Tweak the Devil's Nose

by Deming, Richard

  The woman’s eyes widened with a mixture of astonishment and indignation.

  But before she could speak, the inspector hammered at her, “I think your husband told you the full story, including the name of the man who was going to ruin him and the information that he was dining at El Patio that night. And after your husband left the house, I think you drove out to El Patio, hid in the bushes and shot Walter Lancaster in order to save your husband from ruin.”

  “Why we don’t even own a car!” Mrs. Knight said indignantly. “Nor a gun either.”

  Momentarily the inspector looked disconcerted. Then brushing the objection aside with the remark that cars are easily rented, he drove straight on, ticking each point off on his fingers as he made it.

  “First, your motive for killing Lancaster was as great as your husband’s. If Knight crashed financially you crashed right along with him. Second, you had opportunity while your husband was at his ‘board meeting.’ Only your unsupported story puts you home all evening. Third — ”

  Mrs. Knight’s mannish voice abruptly interrupted him. “I thought the same person who killed Mr. Lancaster killed Willard too. Am I supposed to have saved Willard by murder one day, and killed him the next?”

  “Exactly,” the inspector said with relish. Drawing on his vast knowledge of feminine psychology, which totaled zero, he explained. “I imagine you loved your husband, and women are always shooting the men they love. In Homicide we never get a case of a woman shooting some man she doesn’t like. It’s always the guy she loves. You loved Knight enough to kill for him, so naturally you loved him enough to kill him. The age-old motive of jealousy. He was out with Mrs. Jones the night he got it.”

  Gently I thrust a thought into the discussion. “How about the attempt on Fausta, Inspector? That was by a man.”

  Day turned to glare at me, thought a moment and suddenly looked happy again. “Listen to her voice,” he said. “Imagine it coming over a telephone.”

  Thoughtfully I examined the woman, who gradually seemed to be nearing the bursting point. “You mean it could pass for a man’s? Possibly. It’s pretty deep and husky.”

  Mrs. Knight reached her bursting point. “I never heard anything so ridiculous in my life!” she half shouted. “Accusing me of killing my own husband, plus a man I didn’t even know! You’d do better out on the street looking for real murderers than trying to scare an innocent woman.”

  Both of us merely looked at her until her anger deflated. Then she said in a small voice, “Besides, even if I could imitate a man’s voice over the phone, I couldn’t have passed for a man in a barroom. It was a man who ordered that drink for Miss Moreni.”

  The inspector pounced. “How do you know what almost happened to Miss Moreni, Mrs. Knight?”

  She looked confused. “It was in the paper.”

  Slowly the inspector shook his head.

  “On the radio then.”

  Again there was a slow headshake. “It was deliberately kept out. Only the waiter’s death was reported.”

  Much as it pained me, I was forced to destroy his beautiful dream. “Don Bell had it on his broadcast last night, Inspector. So it’s probably in the morning papers too. I haven’t seen them.”

  Apparently neither had the inspector. Pointing his thin nose at me, he let it gradually drain of color.

  Just before he burst, I said reasonably, “I didn’t give Bell the item, Inspector. And you’ve still got a pretty good case against Mrs. Knight.”

  For a few moments Day did not trust himself to speak. Finally he rose from his chair and said in a strangled voice, “I think we’ll continue this downtown, Mrs. Knight. You are under arrest on suspicion of homicide.”

  The woman made no objection whatever, but I got the impression this was not a tacit admission of guilt, but simply the result of not knowing what to do about the matter. As the inspector started to lead her out, it occurred to me his logical case might fall apart from lack of proof unless he got a confession.

  I stopped him by asking, “Think you’ve got it solved finally, Inspector?”

  He swung about to stare at me with suspicion. “Don’t you, Moon?”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea. It’s a nice logical case, but it does have the weak point Mrs. Knight mentioned. It was a man who ordered that drink for Fausta.”

  Irritably he glanced from me to Mrs. Knight, who sullenly waited beside him, then back at me again. “Or a woman in man’s clothes. For that matter, who said it was a man? The only person who saw the poisoner was the waiter, and he’s dead. Also, poison is a woman’s weapon.”

  I grinned at him. “That’s an old wives’ tale. At least half the famous poisoners in history were men.”

  “And at least half the famous women in history were poisoners,” he snapped back, allowing his opinion of womanhood in general to shade his recollection of history.

  I said, “Just remember our agreement, Inspector. Twenty-four hours.”

  He gave me a sour look, but nodded his head. “It’ll be at least that before we’re ready to lodge a formal charge anyway.” Turning to his prisoner, he said, “Let’s go, lady.”

  Since we had come in my car, Fausta and I dropped Day and Mrs. Knight at Headquarters, then proceeded on to the nearest bar, where Fausta had a plain Coke, but I, lacking her prejudice against drinking before lunch, ordered a rye and water.

  When over our drinks I had explained developments to Fausta, she asked, “You think perhaps I am in no more danger then?”

  “You’ll continue to have me around as a bodyguard until they get a confession out of Mrs. Knight,” I told her. “There’s a better case against her than any we’ve had yet, but I don’t like her reaction.”

  “How do you mean, Manny?”

  “She’s not scared enough. Oh, she’s scared all right, but no more than any innocent person might be when suddenly accused of murder. And she exhibits just the right amount of indignation. I don’t think she’s smart enough to put on a good act, and if she were acting, I have a feeling she’d overdo the indignation.”

  “Then you think she isn’t the killer after all?”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t say that. I just said I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re sure.”

  It occurred to me I had not yet made my promised call to Laurie Davis, and now was as good a time as any. From the barroom booth I called the private number in Carson City Davis had given me, but it was a wasted thirty-five cents. The male secretary who answered sounded surprised when he learned who was calling.

  “I thought Mr. Davis was with you,” he said. “He left your number to call in case I needed him.”

  Hanging up, I phoned Murdoch, the manager of the apartment house where I live.

  “Yes, Mr. Moon,” he told me. “Mr. Davis and a friend are here now. I recognized Mr. Davis from his news pictures and took the liberty of letting them in your apartment to wait. Was that all right?”

  “Quite,” I said. “Mind telling Mr. Davis to hang on and I’ll be there in ten minutes?”

  Murdoch said he didn’t mind.

  23

  We found Laurie Davis and Farmer Cole quietly waiting in my front room. They were better behaved than my usual run of guests, neither having his feet on my cocktail table as one of the previous night’s callers had, and neither having taken the liberty of sampling my rye.

  I offered some of the latter item, but got polite refusals from both. Beyond a friendly but formal greeting to Fausta, Laurie Davis paid no attention to her, his mind apparently being strictly on business.

  “I had expected to hear from you before now, Mr. Moon,” he started mildly.

  I told him I had just called his private number in Carson City, which was how I had learned he was here.

  “I’m not used to chasing after the people I hire,” he commented heavily, but still in a mild enough voice.

  “I figured you were getting regular reports on my activities from the Farmer,” I said with equal mildne
ss. “I was afraid if I duplicated his efforts, he might end up out of a job.”

  Farmer Cole turned his flat eyes toward me, and Laurie said without humor, “You two seem to rub against each other. If you tried to get better acquainted, I have an idea you’d find you have a lot in common.”

  The suggestion stirred no emotions whatever in my heart, and the Farmer’s expression indicated the thought pained him.

  Davis, as on his previous visit, occupied my favorite chair, his big body relaxed to the point of inertia and his sleepy eyes half shut. He asked slowly, “Have you made any substantial progress?”

  “Possibly,” I said. “Warren Day has made an arrest, but I’m not certain he has Lancaster’s killer. It’s Mrs. Knight, Willard Knight’s widow.”

  “Oh? And her supposed motive?”

  “Willard Knight had been playing the stock market with company funds. Walter Lancaster threatened to make public certain irregularities in a corporation where Knight owned seventy thousand dollars’ worth of stock. Mrs. Knight knew all about it, and the theory is she bumped Lancaster to save her husband from bankruptcy and prison, then bumped her husband because he was playing another woman.”

  In a sleepy sort of way the big man looked pleased with me for some reason. “But you’re not enthusiastic about this theory?”

  “I’m not unenthusiastic about it. I’ve still got an open mind. I think it’s quite probable the motive for murdering Lancaster was to prevent his making his knowledge public, but any number of people may have had that motive.”

  Laurie’s eyes were almost drooping shut as he asked idly, “What was the name of this precarious corporation?”

  As though I had not heard the question, I said, “Knight may have been killed for the same reason your lieutenant governor was, the killer assuming he was the only person aside from Lancaster who knew the corporation was unsound.”

  The big man let his eyes open half way. “And who would be the killer with that motive?”

  “Whoever was responsible for the corporation’s fix. Maybe a member of the board of directors.”

  When no one said anything for a few moments, I added brightly, “You’re on all sorts of corporation boards, aren’t you, Mr. Davis?”

  The closest thing to a smile he had yet managed in my presence appeared on Laurie Davis’s face. It was not actually a smile, for that would have required too strenuous use of his facial muscles, but it definitely was an expression of amusement. He looked over at Fausta.

  “Your friend fully comes up to your recommendation, Fausta. I’m glad I hired him.” Then his eyes swung back to me. “You consider all possible suspects, don’t you, Mr. Moon? Including your own client.”

  “The possibility occurred to me,” I admitted. “Though now I’m inclined to scratch you off my list of suspects.”

  “Thank you,” he said dryly. “What did you say the name of this corporation was?”

  “I didn’t say, Mr. Davis. The reason I’ve scratched you as a suspect is that I’ve figured out why you hired me. And it wasn’t quite the reason you gave.”

  Heavy-lidded eyes centered on my face, but he made no comment.

  “You didn’t actually fear any political scandal in connection with Walter Lancaster’s death,” I said. “The guy was so honest, there wasn’t a chance in a million he’d be tied up with anything unsavory. You did suspect he might have been killed to shut him up about a financial swindle he’d uncovered, however, and you weren’t sure just how that swindle might affect your own finances.”

  I waited a moment for verification, but when none was forthcoming, went on. “Apparently Lancaster’s motive in calling on Knight before he made his public disclosure was to justify his action to his old college chum. From what Knight’s secretary overheard of the conversation, Knight tried to blame Lancaster for getting him involved in the company. Lancaster hadn’t recommended the stock, and seemingly had a clear conscience insofar as Knight’s jam was concerned, but they had discussed the stock previously, and apparently Lancaster anticipated Knight might blame him. Obviously he had no intention of giving Knight a special break, so his visit must have been inspired by the hope he could convince his friend of the rightness of his decision in advance of the announcement, and save their friendship. I suppose he thought there would be a better chance of this if he told Knight what he intended to do in advance, rather than letting him read it in the papers.”

  Laurie Davis seemed to be going to sleep. I stopped talking, and after a moment his eyes opened and he looked at me as though wondering why I had stopped. Seeing I had not lost his attention, I continued.

  “I’m going to make a guess that Lancaster afforded you the same treatment he did Knight,” I said. “Only when he told you, there was still plenty of time to dump your shares. I’m guessing that he told you only that he’d uncovered a swindle, but refused to tell you what company was involved, because he didn’t want you to dump your shares. He was so honest, he refused to let even close friends have any advantage over the rest of the stockholders, but at the same time he wanted his friends to understand he was acting because his conscience would let him act in no other way, and not simply acting in callous disregard to their welfare. What I don’t understand is why you simply didn’t dump all the stock you owned in the five companies Lancaster had an interest in. One of the five had to be it.”

  “Because that would have started a general panic,” Davis said simply. “I had twenty-seven other corporations to consider.”

  After thinking this over for a short time, I thought I understood what he meant. His business interests were so vast and complicated, his sudden retreat from five corporations all at once might have created an impression with the public that the whole financial structure was tumbling. And at the very least this would have caused decided stock-market fluctuations. Whereas dumping his interest in a single corporation would have no such effect.

  “I see,” I said. “You had to know exactly what stock it was that had a phony value, so you could quietly get out from under and let the small stockholders take the rap. It was such a delicate situation, you couldn’t afford even a rumor until you knew for certain why Lancaster had been killed. You gave me a cock-and-bull story about needing twenty-four hours to repair political fences, and hired me to unearth the motive for the killing. If the motive proved to be something other than you suspected, no harm was done. But if it was to shut Lancaster up because of a stock swindle, the public disclosure of which would knock the bottom out of the stock, you wanted a twenty-four-hour jump on everybody else.”

  When I stopped speaking, there was silence in the room for several minutes.

  Finally Laurie said, “So?”

  “So I think it’s a shame a guy as honest as Walter Lancaster should die for nothing. I have an idea he was thinking of the little stockholders when he refused to take advantage of his knowledge to save his own investment or the investments of other large stockholders. People who had their life savings tied up in this corporation. Call me a damn fool idealist if you want, but like Walter, I’m a champion of the little guy. You’re going to learn the name of the shaky corporation when you read it in the newspapers.”

  Laurie’s sleepy eyes became bare slits. “You accepted a retainer to carry out specific instructions, Mr. Moon. And there was nothing illegal about what I hired you to do.”

  “Nothing illegal,” I admitted. “I’ll give you an argument about your ethics though. Anyway, you’ve got your facts twisted. I accepted a retainer to investigate a case, and you promised an additional thousand dollars if I delivered certain information to you twenty-four hours before the public got it. My failure to deliver automatically releases you from your part of the bargain.”

  Slowly he moved his head back and forth. “I’m afraid I can’t accept that, Mr. Moon.”

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing else you can do, Mr. Davis.”

  “Oh, but there is,” he assured me. He glanced at Farmer Cole, then at Fausta and back to me.
“I understand Miss Moreni had an attempt made on her life, and you’ve appointed yourself her full-time bodyguard. Since you’ve decided I’m not a suspect, would you trust her with me if we went no farther than the apartment manager’s flat?”

  I looked at him blankly. “Why?”

  “The Farmer wants to talk to you privately. It would be pleasanter for all concerned if Miss Moreni weren’t here.”

  Fausta looked from one to the other of us suspiciously. “What is it, Manny?” she asked.

  “Mr. Davis wants to find out if Farmer Cole and I actually do have anything in common,” I explained. “Go along with Mr. Davis.”

  She continued to sit. “I do not like this,” she said determinedly. “You are all acting funny. I will stay right here.”

  “Do what I tell you!” I snapped at her.

  Fausta’s eyes widened. Ordinarily when you snap at Fausta, it is a good idea immediately to duck, but one look at my face dissuaded her from hurling any ashtrays.

  Fausta is one of those rare women who are used to having their way, but instantly recognize when a man cannot be pushed. She rose without further protest, gave me a troubled look and moved to the door.

  Laurie escorted her out as courteously as though he were leading her onto a dance floor. At the door he paused to look back at me with no rancor whatever.

  “Understand I have no quarrel with your ideals, Mr. Moon. As a matter of fact I admire a man with principles. It’s one of the things which made me back Walter Lancaster for lieutenant governor. But if you insist on tweaking the devil’s nose, you really have no cause for complaint when you find his horns in your stomach.”

  “Sure,” I said dryly. “No hard feelings. I’ll ring Murdoch’s flat when I’m ready for you to come after your boy.”

  I think he might have let himself laugh had it not required so much effort. Instead he contented himself with a dry final remark.

  “Let the Farmer call me, if you don’t feel like lifting the phone.”

  After the door closed, Farmer Cole and I sat examining each other a few moments. Finally the Farmer spoke.