Give Up the Body

by Louis Trimble

  He sat in my easy chair and offered me a slight smile. “I didn’t come because of your threat. I’m sick of all this mess.” His smile was gone now. “Murder and suicide.”

  “Attempted suicide,” I said.

  Hilton shrugged and adjusted his glasses. “It means the same thing. And I think it will be easier with you than with the police.”

  “Then,” Jeff blurted tactlessly, “you admit you and Willow were using charity funds for yourselves.”

  “Yes,” Hilton said, “I admit it.” He agreed wholeheartedly to the theory that Jeff advanced then. I felt proud of Jeff for having thought it out himself.

  I said, “Maybe that was why Willow was in Delhart’s room the other night. He could have been hunting for private records that Delhart might have had.”

  I had to explain to Hilton what I meant. He said, “That’s right too. Willow told me he was going to see if he couldn’t find something that might incriminate us. I searched the offices in town and here. I left the other up to Willow. No luck,” he added briefly.

  “Maybe there aren’t any records,” Jeff said.

  “If Willow doesn’t pull through it won’t matter,” Hilton said. “I can plead ignorance. And Glory won’t talk. When I told her I wouldn’t do her dirty work again (we did meet, Miss O’Hara) she knew I didn’t mean it. With her chances of getting anything from Willow gone she’ll stick with me.”

  “What was this ‘dirty work’?” I asked him.

  “Glory needed money,” he said. “I took a chance to get it for her from Delhart’s funds. I made it all back except this last time. And now she needs money again.” Hilton was perfectly calm about it. There was no expression except in his eyes. I could see softness in them. No matter what, this man wanted Glory Martin!

  “She needed money to run off with Tim Larson,” Jeff murmured.

  “Hardly,” Hilton said dryly. “She had her faults but she’s no fool.”

  “Tell me,” I said, “about Delhart’s call to his lawyer.”

  “That was about Glory too,” Hilton said. “He was having his will changed to cut her share of the estate. But,” he added, “not enough to give her a motive for murder.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “Yes,” Hilton said. He lit a cigaret after offering his pack to both of us. His eyes looked owlish behind his heavy glasses.

  I said, “Did you run across Willow when you were walking on the night of the murder?”

  “No,” he said frankly.

  “Then,” I said, “he must have gone by way of the near side of the pond and across the dam.”

  “Daisy or Frew could have seen him,” Jeff said.

  “Daisy wouldn’t tell,” Hilton said without smiling. “She really cared for her father.”

  His tone of voice made me say, “But not for her mother?”

  “Her mother is dead,” Hilton said. “Mrs. Willow is her stepmother. Daisy would destroy the woman if she dared. But she is deathly afraid of her. And then her loyalty to her father keeps her tied at home.”

  “She tried to kill herself,” Jeff said. “So maybe she did see her father that evening.”

  “Possibly,” Hilton said. “Or maybe it was because she thought the truth about her affair with Delhart would come out.”

  “Affair!” I said.

  Hilton couldn’t resist a chuckle at my surprise. “Practically,” he said. “Delhart was a fool about that. It was Mrs. Willow’s idea. A sort of childishly devised badger game. Of course Daisy was only promised—she retained her status as bait.” He paused a moment.

  “Then we had the spectacle of Delhart’s former housekeeper demanding he marry her step-daughter,” Hilton went on. “Mrs. Willow and Delhart did fight. I’ll admit it now.”

  “And Delhart refused?” Jeff asked.

  “No,” Hilton said, “he agreed. It was Daisy who backed off at the last moment.”

  Jeff groaned, “Delhart agreed! There goes a good motive shot to hell.”

  Hilton shrugged. He looked at me. “How much immunity do I get for being so talkative?”

  “All we can get for you,” I promised. I paused and borrowed a cigaret from Jeff. When it was lighted, I said slowly, “One more thing. I want to know just where Arthur Frew fits into this.”

  “Frew,” Hilton said flatly, “is Delhart’s natural son—by Edna Willow.”

  XXX

  HILTON LOOKED quite satisfied with himself, and very calm.

  He said, “That should be worth something.”

  “It should,” I agreed. My voice sounded as if it were coming from somewhere far off. I was stunned. And I could see that Jeff was in the same shape. I tried to apply this revelation to my beautiful theory but it didn’t fit in too well. Not right then.

  I wanted time to think so I gave Hilton the polite brush-off and sent him on the way to the ranch.

  “We’ll be there sometime during the morning,” I said as I escorted him to the door.

  “Morning!” Jeff scoffed. “Not if you depend on me to wake you.” He swallowed a prodigious yawn. “And you promise too much, O’Hara. That immunity gag stinks. In fact, Hilton’s glib-ness stinks.”

  “I know,” I said. “He was chummier than a poor relation. And he told us a lot of things we didn’t even ask. What do you make of it, Jeff?”

  “I think he’s trying to appear too innocent,” Jeff said. He grinned at me. “So we can say to Tiffin: ‘Come now, Tiff, old pal, you know our dear friend Potter Hilton simply couldn’t do such a nasty thing. He was so sweet the night he gave us all the dope.’ ” He ended with a violent snort.

  “He’s not the kind to do something without an ulterior motive,” I agreed. “On the other hand, he may be free with this information in an effort to throw a smokescreen around himself. He told us nothing the police can’t find out soon.”

  I stopped talking and stared at Jeff, my mouth open. My brain had finally started to click. Hilton’s astonishing statement about Frew suddenly fell neatly into place.

  “I’ve got it, Jeff. I really have. Listen to this.” I was beginning to get excited with my own theory.

  I hauled Jeff to the couch and sat beside him and talked for fifteen minutes. When I was through he talked a while. Then we made a pot of coffee, took the cover off my portable and went to work on a completely fresh outline.

  Our excitement grew as we worked. The theory looked beautiful on paper. But by four o’clock in the morning I was too tired to let anything keep me awake. Jeff took the couch and I staggered off to bed.

  We were up at nine, yearning for more sleep but carried forward by the previous night’s momentum. A cold shower did wonders too. After a quick breakfast we dashed to the Pioneer office for Bosco and then rattled to the ranch in Nellie. We were there by ten-thirty.

  Jeff said, “Don’t tell Hilton what we’re up to. He’s smart enough to see for himself. And if he spots something that applied to him he just might make a break.”

  “Or,” I said, “he might get more and more palsy as a cover-up. Anyway, let’s get started.”

  It was arduous work, but I felt as if I were being driven by nagging necessity. Neither of us could seem to slow down. We had the entire picture in our minds and we worked furiously to prove that we were right.

  “No more killing,” I thought. If we hurried, if we were right, then we could stop things right at this point. Otherwise I was afraid of what might come next.

  Jeff held his watch on me while I went through walking, running, and murdering motions. He timed me three times just to see how long it took to run across the dam. Fortunately, I didn’t fall into the water once.

  Hilton joined us after we had pranced about for a while. We didn’t tell him what we were doing but we did put him to work. And the Larsons as well.

  After timing the perambulations each person claimed for himself in his (or her) statement to the police, we retired to the Larsons’ house. I simply dropped onto the couch. I was done in. It was two o’clock then.r />
  But one of Mrs. Larson’s fine dutch lunches complete with cold beer helped me considerably. “One thing more,” I told Jeff when we were through eating. “See how fast you can make it to the snag in the river where Delhart was tied until he was cut loose.”

  “The police haven’t made much of that,” Hilton said thoughtfully.

  “For the simple reason that they can’t explain it,” I said. “But it gives me an idea. Ready, Jeff?”

  “If I don’t come back, send the bloodhounds,” he said. He was drawn but cheerful. He gave us a grin and took off at a brisk walk. I made a note of the time and rested with Hilton on the screened porch. He was very much at ease. He seemed amused at our activities.

  We settled down to smoke and digest our lunches in silence. Finally, though, I asked him for more information on Frew.

  “Delhart kept close watch on him,” Hilton said. “Not because he was fond of the boy, but because he was afraid of him. He was a powerful man but scandal of that type could have hurt him a lot.”

  “And did Delhart lead him to Willow and the charity business?”

  Hilton nodded. “It kept Frew closer to him and more or less under his thumb.”

  “Does Frew know who he is?”

  “I think so—by now,” Hilton said cautiously. “He isn’t admitting it, of course. The less attention the police give him the better off he is.”

  “But he’ll inherit,” I said. “Does he get this place?”

  “Glory does,” Hilton said.

  “And you?”

  “I get Glory.”

  I must have looked skeptical because Hilton laughed out loud and looked thoroughly human and male—smugly self satisfied. “Watch me,” he said. “Just because she calls me names in public doesn’t mean she acts the same way when we’re alone.”

  We smoked some more, silent again, and then Jeff appeared, puffing a little but not too tired.

  “Thirty-one minutes,” I said, consulting my watch. I noted the time. “Shall we take off?”

  Jeff nodded and wiped his forehead on his coat sleeve. Hilton rose. “Will you be back?”

  “By seven-thirty, we hope,” I said. “With guests.”

  We gave him no satisfaction beyond that, and left. As we drove I relayed the news of Frew at the top of my voice. Jeff, as befitted the chauffeur of a car like Nellie, was silent. It took all of his concentration to hurry us to the county seat. But when we had stopped, he said:

  “Thirty-one minutes for me to get from the house to the snag and back. Do you realize what that means, O’Hara?”

  “That means no one could have been gone that long and not been missed,” I admitted.

  “How does that fit your theory?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Let’s ask Jocko for an idea.”

  We found him in his office. He had no smile to offer this time. Jeff stayed outside, waiting, since I hoped to soften Jocko better alone.

  I said, “How is Glory?”

  “Not talking,” he said. “Run along, Addy.”

  I smiled sweetly and sat down, handing him our typed and annotated outline. Bosco, in my lap, nibbled off a corner of the paper while I was getting it from my purse, but she missed the writing.

  Jocko was polite enough to read it. So I spent the time feeding Bosco small scraps of paper from his waste basket. I had to do something or blow up from internal pressure. I was still excited, despite my weariness. And Jocko just sat and read and scowled.

  But finally he began to come alive. Very slowly at first; faster as he neared the last page. I could see that he was interested.

  “When did this hit you, Addy?”

  “After I talked with Hilton last night,” I said. That needed explaining, so I gave him the details. I left out the mismanagement of funds angle. Perhaps it was condoning a crime but certainly it was one that couldn’t be repeated by the principals, and I was going to have to break enough promises without adding that one to the list.

  “And you and Cook actually timed these movements?”

  “We worked most of the night and all day,” I said.

  “Worth it, though,’ Jocko said sourly. “It will make a nice story—on how the police fell down again.”

  Here was my chance to spread a little butter. “Jocko, your business is gathering and interpreting evidence. We’re offering you a theory. If your technical angles fit the theory, then the case is solved. But you solved it—not Jeff and I. Our theory isn’t everything.”

  I sat back and waited. Jocko took my political soft soap for what it was worth, but he was pleased nevertheless.

  “Jeff and I have a plan,” I said when he finally broke down and grinned at me. “If it works, it will make a good story—as well as prove a few things.”

  “Tiffin and I could stand a good story,” Jocko admitted.

  “I wasn’t thinking of inviting Godfrey,” I said pointedly.

  “Now, Addy.”

  I bowed quickly to necessity. “Oh, all right.”

  Jocko almost laughed at my speedy acquiescence. “Let’s have the plan.”

  I gave him Bosco to hold and went off to collect Jeff. He was in a phone booth. When he came out for air he was smiling.

  “You know that powder we swiped from Willow’s bath?” he asked cheerfully. “Well, it doesn’t match that found in the clothing.”

  “But,” he added, “the hair does.”

  “Consolation,” I said, and took him off to Jocko. Jeff’s news made me feel pretty good too.

  “Did you spot the weak point?” Jeff asked Jocko.

  “Daisy,” Jocko said promptly.

  “Good, you’re worthy to hear this.”

  “Godfrey?” I asked.

  “I’ll give it to him later,” Jocko said.

  Jeff settled down and outlined our plan. It was simple enough. We wanted to re-enact the crime, using as many of the original principals as possible. Jocko listened with obvious interest. He grew almost as excited as we as Jeff talked. I sat and tried to curb myself by concentrating on Bosco’s antics. She tired of chewing papers on Jocko’s desk, so she jumped to the floor and actually ate the knots out of his shoelaces. He was so intent on listening to Jeff that he didn’t even notice it until he got up to walk.

  He had a few suggestions to make when he was through swearing at his loose shoes. We spent quite a while in debate. When our plans were settled, I said:

  “Make sure that Godfrey lets everyone think that Jeff and I alone planned this. Only we are in the know.”

  “I don’t like that part of it,” Jocko said.

  “Too dangerous,” Jeff agreed. He looked at me. “For you, of course.”

  “Nonsense,” I argued. “There’ll be police all over the place. It will work better that way. I know it will.” I was sure of it, but if I had known just how far out I was sticking my neck I might have agreed with them.

  “I’ll see,” was all Jocko would decide. He left then to talk to Tiffin. He was gone nearly a half hour. When he came back he looked sour.

  “I left him the outline,” he said. “But he needs more persuading.” He aimed tobacco juice at his cuspidor. “He’s ornery at times.”

  “I’ll make it easier for you by waiting at the ranch,” I said.

  “That’ll help,” Jocko admitted. “You can ride to Portland with me, Cook. And you,” he said to me, “take that oat with you.”

  I corraled Bosco and dumped her into Nellie. It was getting dusky when I arrived home. I put in a call to Hilton.

  “Had your dinner yet?”

  “No,” he said. “Come on out.”

  Which saved me the job of cooking. I dropped Bosco at the office with an admonition for her to vary her paper diet with a few mice, told Jud to expect almost anything, and went on to the ranch.

  Hilton was a pleasant host. He became almost gay when I told him Glory still refused to talk. Mentioning Glory started me worrying and after dinner I hunted up Tim and told him that Glory was coming.

&nbs
p; “Then I’m going off somewhere,” he stated.

  “Be your age, Tim. You’ll have to spend some time with her. Anyway, you owe her a vote of thanks.”

  “For what? Making a sap out of me?”

  “It happens once to every man,” I quoted.

  He had to grin. “I’ll stick. But I don’t see why.”

  I explained to him as much of the idea as I thought necessary. He nodded agreement. That was fine, I thought. But would everyone else be as cooperative?

  XXXI

  BY EIGHT-FIFTEEN we were all assembled. It was a poisonously unpleasant little group. Of them all, only Hilton looked pleased. Daisy was still being the wide-eyed innocent, and Frew was outdoing himself in sullenness.

  Surprisingly enough, Mrs. Willow gave us the least trouble. She was almost docile when Jocko began his explanations. He had informed them that they would be asked to take the same places they had occupied at a certain hour on the night of the murder.

  Frew rebelled. Daisy started to cry. Frew patted her shoulder.

  “Why make us go through that again?”

  Jocko said mildly, “I don’t know. Miss O’Hara and Mr. Cook have asked us to get you people to cooperate with them. Mr. Tiffin and I have agreed since …” He stopped and made a wry face … “Since we appreciate help in our investigation.”

  Tiffin, who had been standing in the background, took a step forward. “Perhaps,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “they will be good enough to explain themselves to us all later.”

  It was beautifully done. I was almost grateful to Tiffin for helping out that way. Jocko must really have persuaded him for him to display such cooperation. I smiled at Tiffin, but he just glared at me and looked away.

  “Now, if you please,” Jocko said.

  Big Swede was prevailed upon to take the part of Titus Willow. Jocko was going to impersonate Delhart. After more mutterings everyone was placed. It was quite dark now. Daisy and Frew went outside. Mrs. Willow went upstairs to take her nap after accompanying us to see that Daisy was safely in the trees. Frew was supposed to wander about as if lost. To play safe, Jeff was assigned to follow him.