Mark of Murder llm-7

by Dell Shannon

  Eventually, with the priest soothing Mama's hysterics and the other kids standing around crying, Hackett had got a few pertinent facts out of Manuel Reyes. The boy was always prompt about coming home; he wasn't supposed to be out late. The meeting would have been over about eight o'clock, and the Y.M.C.A. was only four blocks away from the Reyes home on Witmer Street. Yes, Roberto would have walked down Second Street on his way home. But he would not have talked to a stranger, gone anywhere with a stranger… Well, perhaps, if some person had asked him for directions, something like that-he was a very polite boy, he would always want to be helpful. "?Ah, que atrocidad!?Para que? That this should happen to us-such a good boy always, such line marks at school-"

  " Se combrende," Hackett had said gently. " Lo siento en la alma. We'll find whoever did it, Mr. Reyes, and he'll be punished."

  Which would mean a lot to Roberto, wouldn't it? he thought. And it was something to work, with practically no evidence on the killer. And no tie-up to any of the victims.

  "A kid," said Palliser now. "No reason for it-you figure he just runs amok all of a sudden? And how the hell-"

  "It's the only way you can figure it," said Hackett. "Come on, let's get back. And the hell of it is, no make on him at all. That damn bar so dark, nobody could say even what color he was. Though I suppose that desk clerk would have noticed whether he- Yes, the ones like Florence are used to funny customers, so nobody investigated right away. And Simms- Well, you can see there's practically no evidence on it, but we've got to work it. Because one like that-maybe those aren't the first people he's used that knife on, and they sure as hell won't be the last, unless we catch up to him."

  "So, you have any ideas where to start looking?" asked Palliser.

  "Some," said Hackett tersely. "For one thing, these four kills all happened inside a fairly small area-all downtown. Roughly inside about a twelve-block square. All right. We know that our Slasher-damn it, might as well call him that-once took a hotel room, and in that area. At least it's practically certain that the man who rented that room is the one who left the body in it. The fellow called Mike would probably go anywhere with anybody who promised him a drink,?como no? Anybody could get taken to Florence's room. The indication seems to be, on Simms, that this fellow got talking to him at the bar, for some reason followed him out. And we can't guess on the Reyes boy, but I want to talk to some of the other kids at that meeting, find out if any of them took the same direction. Or I did want to. Now, with this Nestor thing in our laps, I think I'll let you do that. See the kids. And we're also going to set every man we've got free looking at every hotel inside that area, for a signature to match up to the one in that hotel register. We've got photographs of it. Have some more prints made up if you need them, and send out some men."

  "Hell of a job," said Palliser. "But, of course, the first thing to try, I see that. You're going to work the Nestor killing?"

  "I think I'll go back and poke around his office some," said Hackett thoughtfully. "And it might be the obvious thing, just what it looks like, but on the other hand there are a couple of funny little things about it. And that woman- Yes, you get on with that, I'll probably be back about three anyway to see if they got any interesting prints… Everything always comes at once. I wish to God Luis was here… "

  THREE

  When Hackett turned into the parking lot beside Nestor's office he saw a second car there beside Nestor's. Nestor's white Buick convertible was parked in the slot nearest the side door, and the other car had been parked in the next slot, so the Buick's length partly hid it. There was movement there at its rear; a woman straightened and began to walk around the car, saw him turning in, and paused.

  Hackett pulled his Ford in on the other side of the Buick and got out. He ought to have left a man here, he thought, angry at himself. He went up to the woman, who had waited for him. "Detective Sergeant Hackett," he said curtly. "Are you one of Dr. Nestor's patients?" He wondered suddenly about that; if Nestor was doing so well, he'd scarcely have had a morning free of appointments, but nobody had shown up.

  "Oh no, I'm his nurse. Margaret Corliss." She was a woman about forty, and not trying to look younger. A little too plump, and careless make-up; she had short, straight dark hair and dark eyes behind plastic-rimmed glasses. She was in a white uniform and sensible flat-heeled white shoes. "Mrs. Nestor called and told me the awful news, about Doctor. I couldn't believe it at first. It just doesn't seem possible. But then I thought I'd better come down and call all the patients who had appointments. I expected the police would be here, and it would be awkward, having patients coming in. It's dreadful-have you any idea who the burglar was yet?" She sounded sincere, anxious.

  "Have you been in the building?" he asked.

  "Oh no, I just got here."

  "Well, come in with me now, please, I'd like to ask you a few questions? Just as well she was here. He took her down to the private office. She was quick, coming in, to notice the small stain on the floor, and recoiled slightly.

  "Oh, is that where- It's too awful! To think of Doctor-"

  Palliser had left the top drawer of the one big file case open. Hackett drew it out and set it on the desk. "Sit down, Miss Corliss." He sat down himself in the desk chair and riffled through the cards in the file. They were stiff cards, lined, about eight by six; and most of them were blank. Only here and there, under different alphabet headings, was a card filled out. "Can you tell me who the doctor's appointment was with last night?"

  "Why, I didn't know he had one," she said blankly. "Just a minute, I'll look in the appointment book." She found it on the desk and turned to the latest filled-in page.

  "There's nothing listed. He certainly didn't mention one to me, and usually when he did make an evening appointment, of course he'd ask me to be here too. It's better policy, you see-especially if it's a woman."

  "Wasn't that rather inconvenient? I should think-"

  "Oh, it wasn't very often," she said. "Goodness, I just can't believe such an awful thing's happened. Mrs. Nestor said it must have been somebody breaking in to burglarize the place. It seems to me people are getting more lawless every day. The things you read-"

  Well, it was possible, thought Hackett, that Nestor had used his office as a meeting place for his girl friend. Or girl friends.

  "Would you say that Dr. Nestor had a good practice?"

  "Oh yes, very good. He was a clever doctor, people liked him."

  "I see. Would you come and look at these files, please? It doesn't look like a very large practice to me. Not big enough to start paying his office rent." He watched her; he saw her eyes move behind the glasses. She looked through the file drawer obediently.

  "But, my goodness," she said, "he's taken a lot of the tile cards out. I wonder why? There should be ever so many more here-of course he had a lot more patients than just these!" She sounded concerned. And that "ever so many" gave her away: she'd been a long time away from England, but there remained the faintest trace of Cockney.

  "Oh, is that so? Why do you suppose he'd do that, Miss Corliss?"

  "Why, I've reely no idea, it does seem funny." That "reely" gave her away further. "Do you suppose the burglar could have done it? I mean, like vandals at the schools, you know-just out of mischief."

  Hackett regarded her guileless expression. There was something about Margaret Corliss that smelled just faintly wrong to him, as this whole Nestor business did. And because, damn it, he'd had that Reyes kid and the Slasher on his mind this morning, he hadn't been giving full attention to this thing; he'd had no business to walk away and leave the office unguarded, with that side door open. They hadn't really looked around much here, just desultorily as yet. He hadn't, for instance, looked at the other file drawers… Ought to have his head examined, doing a fool trick like that.

  Had the woman been in the building? At the back of her car… He asked suddenly, "What were you putting away in your car trunk as I drove up, Miss Corliss?"

  The brown eyes never flickered,
only widened on him.

  "In my trunk? Why, nothing, Sergeant. What would I be-I'd just driven up and parked, reely I had."

  "Then what were you doing behind the car? I thought you seemed to be shutting the trunk lid."

  "Well, reely, all the fuss about nothing," she said fretfully. "I should think you'd be better getting after the burglar, that's the important thing after all. I suppose you can see I drive an old car. The trunk lid's got a way of coming loose and flying up, and of course usually in the most awkward places, when I'm in the left-turn lane or something. It did that just as I came in, so of course I went round to shut it." She sounded a little annoyed now. "Ree1y, I don't know what you think I- All I came down for was to call the patients and put them off."

  "So you said," said Hackett. "It's now"--he looked at his watch-"getting on for two o'clock. It seems funny there weren't any patients scheduled earlier today, if he had such a large practice."

  "But it's Wednesday," said Miss Corliss instantly.

  "Doctor always took Wednesdays off. It's the patients for the rest of the week I want to-"

  "I see." Something just a trifle wrong, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Not worth a damn. "Could you do your telephoning somewhere else? I'll be looking around in here. I saw a desk in a little cubicle off the waiting room-"

  "Yes, of course, that's my desk. Certainly, Sergeant, and I surely do wish you good luck in finding out what awful fiend did it. just a dreadful thing, poor Doctor only thirty-six and doing so well. I expect it's all right to take the appointment book?" She picked it up casually. Well, Palliser had seen it. He got up after she'd gone out, and gently eased the door open; she'd closed it after her. The little cubicle adjoining the waiting room had only waist-high partitions on the sides that faced the waiting room and the hall. He heard a chair pulled out, shoved in, and after a short pause the little click as she lifted the phone… "Mrs. Vandenburg? This is Dr. Nestor's nurse, Miss Corliss. I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid-"

  On the level? Had she been putting something in the trunk? Been in here already and taken away-well, what? Something wrong about this setup. Those files-that was just damned silly, suggesting that a burglar… Why would Nestor have lifted a whole wad of file cards out? It made no sense. Mrs. Nestor wouldn't have had a chance, the patrolman had been with her. And whatever the Corliss woman might have taken out of here, if anything, it hadn't been the file cards (if any), because Palliser had already commented on that to Hackett. What the hell, he thought blankly.

  He opened the other three drawers of the steel filing case. They were all bare.

  What could she have wanted to lift, here? Echo answers what, thought Hackett irritably. Had she been putting something in the trunk? Go and look. Sure, without a warrant, and get hauled across the coals for it. Ten to one the trunk was locked anyway… Funnily enough, his sister' s Dodge had a trunk lid like that. If she forgot to lock it, it was always flying up.

  He walked down the hall, out the side door, and around Miss Corliss' eight-year-old Plymouth. The trunk was locked.

  As he came back she was saying into the phone, "Mr. Weatherby? This is Dr. Nestor's nurse, Miss Corliss. I'm so sorry-" She had the phone on her lap, the appointment book on the desk before her.

  Hackett sat down at Nestor's desk again. Nestor had been doing right well indeed, for a chiropractor in practice only three years. Of course, he gathered that some people swore by them, wouldn't go to an M.D. on a bet. But he seemed to remember that they were legally limited in certain ways, couldn't write prescriptions except for vitamins or give shots.

  He opened the desk drawers. There wasn't much in any of them. A couple of prescription-form pads with Nestor's name and office address printed on them, a couple of ballpoint pens, in the top drawer. The next one down was filled with sample packages, mostly of different vitamins. In the bottom drawer he found a half-empty fifth of scotch, an expensive brand. The other drawers were empty. It looked as if Nestor hadn't used his desk much.

  He got up and walked round the little office. The bookcase held mostly medical textbooks. But thrust carelessly on top of the books on the middle shelf was a large scrapbook with simulated leather covers. He took it out and opened it, and had a little surprise.

  Evidently, and maybe it figured, Nestor had been a snob. Interested in high society. The book was half filled with clippings from newspaper society pages, and quite a few pictures. Mr. and Mrs. E. Montague Fairfield have announced the engagement… The Richard Priors and their twin daughters Jean and Janet were entertained at a formal dinner by our charming visitors from Paris, M. and Mme… The well-known hostess and clubwoman, Mrs. Lyman Haines, in her Bel Air home, displays Loper's new informal at-home gown, while her daughter Sheila…

  A little funny, thought Hackett. There were several clippings not yet taped in; the uppermost one was quite a lengthy article, and the name Marlowe caught his eye. He scanned it briefly.

  Mr. and Mrs. William Maxwell Marlowe have announced the engagement of their youngest daughter, Susan, to Baxter W. Stevens III. Miss Marlowe…

  High society, all right. Hackett put the book down and did some more looking. Wandered down to the examination rooms. This kind of equipment, he thought, was probably damned expensive, and both examination rooms were fitted out the same. Both had tiled sinks. The steel examination tables, with handles to tilt them in various directions, and those gadgets for taking blood pressure, the latest type, attached to the wall. Steel lockers against the wall. Metal tables bearing glass jars of cotton swabs, tongue depressors, a lot of bottles filled with tablets and capsules. He opened the locker in the first room; it was empty. The other one had a padlock on it; he had Nestor's keys, found one that fitted the padlock. Inside the locker was a wrinkled white smock hanging neatly on a hook, and on the little shelf, folded together, a pair of rubber gloves.

  Quite expectable, he thought sadly. What the hell was wrong here? Just something a little funny, that he couldn't put a finger on.

  Palliser had found an address book in the desk. See what showed up there, but…

  And back in the office, with Miss Corliss still telephoning in the background, he thought abruptly that those two examination rooms hadn't been quite the same. He went back to the rear one, next to the office. Near the door stood an electric cabinet, squarish, about three feet high. That hadn't been duplicated in the other room. It was white porcelain, baked enamel, and across its front was a neat metal plaque. Sterilizer.

  ***

  "I guess that musta been the guy killed Roberto all right," said Miguel Garcia. He was still half scared, self-important, self-conscious, genuinely awed at his own good luck. "I guess it was lucky I ran."

  "Maybe it was," said Palliser, beginning to feel a little hopeful. It was after five; he wondered if Bert or Landers had come up with anything at one of the hotels. He'd taken part of the hotel list himself, had drawn blank, and then started to hunt up all the boys who'd been at that Scout meeting. Miguel was the ninth one he'd talked to; none of the others had known anything. He'd found Miguel in this big schoolyard, pointed out by a couple of other kids, and was talking to him here on a rickety wooden bench in the still hot sun. Of course, he remembered absently, actually it was only a little after four, sun time.

  "Tell me exactly what happened, Miguel." He lit a cigarette. "Everything you remember."

  "Yes, sir. Excuse me, but nobody's supposed to smoke on the school ground.” Palliser started to say that it didn't matter, it was after school hours and he was grown up, and met Miguel's solemn dark eyes, and stepped on his cigarette. A kid like Miguel, several counts on him already, who unlike some kids down here seemed to have some respect for the rules, and parents who encouraged him to join the Scouts-well, no harm to set an example. He smiled at Miguel, who was small for his fourteen years and a nice-looking boy, if slightly grimy at this end of a day.

  "Let's hear all about it."

  "Yes, sir. Gee, it's awful-Roberto getting killed like that. When we heard about it,
Danny Lopez was telling about it at lunchtime, gee, I thought right off it musta been that guy-and I better tell somebody about it, I was goin' to ask my dad when he gets home tonight-"

  "Well, you tell me now."

  "Yes, sir. See, like I was just tellin' you, I'm the only one went the same way as him, goin' home last night." A couple of the boys had been called for by a parent, an older brother or sister, but most of them hadn't been. Down here, kids were expected to be self-reliant pretty young. And it wouldn't have been quite dark yet, what with daylight saving-full dark about eight-twenty, in July. Dusk, deepening dusk, as the boys walked along Second Street. "So we went together, I mean, I kind of I caught up to Roberto, he left first. At the corner of Corto, about there. See, I had a lot further to go, we live on Angelina."

  Palliser produced a city map and made him point out the place. Miguel was unhesitant. "See, I'd go the other way, up Douglas Street, about a block further along. It was the middle of that block, just before I'd go the other way 'n' Roberto'd be turning up Beverly, see. There was this guy standin' there by the curb-just standin' there's all." He warmed to his tale now, and his dirty hands flew out in gestures. "I dunno why he scared me, it was just something about him-way he stood, kind of still, or something. just as we come by, he stepped out nearer an' started to say somethin'-he said something like, ‘Hey, kids'-only then I looked at him, and when I saw his face I was all of a sudden awful scared, and I just went on, kind of fast. But Roberto stopped. An' I-an' I went on faster, up toward the corner, and then I looked back and. Roberto was still talkin' to the guy-I thought I'd call him, tell him come on, but then I didn't. And, well, the light turned green an' I-just ran. But gee, it musta been him. The one did it. That Slasher, like they call him. Why do you suppose he wanted to kill Roberto, anyways?"

  "We don't know," said Palliser. "Now, what did the man look like, Miguel?"

  "Gee," said the boy regretfully, "I didn't have much of a look at him, mister. It was funny, what scared me about him, I mean he didn't try to hit me or have a gun or nothing. Kind of the way he stood. I dunno. It was almost dark, you know, and not anywheres near a street light. He-he was kind of tall and thin, I guess-I don't remember nothing about his clothes-except, well, they seemed kind of loose on him, like they didn't fit good. And he had this kind of red face, kind of nasty-lookin'-"