Tenth Commandment

by Lawrence Sanders

  'It's an elegant theory,' I repeated. 'There's just one thing wrong with it: they couldn't have done it.'

  'I've been puzzling that out,' she said frowning. 'Is it positive there was no one else in the house?'

  'A hired killer? The servants say that no one came in and they saw no one leave. The police were there soon after Sol died, and they searched the house thoroughly and found no one.'

  'Could they be lying? The servants? For money?'

  'I don't believe they're lying, and the detective who did the police investigation doesn't think they are either. If they were in on it, they would all have to be in on it. That 242

  means five people engaged in a murder conspiracy. I can't see it. The more people involved, the weaker the chain.

  Too many opportunities for continuing blackmail. Tippi and Knurr are too smart for that. I think it happened the way they told it: four people on the ground floor when Sol Kipper went to his death.'

  She sighed. 'Leaving a suicide note,' she said.

  'Yes, there's that, too.'

  'What will you do now?'

  'Well, I -' I stopped suddenly. What would I do now? 'I don't know,' I confessed to Mrs Kletz. 'I don't know what more I can do. I can follow Tippi or the Reverend Knurr. I can definitely establish that they are having an affair. But what good will that do? It won't bring me any closer to learning how the murder of Sol Kipper was engineered.

  And I'm just as convinced as you are that it was murder.'

  'Chicago,' she said.

  'What?'

  'In your notes, Mr Bigg. The Reverend told you he was from the Chicago area. Then the Kipper sons told you that they thought Tippi came from Chicago.'

  I took a deep breath. 'Thank you, Mrs Kletz,' I said fervently. 'That's exactly the sort of thing I hoped you might spot. I've been too close to this thing, but you came to it fresh. All right, maybe they're both from the Chicago area. What does that prove? Probably nothing. Unless they knew each other before they ended up in New York.

  Even that might not mean anything u n l e s s . . . '

  'Unless,' she said, 'they had been involved together in something similar.'

  'Back in Chicago?'

  'Yes.'

  'Yes,' I agreed. 'It's not much, but it might be sufficient to convince the NYPD to reopen their investigation.

  They've got resources and techniques to unravel this thing a lot faster than I could hope to. Meanwhile, I'll try to dig 243

  up what I can on the Chicago background of Tippi and Knurr. It may prove to be nothing, but I've got to -'

  The phone rang. Mr Teitelbaum was free now.

  Ada Mondora clinked her gypsy jewellery at me and smiled pertly as I stood before her desk.

  'I hear someone had a nice lunch today,' she said archly.

  'News does get around, doesn't it?' I said.

  'What should we talk about?' she demanded. 'Torts?

  Yetta just loves her sweater.'

  I groaned.

  'I think my bet is safe,' Ada said complacently. 'I'm betting on you. Thelma will just die when she hears about the sweater.'

  'Thelma Potts? She's betting on Hooter?'

  'Didn't you know?' Ada asked innocently, widening those flashing eyes and showing her brilliant white teeth.

  'As a matter of fact, Thelma and I have a private bet.

  Lunch at the Four Seasons. I know exactly what I'm going to order.'

  When I entered Mr Teitelbaum's office, he was seated, as usual, behind his enormous desk, his pickled hands clasped on top. He motioned me to an armchair, asked for a report on the Stonehouse investigation.

  Consulting my notes, I capsuled the results of my inquiries as briefly and succinctly as I could. I told him that I first suspected the nightly cup of cocoa was the means by which Professor Stonehouse was poisoned, but I now realized it was the brandy in the Professor's study. I reported that Stonehouse had submitted two substances for analysis at a chemical laboratory.

  'I will try to obtain copies of those analyses, sir,' I said.

  'I'd be willing to bet the arsenic was put into the Professor's cognac.'

  'By whom?'

  I told him about my interviews with Powell Stonehouse and Wanda Chard, and my last meeting with Glynis 244

  Stonehouse. I said that Powell seemed to have easiest access to the poison, via Wanda Chard, but since he was banished from his father's home during the period of the poisoning, it seemed unlikely that he was the culprit, unless he was working in collusion with one or more of the other members of the household.

  'You think that likely?' Mr Teitelbaum asked in his surprisingly vigorous voice.

  'No, sir.'

  'Surely not the wife then? On her own?'

  'No, sir.'

  'The servants?'

  'No, sir,' I said sighing, 'The daughter. But I must tell you, I have absolutely no proof to support that suspicion. I don't know where she could have obtained the arsenic. I don't know what her motive might possibly have been.'

  'Do you think her mentally unbalanced?'

  'No, sir, I do not. Mr Teitelbaum, it might help if you could explain to me what happens legally in this case. I mean, what happens to the assets of the missing man?'

  It was his turn to sigh. He entwined his leathery fingers, looked down on his clasped hands on the desktop as if they were a ten-legged animal, a kind of lizard perhaps, that had nothing to do with him.

  'Mr Bumble said that the law is an ass,' he said. 'I might amend that to say that the law is usually half-ass.'

  A lawyer's joke, I laughed dutifully.

  'The laws concerning the estate of a missing person are somewhat involved,' he continued sharply. 'Common law, as approved by the Supreme Court in 1878 in the case of Davie versus Briggs, establishes a presumption of death after seven years. However, the Stonehouse case must be adjudicated under the statutes of New York State, of which there are two applying to this particular situation.'

  I stifled a groan and settled a little deeper into my armchair. I was in for a lecture, when all I had wanted was a 245

  one-sentence answer.

  'The Estates, Powers and Trusts Law allows a presumption of death after five years of continuous absence, providing — and this is one of the reasons I requested you make a thorough investigation — providing that the missing person was exposed to a specific peril of death and that a diligent search was made prior to application that declaration of presumed death be issued by the court. At that point, after five years, assuming the two conditions I have just stated have been observed, the missing person may be presumed dead and his will submitted to probate. But if, subsequent to those five years, he suddenly appears, he may legally claim his estate. Thus, "diligent search" is of paramount importance in the presumption of his death.

  Are you following me, Mr Bigg?'

  'Yes, sir,' I said. 'I think so.'

  'On the other hand,' Mr Teitelbaum said with great satisfaction, and I realized that, to a lawyer, 'On the other hand' contains as much emotional impact as 'I love you'

  would to a layman.

  'On the other hand,' he continued, 'the Surrogate's Court Procedure Act, dealing with the administration of the estates of missing persons, provides that not until ten years after the date of disappearance does the missing person lose all interest in his property. The estate is then distributed to his heirs by will or the laws of intestacy. This is simply a statute of limitations on the time in which a missing person may claim his estate. After those ten years, he is, to all intents and purposes, legally dead, although he may still be alive. If he shows up in person after those ten years, he owns nothing.'

  'And during those ten years, sir? Can his dependants draw on his assets?'

  'A temporary administrator, appointed by the court, preserves the assets of the estate, pays the required taxes, supports the missing person's family, and so forth. But 246

  once again, a diligent search must be made to locate the missing person.'

  'N
ow I am confused, sir,' I said. 'Apparently, under the first law you mentioned, a missing person can be declared dead after five years. Under the second law, it requires ten years before the estate can be divided amongst his heirs.'

  'A nice point,' Mr Teitelbaum said. 'And one that has occasioned some heated debate amongst our younger attorneys and clerks to whom I assigned the problem. My personal opinion is that the two statutes are not necessarily contradictory. For instance, in the second case, under the Surrogate's Court Procedure Act, during the ten-year administration of the estate, the administrator or any interested person may petition for probate of the will by presenting sufficient proof of death. I would judge,' he added dryly, 'that the finding of the body would constitute sufficient proof.'

  'Uh, well, sir,' I said, trying to digest all this, 'what is going to happen to the Stonehouse family, exactly?'

  'I would say,' he intoned in his most judicial tones,

  'after reviewing the options available, that they would be wise to file for relief under the SCPA and accept in good spirit the appointment of a temporary administrator of Professor Stonehouse's estate. That is the course I intend to urge upon Mrs Stonehouse. However, in all honesty, Mr Bigg, I must confess that I have not been moving expeditiously in this matter. Mrs Stonehouse and the children, while hardly individually wealthy, have sufficient assets of their own to carry them awhile without fear of serious privation. Their apartment, for instance, is a co-operative, fully paid for, with a relatively modest maintenance charge. I have, in a sense, been dragging my feet on an application for appointment of a temporary administrator until we can prove to the court that a diligent search for Professor Stonehouse has indeed been made. Also, I am quite disturbed by what you have told me of the attempted 247

  poisoning. I would like to see that matter cleared up before a court application is made. I would not care to see an allowance paid to a family member who might have been, ah, criminally involved in the Professor's disappearance.'

  'No, sir,' I said. 'I wouldn't either. Another point: supposing that an administrator is appointed for a period of ten years and nothing is heard from Professor Stonehouse during that time. Then his will goes to probate?'

  'That is correct.'

  'And if no will can be found?'

  'Then the division of his estate would be governed by the laws of intestacy.'

  'Could he disinherit his wife? If he left a will, I mean?'

  'Doubtful. Disinheriting one's spouse is not considered in the public interest. However, he might disinherit his wife with a clear reason provable in a court of law.'

  'Like trying to poison him?'

  'That might be sufficient reason for disinheritance,' he acknowledged cautiously. 'Providing incontrovertible proof was furnished.'

  'The same holds true for his son and daughter, I presume?'

  Mr Ignatz Teitelbaum took a deep breath.

  'Mr Bigg,' he said, 'the laws of inheritance are not inviolable. Even an expertly drawn will is not a sacred document. Anyone can sue, and usually does. Ask any attorney. These matters are usually settled by compromise, give-and-take. Litigation frequently results. When it does, out-of-court settlements are common,'

  'May I pose a hypothetical question, sir?'

  'You may,' he said magisterially.

  'Suppose a spouse or child attempts to inflict grievous bodily harm upon the head of the family. The head of the family has proof of the attempt and disinherits the spouse or child in a holographic will that includes proof of the attempt upon his life. The head of the family disappears.

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  But the will is never found. At the end of ten years, or earlier if the body is discovered, the estate is then divided under the laws of intestacy. The guilty person would then inherit his or her share?'

  'Of course,' he said promptly. 'If the will was never found, and proof of the wrongdoing was never found.'

  'If the body was discovered tomorrow, sir, how long would it take to probate the will?'

  'Perhaps a year,' he said. 'Perhaps longer if no will existed.'

  Then he was silent. He unlatched his fingers, spread his brown hands out on the desktop. His head was lowered, but his bright eyes looked up at me sharply.

  'You think the body will be discovered tomorrow, Mr Bigg?' he asked.

  'I think it will be discovered soon, sir,' I said. 'I don't believe whoever did this has the patience to wait ten years.'

  'You're assuming a second will was drawn,' he said.

  'Perhaps the head of the family never got around to it.

  Perhaps his original will is in existence and still valid.'

  I hadn't considered that possibility. It stunned me. But after pondering it a moment, it seemed unlikely to me.

  After getting the results of those chemical analyses, Professor Yale Stonehouse would surely write a new will or amend the original. It was in character for him to do that.

  He was an ill-natured, vindictive man; he would not take lightly an attempt to poison him.

  'One final request, Mr Teitelbaum,' I said. 'I am convinced that when Professor Stonehouse left his home on the night of January 10th, he went somewhere by cab or in a car that was waiting for him. It was a raw, sleety night; I don't think he'd wait for a bus or walk over to the subway. I can't do anything about a car waiting for him, but I can attempt to locate the cab he might have taken. All taxi drivers are required to keep trip sheets, but it would be an enormous task checking all the trip sheets for that 249

  night, even if the taxi fleet owners allowed me to, which they probably wouldn't. What I'd like to do is have posters printed up, bearing the photograph of Professor Stonehouse and offering a modest reward for any cabdriver who remembers picking him up at or near his home on the night of January 10th. I admit it's a very long shot. The posters could only go in the garages of fleet owners, and there are many independent cabowners who'd never see them. Still, there is a chance we might come up with a driver who remembers taking the Professor somewhere on that particular night.'

  'Do it,' he said immediately. 'I approve. It will be part of that "diligent search" the law requires.'

  He started to say more, then stopped. He brought two wrinkled forefingers to his thin lips and pressed them, thinking.

  'Mr Bigg,' he said finally, 'I think you have conducted this investigation in a professional manner, and I wish to compliment you.'

  'Thank you, sir.'

  'However,' he said sonorously, 'it cannot be openended.

  The responsibility of this office is, of course, first and foremost to our clients. In this case we are representing the missing Professor Stonehouse and his family. I cannot hold off indefinitely the filing of an application for the appointment of a temporary administrator of the Professor's estate. It would not be fair to the family. Can you estimate how much more time you will require to complete your investigation?'

  'No, sir,' I said miserably. 'I can't even guarantee that I will ever complete it.'

  He nodded regretfully.

  'I understand,' he said. 'But I cannot shirk our basic responsibility. Another week, Mr Bigg. I'm afraid that's all I can allow you. Then I must ask you to drop your inquiries into this, uh, puzzling and rather distasteful affair.'

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  I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him to go ahead with his legal procedures, but to let me continue digging. But in all honesty I didn't know what more I could do in the Stonehouse case after I placed those reward posters in taxi garages. Where did I go from there? I didn't know.

  Mrs Gertrude Kletz had left a memo in the roller of my typewriter. It read:

  Mr Bigg, your notes on the Kipper case question why Tippi was so upset when you told her you had a private meeting with Rev. Knurr. Well, if the two of them are in on this together, as you and I think, it would be natural for her to be upset because they are both guilty, and so must depend on each other. But they would be suspicious as neither of them are dumb, as you said, the other might reveal something or even con
nive to turn in the other, like when thieves fall out. I should think that if two people are partners in a horrible crime, they would begin to look at each other with new eyes and wonder. Because they both depend on each other so much, and they begin to doubt and wonder. I hope you know what I mean as I do not express myself very well.

  G. K.

  I knew what she meant, and I thought she might be right. If Tippi and Knurr were beginning to look at each other with 'new eyes,' it might be the chink I could widen, an opportunity I could exploit.

  I called Percy Stilton. The officer who answered said formally, 'Detective Stilton is not available.' I gave my name and requested that he ask Detective Stilton to call me as soon as possible.

  My second call was to Mrs Effie Dark. I chatted awhile with that pleasant, comfortable lady, and she volunteered the information I sought.

  'Mr Bigg,' she said, 'I checked my liquor store bills, and Professor Stonehouse didn't order any Rémy Martin for 251

  almost two months before he disappeared. I don't know why, but he didn't.'

  'Thank you, Effie,' I said gratefully. 'Just another brick in the wall, but an important one.'

  We exchanged farewells and hung up. It was then late Friday afternoon, the business world slowing, running down. There is a late Friday afternoon mood in winter in New York. Early twilight. Early quiet. Everything fades.

  Melancholy sweeps in. One remembers lost chances.

  I sat there in my broom-closet office, the files of the Kipper and Stonehouse cases on my desk, and stared at them with sad, glazed eyes. So much passion and turbulence. I could not encompass it. Worse, I seemed to have been leeched dry of inspiration and vigour. All those people involved in those desperate plots. What were they to me, or I to them? It was a nonesuch with which I could not cope, something foreign to my nature.

  Me, a small, quiet, indwelling, nonviolent man. Suddenly, by the luck and accident that govern life, plunged into this foreign land, this terra incognita. What troubled me most, I think, was that I had no compass for this terrain. I was blundering about, lurching, and more than discovering the truth, I wanted most to know what drove me and would not let me put all this nastiness aside.

  Finally, forcing myself up from the despair towards which I was fast plummeting, I packed the Kipper and Stonehouse folders into my briefcase, dressed in coat, scarf, hat, turned off the lights, and plodded away from the TORT building, the darkness outside seeming not half as black as that inside, not as forbidding, foreboding.