by Jerry eBooks
The room was crowded and noisy. Besides the dead man, there were Jackie, myself, the four patrolmen and three other people—a grand total of ten. Plus four dogs.
I was relieved to see that Spoons and his boys hadn’t been invited. But I didn’t like that gun in Jackie’s hand.
Everybody was yapping at once. A tall, gray-haired man pointed a slender finger at Jackie.
“She killed him!” he said. “She shot Mr. Jessop!”
“I didn’t!” exclaimed Jackie. “I didn’t!” She was scared stiff.
A woman of about fifty was on her knees beside the dead man. Tears were in her eyes and she was holding his head. “In cold blood,” she kept repeating.
It took a few minutes to get order. They wouldn’t shut up until I bellowed at them. I took the gun away from Jackie, covered it with my hankie and dropped it in my coat pocket. I told one of the patrolmen to phone for the coroner and the fingerprint squad and the photo boy. Then I started asking questions.
It took time—they were all so distraught—but I finally got the story.
The dead man was David Jessop, the man who had phoned Jackie and told her about the fifteen thousand dollars. He was about forty-five, tanned and lean, the outdoor type.
The tall man was Albert V. McVey, a lawyer. He had curly gray hair and a curly mustache. His hands were blue-veined and covered with brown spots. He wore a tight-fitting black coat and was every foot a gentleman.
The elderly woman beside the body was Miss Adele Rosemont, the dead man’s cousin. She was rather skinny and wore a lacy dress with small flower prints. The four dogs, I learned, were hers. She was strictly the school teacher type. Her grief seemed genuine.
The other woman was the housekeeper. She was large-boned and had a heavy red face.
The house, it developed, was owned by the late Miss Bedelia Rosemont. She had died two or three months before of pneumonia. McVey was a long-time friend of the family and the executor of her will. The dead man, Jessop, and Miss Rosemont were her nephew and niece.
The lawyer, the niece and the housekeeper were certain that Jackie had killed Jessop. But—and this was important—none of them had actually seen the shooting. They had only heard it.
While I was questioning them, one of the patrolmen came out of the adjoining room. He handed me two cartridges. “I found them in there,” he said. “In the library. The shooting must’ve been done in there. Blood on the rug.”
During all this time, Jackie had said nothing. She was still nervous and excited, but the pink was returning to her cheeks. “Please, Inspector,” she said, “could I talk to you alone? In there?” She motioned toward the library.
I nodded and we went in. I chased out a couple of dogs and closed the door. It was a large room with two entrances. Books of all sizes filled the walls from floor to ceiling. There was a little blood on the rug near the heavy oak table. We sat in two black leather chairs. Jackie crossed her long, nyloned legs. We didn’t say anything for a minute or two.
I was thinking.
And I didn’t like what I was thinking. The gun in Jackie’s hand was too significant to be ignored—no matter how much I liked her. If she were the murderer then her whole story had been lies. Maybe Spoons had a good reason for wanting to knock her off. Maybe she was a member of his gang and had double-crossed him. Maybe she had killed Jessop because he wouldn’t come across with the fifteen thousand dollars. Frankly, I was bewildered.
And I felt like the very devil. For the first time in my life, I had met a great big beautiful girl—someone really my height—and she turns out to be—well, what? Sometimes this crazy job makes me so mad I feel like flinging my badge into the bay and getting a job driving a truck. It may be a lot harder on the posterior—but it’s easier on the mind.
Jackie had been watching me. There was a hint of tears in her blue eyes. “I didn’t kill him,” she said. “I didn’t—I never saw him before in my life.”
I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help thinking she was trying to double-talk me again. “What happened after you left me?” I said.
“Mr. Jessop let me in. He thanked me for coming. He told me again that his aunt had left me fifteen thousand dollars. I said I didn’t even know his aunt. He said that was all right—she knew me. He was awfully excited. We talked for five or six minutes and it didn’t make any sense at all. Once he said I would have to go away to New York or Pennsylvania.”
“Where was all this?” I asked.
She pointed at the drawing room. “Out there. He said he wanted to get the money and the paper for me to sign. So then he came in here.”
“Did you follow?”
“No. I waited out there. Suddenly there were shots. It was awful. Somebody threw the gun through the door. I was scared. .I thought maybe someone was going to try to kill me again like those men last night. I picked up the gun—to defend myself. And then Mr. Jessop came stumbling back through the door. And he fell—”
“When did you first see the lawyer and the cousin?” I asked. “And the housekeeper?”
“They came running in about the same time you and the other policemen did.”
I began to feel a little better. Jackie’s story was pretty thin—but if you examined it with the proper attitude it made sense. She had picked up the gun because she was scared. Under the circumstances, I think I would have done the same thing.
WE TALKED a little longer and Jackie began to be less frightened. Her eyes regained that clear, alert look and her red mouth was almost gay again.
“Oh,” she said. “There’s something I didn’t want to tell you while we were in front of the others. Before Mr. Jessop died he said twice: ‘It was Al—it was Al.’ ”
I didn’t have to be smacked on the head with a mallet to get the point. “Sure,” I said. “He meant McVey, the lawyer.” I checked my notebook to make sure. “Yeah. Albert V. McVey.”
“Do you think he did it?”
“It’s plenty reasonable. The old dame must have had money. He’s been messing around with her will and probably fixed things to suit himself. A smart, crooked lawyer can make a fortune if the family trusts him—and they seem to trust this man.”
“Why would he kill Mr. Jessop?”
“That’s easy. Jessop found out he was juggling the will.”
I rubbed my scalp meditatively with my fingertips. “What we’ve got to do,” I said, “is trick McVey into revealing himself.”
It took Jackie and me about five minutes to work out a little plan. I decided to arrest her for Jessop’s murder. This, we hoped, might make McVey—if he were the murderer—feel safe and he might unwittingly tip his hand.
We went back out to the drawing room. It was like Market Street on New Year’s Eve. The fingerprint and camera squads had arrived and were bustling around. Two boys from the coroner’s office were loading Jessop onto a stretcher.
I placed Jackie in the custody of one of the patrolmen. Then I got McVey over in a corner. “How long have you known the tall girl?” I asked.
“I’ve known about her for several months,” he said. “She’s mentioned in Miss Rosemont’s will. Today was the first time, though, that I met her.”
“Hadn’t you gotten in touch with her about her inheritance?”
“No. There was some delay in probating the will. It was Miss Rosemont’s wish that the girl not be notified until the money could be presented.”
Well, that part of his story could be true. I wondered how he would react to my next maneuver.
“I’m going to lock the girl up,” I said. “Manslaughter. She’ll probably get out on bail this afternoon.”
I don’t think he heard me. The slender little school-teacherish woman—the niece—came up to him just then. She complained of a headache and asked him to get her a glass of water and an aspirin.
McVey went upstairs. Which was just as well. I didn’t want to bother baiting him then. Of course, I couldn’t jail Jackie on manslaughter. That was just a gag to arouse the natural
lawyer’s suspicion in McVey. She’d have to be jailed for suspicion of murder—unless I could work out a deal with the Chief.
I turned the gun over to the fingerprint boys. They took Jackie’s prints and then I drove her down to the Hall of Justice. We went in and talked to the Chief. He’d just had his lunch. He’s always a reasonable man when his stomach’s full, always willing to listen to a proposition.
He agreed with me that there was enough evidence to hold Jackie on suspicion. I think he liked Jackie’s size or the dimple in her chin or something. Anyway, I could see he thought there was a good chance she was innocent. I asked him to place her in my custody for a few days while I worked out a method to trap McVey.
After I told him about Jessop’s dying, “It was Al” statement, he agreed. I don’t know much about law, but I do 1, know this. A dying man’s last words are considered the truth in court—even if he says fire freezes.
Jackie and I went down to my office on the second floor. It’s more of a joke than an office. I share an old wooden desk with six other lieutenants and inspectors down in one corner of the squad room. Rats, even the prisoners in the tank have more privacy.
We sat on the desk for a few minutes trying to dope up something. Jackie kept swinging her legs and I couldn’t think of anything else but—Jackie.
Finally, I exercised my mind enough to call the Rosemont house and ask how the prints were coming. I wasn’t too pleased to learn that the only prints on the gun were a single set of Jackie’s. The gun had apparently been wiped clean before she picked it up. Suddenly, it occurred to me that—as a smart cover-up—she might have wiped it off herself and then replaced her prints. That would make it look like someone else had wiped it clean and then tossed it in the room. While I was mulling that over, Jackie invited me to lunch at her apartment.
I reacted to her invitation in two ways. The wolf in me thought it was a great idea. But the cop in me was suspicious. I suggested that she go home in a cab and fix lunch, while I went over to Probate Court to look up the old lady’s will. As soon as she left, I told one of the plainclothes boys to tail her.
I got over to the court and read the public copy of Miss Rosemont’s will. It surprised the daylights out of me. I showed the old gent behind the counter my badge, jammed the copy in my pocket and left in a hurry.
While I was waiting for the signal to change at Howard and Tenth Streets, I began to worry about Jackie. The plainclothes man had instructions not to follow her into her apartment building and someone could have been waiting for her inside.
I parked beside the fireplug in front of Edward’s Drug and called her from the dial phone back of the glass prescription counter. The radio-phone takes longer and I was in a hurry.
“Hello?” Jackie said. Her phone voice is like Ann Sheridan’s.
“You all right?” I said. “This’s Gus.”
“Sure.”
“Good. Say, I got news for you. You ought to read the old gal’s will!”
“Do I get the fifteen thousand dollars?” She sounded a little excited.
“It’ll surprise you,” I teased.
“Please,” she said. “You’re mean. If you want to torture people, get a thumbscrew or a rack or something. Come on, read it!”
“Okay,” I said. I dug the papers out of my pocket and spread them on the counter. I began to read: “ ‘I, Bedelia Rosemont, the undersigned, being of sound mind and body, do this day, July 5th, execute this, my last will and testament. To my attorney and trusted friend, Albert V. McVey, I bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars; to my dearly beloved nephew, David Rosemont Jessop, I bequeath the sum of one hundred thousand dollars—”
“Good heavens!” Jackie interrupted. “No wonder he got killed!”
“Wait’ll you hear the rest of it. . . . And to my beloved niece, Adele Rosemont, my darling El, I also bequeath the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. And to—”
I heard Jackie catch her breath. “Wait a minute!” she exclaimed. “What was that nickname she gave Adele?”
“El,” I said. I spelled it out.
Jackie’s voice climbed a few notes and she talked fast. “Why, that’s what Mr. Jessop said just before he died. I thought he said Al because I’ve never heard of anyone being nicknamed El. Now I remember plain as day. He said ‘It was El!’ ”
It was my turn to gasp. “Jumping Jupiter!” I said. “That means that skinny little niece killed him! And she had plenty of motive. The will says if one of the heirs dies his dough goes to the others. And that’s why she—”
Jackie interrupted. Her voice was taut. “Hold everything!” she said. “Someone’s opening the door.” There was a clatter as she dropped the receiver on the table. I heard footsteps—and then nothing.
I POUNDED out to the curb and into the coupe. I roared for a block in second. The transmission screamed so loud I must have scattered gear teeth all over Howard Street. I called myself assorted profanities for letting Jackie go home alone.
I parked on Lexington, the narrow side street on one side of Jackie’s apartment building. I ran around to the front. The plainclothes man was standing in the doorway of a nearby barbershop. I told him to stay where he was and keep his eyes open.
Then I walked over to the row of buttons beside the apartment house door.
Surprise was going to be my best weapon, so I didn’t want to ring Jackie’s bell.
I rang a Mrs. Flossie Kimball’s bell and waited in a blue funk for her to press the button that would buzz open the door. Finally, I heard a woman’s eager voice on the door phone. “Hello, George?” she said. “Come on up. He won’t be back until six.”
I said: “Swell!” The door buzzed and I went in. I decided against the elevator—too noisy. Drawing my revolver, I took the carpeted steps three at a time. Jackie’s apartment was on the fourth floor. I tiptoed down the hall to her door—a tough thing for me to do. My toes just aren’t made to carry 265 pounds.
I pushed the door open slowly and sent up a silent tribute to the man who oiled its hinges. Somebody was talking—it sounded like the niece. I peeked around the door into the living room. Nobody was there. That meant Jackie and the old gal were in the kitchen. So far as I could tell, Spoons Moran and his boys were sitting this one out.
My breathing was giving me a little trouble and I was sweating all over the gun handle. I took two careful steps across the hardwood floor and shut the door gently behind me. I took another step and a board squeaked. It sounded like a cat yowling at midnight.
The niece apparently hadn’t heard it. She was doing a lot of talking. “Don’t you see?” she said. “I had to shoot David. He couldn’t have taken care of his money any better than a mouse could. And I need it. I’m going to build the finest dog hospital San Francisco’s ever had. It will cost a million dollars.”
“But what’s that got to do with me?” Jackie asked. Her voice was frightened.
“I’m sorry,” said the niece. “After I shot David, I found the paper and the fifteen thousand dollar check he was going to give you. Poor David. He should have known that paper wouldn’t stand up in court. So you see, I’ll have to kill you, too. I should have known better than to trust that fool Moran. I should have done it myself the first time.”
I had crossed the rug, taking one careful step after another. Finally, I was able to peer into the kitchen. Little Miss Rosemont’s face was pinched and stern. She was pointing a pistol up at Jackie’s heart. Jackie was at least twice as tall as the older woman.
Miss Rosemont would have had to turn her head slightly to see me. Jackie, however, saw me right away. I put a cautioning finger to me lips. What I did next wasn’t the brightest thing in the world, but it worked.
I let out a yell. A terrific bellow, like a rhinoceros being speared to death. Miss Rosemont’s head snapped in my direction. Jackie reacted immediately. She slapped the little lady so hard, she went flying backward, landing in an undignified heap under the orange breakfast table. The revolver skidded und
er the stove.
I picked Miss Rosemont up and set her on a chair. She didn’t weigh much more than a rag doll. Her face was white, except for where Jackie had slapped her. There it was red and growing purple.
Jackie picked up the gun and handed it to me. “You okay?” I asked.
She daubed a dish towel at the perspiration on her forehead. Then she came over and wiped those blasted tears out of my eyes.
“I’m fine,” she said. She smiled wryly. “But still scared. It was bad enough without you yelling like that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want to shoot. I know I’d have missed—always do. And I didn’t want to whop her on the head with the butt. She’s so little, I’d have killed her sure.” I shrugged. “See how it was?”
Jackie nodded. “I wasn’t complaining,” she said. “That’s twice in two days you’ve kept me from getting shot. How am I ever going to repay you?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll think of a way.”
AFTER I put the cuffs on Miss Rosemont, the three of us went down to the coupe. I sent the plainclothesman back to the station and we got in the car. Miss Rosemont sat in the middle. She didn’t say a word. Jackie and I did all the talking.
“Well,” said Jackie. “I can see why she would kill her cousin for one hundred thousand dollars. But why was she after me? That fifteen thousand smackers I was supposed to get was pretty small for that sort of thing.”
“You weren’t left fifteen thousand dollars,” I said.
Jackie snapped her fingers. “That’s the way it goes. One minute you’ve got it, the next you haven’t. Anyway, why should a perfect stranger leave me any money?”
“No, you weren’t left fifteen thousand dollars,” I repeated. “That’s what I was going to tell you on the phone. The old lady left you seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”
Jackie was so surprised I thought I heard her eyes pop. A truck passed us at the time so I’m not positive. She managed to gasp: “Why?”
“That’s all explained in the will,” I said. “It’s really something. It seems the aunt was a woman about your size. Maybe not quite as tall, but more than six feet anyway. When she was in her teens, she got awful sensitive about her height. Developed some kind of a complex which even all her father’s money couldn’t cure. She stayed home all the time and wouldn’t meet people. Thought they were sorry for her and figured she was a freak.