser, and they step out with any color they want.”

  “I need to find that woman.” Riggs rubbed the back of his neck and tried to concentrate. What was it his older brother had always said? If you gather enough information, the truth is bound to be mixed in there somewhere. He took out a pen and wrote the name out slowly. Victoria Abbott. He added a question mark and whispered. “Where the hell is Victoria Abbott?”

  Fisher sat down. “If she was out of town, then it doesn’t matter.”

  “Then why is her husband protecting her?”

  Fisher furrowed his brow for several minutes. “Maybe there’s more to the story than Walter Abbott is letting on,” he suggested. “Let’s say the younger Mrs. Abbott, Victoria, is a real dish. You know the type…smart, beautiful, with really big—”

  “I get the idea,” Riggs interrupted.

  “Victoria is a vixen, and she knows it,” the junior officer went on. “Men love her. And she loves men loving her. She’s not interested in settling down. But then she meets Walter, and she thinks “Hey, this sap is rich!” She figures that if she marries him—even for a while, she’ll be set for life. He’s an awkward kind of guy, and he falls for her big time. Next thing we know…” Fisher snapped his fingers. “Boom! They’re married! Walter is over the moon, but Victoria is a wild woman, and she starts to get restless. The thrill is gone. Don’t forget, she’s a woman who is used to the hunt.”

  Riggs tried not to roll his eyes. “You watch too many Barbara Stanwyck movies.”

  “But you get what I’m saying?”

  “Femme Fatale seduces rich Honest Joe.” Riggs nodded. “Yes, I’m following you.”

  “Exactly! And domestic life doesn’t give her a thrill, so she moves on. Meanwhile, her husband is still in love with her, and he’ll do anything for her. He’s probably still hoping she’s going to come back to him. Hopeless devotion. Meanwhile, Victoria is painting the town red every night and running around with other guys—”

  “And gangsters,” Riggs suggested.

  Fisher’s eyes got wide. “It could be. Victoria isn’t a moral person. But she figures she can string good-old Walter along until his mother dies. But the old lady is sharper than her son. I think women usually are smarter, and she starts pushing her son to get a divorce. After all, abandonment is legitimate grounds, and Victoria has men all over town. Walter sadly goes along with his mother’s demands, but Victoria catches on to the plan. She tells Walter she’s going ‘out of town,’ and she tricks him into leaving a window unlocked. Then she sneaks into her mother-in-law’s house in the wee hours of the night, steals the divorce papers, and just to make sure it never happens again, she finishes off the old lady.”

  “Your talents are wasted here,” Riggs said. “You really should be writing improbable paperback mysteries and penny dreadfuls.”

  Fisher’s chest expanded. “My mother always did say that I have a gift for the dramatic.”

  Riggs took his pipe out of his pocket. “But you’re right about one thing. The missing file could have been related to a divorce. Victoria may have stolen it to hide the evidence, or Walter may have removed it to protect her, especially if he still loves her.”

  “Either way,” Fisher insisted, “I’ll bet you ten to one that Victoria Abbott is our murderer.”

  Chapter Twenty-One: The Research Man

  Riggs put his pipe back in his pocket and made a list. “Okay, we’re going to make sense of this mess. Mrs. Peabody should be a snap to clear. But Rosemary Miller could be mixed up in it too.”

  “But she’s too beautiful to be a murderer,” Fisher objected.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Riggs instructed. “Mrs. Abbott intended to leave her secretary a fat legacy. She announced her plans to her children on Saturday night, just after she threatened to disinherit them.”

  “But then Rosemary Miller wouldn’t have a motive.”

  “That’s right,” Riggs agreed. “With a legacy on the horizon, she would have wanted her employer alive and well, at least until the new will was written. By the way, what have you found out about Miss Miller’s and Mrs. Peabody’s backgrounds?”

  “Rosemary Miller came from San Francisco about ten years ago. I’m still trying to track down someone who remembers her personally. But Mrs. Peabody has been with the Abbott family for three decades, so there’s not much mystery there. Oh, that reminds me, I still have to ask our research man about soldier deaths from the First War.”

  “I don’t see a motive for either of them.” Riggs tapped his notepad thoughtfully. “But either of them could have murdered their boss.”

  “But they could have done it anytime,” Fisher objected. “Why Saturday?”

  “To spread suspicion onto the family,” Riggs said.

  At that moment, Fisher sighed longingly. “Dear God,” he pleaded under his breath, “Please let her be single…”

  Riggs was still absorbed with his list of suspects. “I already told you that Rosemary Miller is single. Now, if you could just focus for half a—”

  “Not Rosemary Miller!” Fisher interrupted, still gazing through the window. “I mean that woman, there. My God, I’m in love with her. Who is she?”

  Riggs looked up and saw a familiar figure with dark brown hair wearing a tailored blue suit standing in the hallway. She was flipping through some papers with one of the secretaries, and was leaning over the desk in a way Inspector Fisher didn’t seem capable of ignoring. Her hair was pulled up loosely, and as she spoke, she pulled a pencil out of it to make a note on the page in front of her. The secretary said something funny, and they both laughed.

  “For Pete’s sake,” Riggs exclaimed, going back to his schedule, “that’s Bell, our Research Man.”

  “But she’s a girl!”

  “I keep forgetting you’re new here.” Riggs chucked and pointed his pencil toward the window. “That woman is responsible for solving half of our cases.”

  “But research man—”

  “Our ‘Research Man’ is the person in charge of records at city hall,” Riggs explained. “Her predecessor was a good man, but Bell is a pure marvel. If a piece of information exists anywhere, Bell can find it. Stockton, Green, Ballardson — none of those cases would have been solved without Bell’s help.”

  Fisher nodded slowly. “So, I’m in love with the Research Man.”

  “You’d better behave yourself,” Riggs warned.

  Fisher’s jaw dropped. “Sir, I always behave myself with dames.”

  “I hope the “dames” agree with you,” Riggs said doubtfully. He walked to the door in his stocking feet and popped his head out. “Bell, if you could spare a minute, I could use your help.”

  She said something in reply, and while she finished up her conversation, Riggs came back to his desk and picked up the morning newspaper. The story about Mrs. Abbott’s death had come out in the obituaries on Monday, but had thankfully been described only as an “unexpected death.” Since then, the reporters were catching on, and this morning’s paper had printed the word “murder,” in bold print with Mrs. Abbott’s name. Riggs had already read the article twice, so this time he just looked at it and grunted.

  “So, you’ve read it,” Fisher said. “Lucky for us, the reporters seem to think we’re looking for a burglar; or some outsider or persons unknown.”

  “That is strange.” Riggs said. “Usually, they’re more accurate, but at least it will keep the heat off a little longer.”

  Fisher was grinning too widely.

  Riggs frowned and the junior officer held up his hands. “I didn’t give a statement.”

  “Official or not, we don’t lie to the press,” Riggs objected. “We
can refuse to give statements, but we don’t lie.”

  “I didn’t lie to anyone,” Fisher insisted. “I was sitting at the bar at the Five Spot last night and I got to talking to the fella sitting next to me. I didn’t mention that I was a cop, and he never said he was a reporter. But he set down the daily paper, and he started asking if I’d read the story about the rich old lady. I figured he was looking for a scoop, but a man likes to share his ideas, so, as a common disinterested citizen, I speculated freely.”

  Riggs chuckled and shook his head. “He’ll figure out that you played him.”

  “Or I’m an idiot.” Fisher suggested with a shrug. “In any event, it will buy you some time.”

  Riggs was about to thank him, when the door opened and they were joined by Bell. She smiled and Fisher looked like he might faint.

  “Thanks for coming,” Riggs said, “I’m working on our local celebrity murder, and I need some tips on how to track down old information so I can eliminate a few suspects.” Fisher was grinning like a loon, so Riggs relented. “Oh, and this is Inspector Fisher. Fisher this is Miss Bell, our Research Man at city hall.”

  “You can call me Bell,” she said as she shook Fisher’s hand. She took a seat and turned to Riggs. “So, what do you need? Property deeds? Those always seem to give you boys the most problems.”

  Riggs shook his head. “No, I need a death certificate for a man who died in the First War. And we don’t keep that here in town, do we?”

  “That’s an old murder,” Bell observed, raising an eyebrow.

  Riggs shook his head. “No, no. I’m working on our local sensation,” he explained, handing her the newspaper from his desk. “Haven’t you been following it?”

  “I’m a few days behind,” Bell said as she began to read the article. “I was at the Librarians’ Convention in…” Her voice trailed off as she scanned the front page.

  Riggs had worked with Bell enough to know that she could read faster than most humans can think. He turned to Fisher and suggested, “You might as well give her your notes, Fisher. It’ll be faster than explaining.”

  Bell set down the finished newspaper and turned to the junior inspector.

  “But they’re in shorthand,” Fisher apologized.

  Bell held out her hand anyway. “Gregg shorthand?”

  “No, Pitman.” Fisher shrugged and added, “My old man was a correspondent in England during the First War. He used to write home in Pitman.”

  “I did something a little like that in the last War,” Bell said with a smile. “My parents emigrated from Prussia, so my German plus my shorthand came in handy.”

  Fisher gave her his notepad. “You don’t look German,” he observed.

  “My parents weren’t the first to a new land,” Bell explained as she opened the notepad to the first page and began reading. As she read, she pulled a pencil out of her bun and put it sideways between her teeth. She flipped the pages quickly and handed Fisher’s notes back to him. Fisher closed his mouth.

  “Okay, Sergeant, I get the general idea,” Bell said. “I’m guessing that you want to verify the cook’s background. Is there anything else?”

  Riggs leaned forward. “I’ve got to track down Victoria Abbott, preferably without dragging her husband down here. He’s a stubborn ass. He’s pretending to cooperate, but he’s cagey about his wife.”

  “You think he’s hiding something?” Bell asked.

  “I’m sure he is,” Riggs said. “Although it may not have anything to do with his mother’s murder. Either way, the family is chummy with the mayor’s lot, and my chief doesn’t want me ruffling feathers unless I have to. I don’t mind telling you, my neck is on the line.”

  “Has the family stonewalled you?”

  “Not entirely, but they’re rich, and they’re protecting their own interests,” Riggs said. “I think I can eliminate the cook and the secretary. But, the way I see it, the younger Mrs. Abbott really is the key to this whole thing. If Victoria Abbott really was out of town as her husband claims, then it was one of the Abbott children. But if Victoria was within five hundred miles of Seattle that night, then my money says she murdered her mother-in-law.”

  Bell nodded and stuck the pencil back in her hair. “Peabody’s death certificate should be in the state archives in Olympia. Of course, if he was Missing-in-Action, you’ll have to telephone the National Archives in DC. I can help you find the right office if it comes to that. Of course, local birth and marriage certificates, like the cook’s marriage, should be in the county records, assuming that those things happened in this county. I’m heading over there this afternoon, so I’ll look them up and send you whatever I find. Now, I assume you know the secretary’s former employer?”

  “I got a name, but it seems that the firm went under after the War. I was thinking I might try to check an old telephone book?”

  “I’d start with the Business Bureau,” Bell said. “It’ll be faster. Try to get the previous owner’s name, then you should be able to track down someone who will either remember the secretary personally or at least know where the old employment records are kept.”

  Riggs nodded and ran his hand through his hair. “That’s all good, then. I should be able to get both those women cleared in the next day or two. But what about Victoria Abbott? The husband won’t talk, and the rest of the family doesn’t know where she is. She’s not in the telephone book. I have to track her down without starting a full-blow rebellion.”

  Bell frowned thoughtfully. “She’s your top suspect?”

  Riggs took a swig of his coffee. “When in doubt, bet on the fastest horse.” He counted his points on his fingers. “She’s a recent addition to the family; she’s already abandoned her husband; he was about to divorce her; and his mother was pushing for a divorce.”

  “Well, in that case,” Bell said as she crossed her legs, “I suppose I should tell you that Walter Abbott’s wife is currently living in a two-room apartment on Capitol Hill, just a few blocks off Broadway.”

  Riggs, who had been sipping his coffee, realized it was dribbling down his chin. As he fumbled for his handkerchief, Bell continued her description: “722 E Pike, to be specific, but you won’t find her listed under Mrs. Abbott, because she never took her husband’s name. Although his family may not have known that. I don’t know. Still, you’ll be able to find her easily enough. She’s listed in the telephone book and on her doorbell as Ms. Victoria Bell.”

  Both men stared at her in stunned silence.

  “And I wouldn’t want to be accused of obstructing justice,” Victoria continued, “so I will also remind you that you can find her in her office most days. She works in city hall, where she oversees the City Records and Information Department, but she’s in the police station regularly, helping you boys with your research.”

  Neither man spoke. Victoria uncrossed her legs and stood up.

  “It doesn’t look like you intend to arrest me just yet, so I’ll head back to my office.” She picked up her handbag and began putting on her gloves. “You know, I wasn’t fond of my mother-in-law. But the news of her death, especially the fact that she was murdered, is still very unsettling.” She crossed the room and opened the door before adding, “I think I might take the rest of the afternoon off. I want to think things over. But don’t worry about those records, Riggs, I’ll have them sent over before I head out.” And with that, Victoria left.

  Riggs’ mind raced with a series of thoughts, words, and expletives. He had known Bell for some years; she was one of the steady fixtures of his job. Working in city hall, she was a wealth of knowledge whenever investigators needed to dig up random facts and obscure documents. But what did he really know about her?

  Physically, Bell was of average height, with brown hair and eyes, and a complexion that hinted at ancestry from Egypt or India or some other far-off place. But it was her confident manner, not her appearance, that was particularly intriguing. To say that Bell was well-informed was an understatement. In Riggs’ experienc
e, Bell knew something about almost every topic, no matter how obscure it was. She was always quick to understand, to get new information, and to piece things together. She knew she was good, but Riggs could never tell if she was politely arrogant or confidently modest about it. In fact, while he appreciated how often Bell had helped him do his job, maybe other men found the independent woman intimidating. She was too clever to be ignored and too independent to pander to other people’s pride.

  Could that be the paradox of Victoria Abbott?

  After reaching this point, Riggs realized that he was still staring at the door.

  Fisher was also staring at the door. “That vision of loveliness is our murderer?”

  “You tell me.” Riggs shook his head, but it didn’t help. “Our Research Man is named Victoria, and she probably murdered her mother-in-law, and like a chump, I just showed her my hand.”

  “Well, if she’s half as smart as you say she is, we were already seriously out-gunned.”

  Riggs frowned. “She doesn’t wear a ring. Did you know she was married?”

  “I only met her ten minutes ago,” Fisher reminded him. “And I’m sorry that she might be a murderer, but if she gets a divorce, I’m still going to ask her out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two: A Family Gathering

  That afternoon, Julia Shrubb was serving coffee in her living room, and Marcus was pacing the floor. Walter and Freddy were each sitting down and staring off into space. The afternoon had turned cool, and the gathering clouds blotted the sunshine and threatened spring showers.

  Julia sipped her coffee. “Marcus, could you please stop pacing.”

  Marcus turned to face his wife and her two brothers. “I tell you, the more I think about it, the more certain I am. On Saturday night, I definitely saw a shadow on the terrace, a man’s shadow!”

  Outside, a breeze blew, and a raindrop pattered against the windowpane.