Exploit of Death llm-34

by Dell Shannon

  "We've sorted out who saw him last," said Mendoza. "And damn it, it's still all up in the air. My next thought, we take a good look at the hospital staff-at backgrounds-something suggestive may show. Hell, there must be a couple of hundred people on that staff-more-and anybody in a uniform could saunter down that hall without anybody paying any attention-and we haven't talked to those nurses on this shift again. Damnation. We'll be doing some overtime tonight."

  ***

  THE OFFBEAT 0NE at the hospital took up time. There were a lot of people to talk to, to question. Palliser was off on Monday, Grace on Tuesday. Even with Glasser back they were shorthanded. And with all the answers they got, it was still a shapeless thing. All the comings and goings-anybody at all could have gone in and smothered the old man. Nobody had seen anything, anybody out of the ordinary. It was just a lot of tiresome legwork for nothing.

  Galeano and Higgins landed back at the office about three o'clock on Tuesday afternoon and found that the autopsy report on Rose Eberhart had just come in, and also a report from the lab. Galeano looked them over. She had, of course, died of a fractured skull, between six and midnight Friday night. They kicked it around a little and looked at the photographs.

  "That table by the door," said Galeano. "There was just a smidgen of blood on it. She wouldn't have bled much when she fell."

  "Got knocked down," amended Higgins. "By these shots, she was a good-sized woman and she must've hit with some force to do herself that much damage, Nick. What it adds up to is, with the open door, she was talking to somebody in the hall, somebody she wasn't going to let in, and the somebody knocked her over backwards. A sudden violent argument over something? And the only thing you've turned up about any little trouble she'd had lately was-"

  "This Arvin woman. Not sounding like much of anything," said Galeano. "Some woman she'd worked with. Hadn't seen in a while, and ran into at the corner market."

  "And no lead on locating her," said Higgins.

  "Well, I had a thought or two," said Galeano. "Jase always saying he's got a simple mind. I've got a fairly simple mind, too, and I thought of the phone book first. But if Eberhart hadn't seen her in a while and then met her again just recently, it could say that the woman had just moved into that area recently, too. A corner market, not a big supermart. It sounds like a place they'd both walk to. A local independent store-handy to where they both lived. And if she'd just moved, she wouldn't be in the phone book. She could also have an unlisted number. A lot of women living alone do."

  "True," said Higgins. He massaged his jaw thoughtfully. "We can give it a try."

  "That's what I thought," said Galeano. He looked in the phone book for Central L.A. and there were only five Arvins-four more who spelled it with a y. None lived any closer to the Echo Park area than Alhambra, City Terrace, Monterey Park, Lincoln Heights. He dialed the information operator, introduced himself, invited her to call back to verify that she was really talking to police.

  "I'm looking for an Arvin- I'm not sure just how it's spelled. Somewhere in the downtown area. The number may have just been changed to that name or it may be unlisted. No, I don't have any first name."

  "You don't want the ones listed in the Central book, sir?"

  She sounded like an intelligent girl..

  "Anything else you've got, please."

  "Just a moment sir. There's an unlisted number, Linda Arvin, on Cadillac Avenue."

  "I don't think that's it."

  "A J. Arvin, Durango Avenue. Oliver Arvin, Langford Street-that's just been listed."

  "Keep going," said Galeano.

  "Myra Arvin, Santa Ynez Street-that's a new listing too. There's a D. Arvin on-"

  "O.K., thanks. If I want that I'll get back to you." Galeano put the phone down.

  "Bingo, maybe," he said told Higgins. "Santa Ynez. That's right in the middle of that area. Let's go take a look."

  They took his Ford and after a little hunt found the address. Santa Ynez was an old narrow street in that old residential area, and the address was a small apartment house dating back to the twenties. In the little uncarpeted lobby, they found Myra Arvin listed, by the mailbox, in apartment 4-B, upstairs. They climbed worn old wooden stairs and found the door. It was the right front apartment. Galeano pushed the bell. In a moment the door was opened by a short stout woman with suspiciously black hair and snapping black eyes, a sallow complexion, innocent of any makeup. She was wearing a flowered cotton houserobe and ancient bedroom slippers. Galeano showed her the badge and she stared at it.

  "And what would the police want with me?" she asked sharply.

  "Do you know Mrs. Rose Eberhart, Mrs. Arvin?" asked Higgins.

  Her mouth went tight and she looked very angry. "For the Lord's sake, has that damned woman sicked the police on me? That's just like her nerve! I don't know what the police would have to do with it, if anybody's got reason to call the police it was me, and I'm not sorry I knocked her down either. Her trying to tell me that lie about Bert! She had it coming. I'll never see that fifty bucks again, might as well forget it."

  Galeano said gently, "I think you'd better let us in, ma'am." She marched across the room and plumped herself down on the couch, and Galeano and Higgins took the couple of chairs opposite. This was a typical furnished apartment, nondescript furniture, a T.V. in one corner, glimpse into a kitchen at one side, a bedroom at the other.

  Galeano said, "Suppose you tell us your side of the story, Mrs. Arvin."

  She lit a cigarette with an angry snap of the lighter. "I suppose she's claiming that I tried to rob her or swindle her or something. And I thought she was a nice woman when I first knew her. You bet I'll tell you my side of the story, and if I can't prove it, she can't prove that damn lie about Bert."

  "When did you first know her, Mrs. Arvin?"

  "When I had that job at McClintock's. I was only there six months, it was three years back. She worked there, too, I don't know if she still does." She was smoking rapidly. "Damn it, I was sorry for her then-the reason I loaned her the fifty. She was married to a drunk, she wanted shut of him, can't blame her for that-and she needed the money to hire a lawyer. She said it was just temporary till payday, and I let her have it. And she never paid it back. Well, I had reason enough for it going out of my mind for a while. Bert died of a heart attack about a month later-my husband-and it was a big shock to me. After the funeral I quit my job and moved up to Fresno to live with my son and his wife-them saying it was the sensible thing to do-all over me that snippy little girl was, and didn't I find out why, all they wanted was an unpaid housekeeper and baby-sitter!" She snorted. "I never did get on with that girl, anyway, don't understand what Roy sees in her." It was possible that there were quite a few people Myra Arvin would not get on with.

  "When I remembered the money, I wrote Rose at the restaurant, I didn't know her address, but I never got an answer, and I know she must've got the letter. I was mad about it but there wasn't anything I could do up there, and I don't know why I stuck it out as long as I did, but I finally had it with that girl and her two spoiled brats, and I came back down here a couple of weeks ago-found this apartment got a job at Denny's-the one on Santa Monica, I'm on the night shift-and when I got settled I was going up to McClintock's, see if Rose was still there, only I ran right into her at that little market on the corner. I didn't know she lived around here. So I asked her about the fifty and she tried to put over this damn lie. She said she paid it back, she gave it to Bert when he came to pick me up one night at the restaurant. She said I was back getting my coat, and Bert thanked her and put it in his pocket. I ask you!"

  "You didn't believe her?" asked Galeano. I

  "Listen," she said, "I was married to Bert Arvin for thirty-two years. You think I didn't have him trained to hand over all the money to me? He wasn't just so smart about handling money and I'm a good manager, I always handled all the money. He wouldn't have held it out on me. And anyway, she knew he was dead and couldn't speak up for himself-just a plain lie to
get out of paying me back."

  "You went. to see her about it again last Friday night?" asked Higgins.

  "I sure did. I'd already had a couple of arguments with her. I'd looked up her address and found she lived just a couple of blocks away. I could use that money-just moving back here like I said-and I wasn't going to let her get away with it. I don't know what she told you, but I went there and she wouldn't let me in. She stood in the door and argued with me-said she wasn't going to pay the money twice-and I just got mad. I saw there wasn't one damn thing I could do about it, I couldn't prove she never paid Bert, but I know she hadn't. And finally I just gave her a shove, I was damn mad, and I guess I caught her off balance and she fell down-and I can't say I'm sorry. I haven't been near her since. I don't care what she told you."

  "She didn't tell us anything, Mrs. Arvin," said Higgins.

  "She's dead. She hit her head when she fell down and fractured her skull."

  She stared at him with mouth open, and her complexion went muddy gray. "You mean when I pushed her-you mean-Oh, my God-my God-I never meant to hurt her any way-Oh, my God."

  Galeano said, "I'm afraid you'll have to come downtown with us."

  "You're arresting me for murder-for killing her? I never meant-"

  "Well, it won't amount to that," said Higgins. The charge would probably be involuntary manslaughter and she wouldn't serve much time.

  "Oh, my God," she said dully. "Can I go get dressed? I can't go anywhere like this." They didn't think she'd try to cut her throat, alone in the bathroom; she wasn't the type, so they let her go.

  Galeano lit a cigarette. "The poor henpecked husband," he said. "Seeing a chance to keep a little cash for himself."

  "I wonder what he did with it," said Higgins.

  "Maybe blew it on a more congenial female," said Galeano.

  They were never to know that two and a half years ago Mrs. Amelia Brown, moving into a cheaper apartment on West Adams Street, had with surprise and gratification discovered two twenties and a ten in an envelope at the back of the closet shelf in the bedroom. She had decided not to mention it to the manager. It was her business. It had meant a few little extra luxuries that month, and a really nice birthday present for her oldest granddaughter.

  ***

  GALLEANO GOT Home to the little house in Studio City at six-thirty. It had been murderously hot again today. He looked at the house as he turned into the drive and thought again that it could stand a coat of paint, but with the baby coming-maybe next year they could afford it. Marta hadn't heard him drive in. She was in the backyard, sitting on the grass playing with the little gray tabby kitten she'd got from the people down the street. He stood for a moment looking at her fondly, his darling Marta, with the tawny blond hair and dark eyes. She wasn't showing the baby much; it was due in March. She had on a green sundress and she was laughing down at the kitten. It would be funny if the baby should arrive on their first wedding anniversary. It was going to be Anthony for his father or Christine for her mother.

  "Nick, I did not hear you come in." She scrambled up and came running to him and he kissed her soundly. "I was just thinking, I wish I could afford a better house for us."

  She laughed. "But you do not know how rich it makes me feel to own a whole house, with a nice yard to make a garden?" She'd never lose her little German accent. She'd had a rough time for a while-her first husband killing himself, and losing the baby. He hoped he could make it all up to her from now on. "You look tired, Liebchen. Come in and sit down, I have dinner nearly ready."

  That night about eight-thirty, Patrolman Manuel Gonzales was peacefully cruising on his regular tour in Hollywood. He'd turned on to Vermont for the second time and presently came to the L.A.C.C. campus. Several of the buildings were lit up-for evening classes probably, he thought-and there were cars in the parking lot. Just doing the routine, he turned in and drove around there. He had nine A.P.B.'s posted on the squad's dashboard, plate numbers to look for. He didn't know why the front-office boys were after them, it could be anything from a stolen car to a heist suspect to murder. But that wasn't his business. He drove slowly around the lot, looking casually at plate numbers, and suddenly, down at the end of the lot, he spotted one. He braked and checked the number with the posted A.P.B. They matched. A two-year-old Chrysler Newport, navy-blue, and

  ***

  IT WAS SCHENKE'S night off. Piggott and Conway got sent out once, early, to a heist at a pharmacy on Sixth. There wasn't a decent description of the heister to be had, the owner was the only witness and he was too shook to say what color the man had been. They came back to the office and Piggott started to type the report. And then Hollywood Division called to say that the A.P.B. had turned up a car they wanted. Neither of them knew much about Edna Holzer, but enough to know that it probably wouldn't be any use to stake out the car and wait for somebody to come back, the car belonged to a missing woman. Conway called the police garage and asked for somebody to go up there and tow it in for lab examination. He supposed there wasn't any hurry about that and didn't bother to call the skeleton night crew at the lab.

  Piggott hadn't finished the report when they got another call to another heist. There were five witnesses to this one and all good witnesses. It was a liquor store and both owners had been there with three old friends, just about to start a friendly game of draw in the back office after the store was closed. They were all older men who had seen military service and didn't scare easily. They hadn't wanted anybody to get hurt so they hadn't put up a fight, and the owners had only left enough cash in the register to start with change tomorrow; he'd only got about twenty bucks. But they all described him graphically. A Negro about twenty-five, six feet, small mustache, dark pants and yellow shirt, no discernible accent. They all agreed on the gun-a revolver, either a. 38 or. 45, probably a Colt.

  "This will give the day watch some legwork," said Piggott. On a lot of the recent heists, there wasn't much to do. When there was a good description, there was. They looked in Records for men who matched the description, went and looked for them, brought them in for questioning. It could be tedious and largely futile, but once in a while they hit a jackpot.

  The phone rang and Conway picked it up. "Say, where have you been? I've been trying to get you for an hour. This is Slattery down at the garage."

  "We've been on a call. Did that car get brought in?"

  "Well, that's what I'm calling about. I went up to Hollywood to get it, and you might have warned me, for God's sake, you gave me the hell of a shock. I mean, for God's sake, I've seen bodies before-I was two years in 'Nam-but I wasn't expecting it."

  "A body?" said Conway.

  "Yeah, in the back seat of this Chrysler. It's a woman."

  "Well, surprise, surprise," said Conway. "I suppose the Hollywood man just checked the plate. Just leave it alone, I'll see if I can get the lab out." He called and somebody named Steiner said through a yawn that they'd get on it. "You want the works-pictures and all? O.K. You boys do pick the goddamndest time to find corpses."

  ***

  "I TOLD YOU so," said Carey. He and Mendoza stood in the cold room down at the morgue looking at the body in its tray. Edna Holzer had probably been an attractive woman, but you wouldn't know it now. She'd been stripped and her clothes sent up to the lab, and nothing had been done to the body pending the autopsy. There were ugly cyanosed stains on her throat and shoulders and her face was twisted into a grimace.

  "And I don't need an autopsy to know she was strangled," added Carey. "Knocked around a little first. The doctors will say if she's been raped."

  "And not very long after she left the hospital on Saturday night," said Mendoza. "There wouldn't have been much traffic at that hour along the couple of blocks before she'd hit the freeway, but-"

  "But," said Carey, "woman driving alone at night, it would've been dark for about half an hour, she'd automatically keep the car doors locked. Even if she caught a light, how could anybody have jumped her'? I suppose he could've been waitin
g in the parking lot-grabbed her when she came back to the car. It's about the only way it could've happened. She wasn't planning to stop anywhere between there and home."

  "?Condenacion! " said Mendoza, brushing violently at his mustache. "We've got a hell of a lot too much on hand already, with that damned hospital staff to delve into, and another homicide, and that new heist. All we need is something like this. Of course, the lab might pick up something on the car. Well, no rest for the wicked, as Art says. We'll have to work it."

  They drove up to Del Mar Avenue in Hollywood in the Ferrari. The Holzer house was a comfortable old Spanish place with a manicured lawn in front. Frances Holzer was home and Carey broke the news to her.

  She was a pretty girl about twenty-five with brown hair, a fair complexion, and hazel eyes. She had looked a little haggard already, and she broke down and wept for quite a while. They gave her time. Finally, she sat up and blew her nose and said in a shaking voice, "I knew she was dead-I just knew it. I knew she had to be when she didn't come home. I said to her when she left that night, I wished she wouldn't go, I said she could go on Sunday-in daylight. That's right downtown-that hospital. Not a good part of town. But she said there was that deposition to do in the morning, and she wanted to wash her hair in the afternoon. Maybe I had a premonition. I just couldn't go to work all week, I called in sick. I knew she'd never come home again."

  "Would she have had much money with her, Miss Holzer?" asked Mendoza.

  "No, just a few dollars. But all her credit cards-I did have enough sense to call and put a stop on those. Just in case-in case-"

  Mendoza made a mental note to find out which cards they were, ask the central clearing office to notify them on the outside chance that somebody might try to use those accounts.

  "Oh, my God, I've got to call Mona-my sister. They've been just frantic too, but they live in Bakersfield and couldn't come-they'll have to now."