Exploit of Death llm-34

by Dell Shannon

  " Maravilloso. And what was it?" He groped for cigarettes on the table.

  "Well, it was just after I'd asked her if she lived in Paris that I went to sleep. But my mind took in what she said. She said she had lived in Paris for five years since she worked for Mr. Fournier. But before that, they had always lived at Evreux because her father was attached to the museum there. That was all I came out with. But, Luis, it could help, couldn't it? If you can trace her parents, there'll be other people-"

  "It could help one hell of a lot, mi vida, " said Mendoza. "It was a brainstorm. Muchas gracias. Everything all right there?"

  "The twins have discovered that first grade isn't as much fun as they'd expected. That old Sister Grace is awful strict. And El Senor caught a toad and was sick. Everything else is fine."

  "Muy Bien. Keep your fingers crossed, querida. This might mean a big break."

  ***

  "Evreux!" said Rambeau. "The museum!" He smote himself on the forehead. "Ie Musee de l'Archeologie et de l'Histoire Naturelle. And Maman and Papa died only six months ago. Now, indeed we will march! Allons! "

  He drove out of Paris at a rate to frighten Mendoza, who didn't like being driven. It was not far out of the city, and Rambeau seemed to know his way. He braked outside an old stone building with several wings, bustled Mendoza in and demanded the director. Within five minutes they were talking to an alert-looking elderly man with a fringe of white hair, Professor Rigaud. "I ask you to speak in English if it is possible, for the benefit of my colleague."

  Rigaud's English was hesitant, but adequate. Indeed he had known Dr. Andre Martin and his wife, Dr. Martin had been with the museum for nearly thirty years, he was a most distinguished Egyptologist. It had been a great tragedy when they were killed by the drunken motorist. Indeed he had met the daughter-a charming girl and quite brilliant. He did not mingle a great deal in social circles, and the Martins had been younger. Perhaps their closest friends had been the Boyers, Edouard and Leonie Boyer. Dr. Boyer was absent on a field trip in Egypt but he could direct them to the house.

  It was a pleasant little stone house with a walled garden where a few roses still bloomed. Leonie Boyer was a pretty woman still, though she was probably in the fifties, with delicately tinted blond hair, skillful makeup, smart clothes. Rambeau was magnificent with her.

  "Madame, the reason for this I will recount to you later," he said after introducing himself and Mendoza and ascertaining that she spoke English. "I can only tell you that you will be of inestimable aid to Juliette Martin, to my colleague, and to myself if you will answer our questions freely."

  "Of course, Inspector." She looked a little bewildered, but she responded automatically to his gallantry. "Come in and sit down. Ask whatever you please. As you hear, I speak English very well. I used to speak it with Elise, Julie's mother, I do miss her so very much," and her eyes were sad. "We were dear friends, and I look on Julie as a niece, almost a daughter. I have no children, you see."

  "I'd like to ask you something about her, too," said Mendoza. "Had you known her since she came to France, Mrs. Boyer?"

  "Oh, yes. Since she and Andre were married. She became Elise then. In America, her name was Elsie, such an ugly name. Like thud, thud. But always she had an affinity for France and the French language."

  "Then you know about her father and about Juliette's visit to him."

  "Yes, indeed. I look forward to hearing about that when Julie is home. Elise, it did not trouble her very much that he was so angry about her marriage. He was a cold hard man, she always said, and her mother had died when she was fifteen. There was no real home for her there. But also he was jealous, you comprehend-no man she wished to marry would have pleased him, for she was his favorite and the only daughter."

  "And then after all, and after all these years, he wishes to be reconciled to his granddaughter," said Rambeau.

  She said,."I understood why Julie felt she should write to him. There is such a thing as the family feeling. Of course we did not have a proper address, there had been no communication for thirty years-well, twenty-five-for Elise had written him when Julie was born but never had a reply. All I could tell Julie," she smiled, "it was a little joke between Elise and me-her old home in America. It was all so different for her here, the country-the people-a cosmopolitan surrounding. But she had become very French. Ah, that curious address in America." She pronounced it carefully. "Indian Canyon Road, Rural Route Two, San Fernando. So very American. And Julie's letter sent on, he is not there any longer, but he wrote to her. Yes, he was very pleased to have her letter. He wrote that he had often wanted to get in touch with Elise, but of course did not know where to write. He is," she sighed, "very old and feels remorse, and he was pleased to know about Julie. He asked her to send a snapshot, and of course she looks very much like her mother. They had corresponded since then. He sent Julie the money for the airplane fare."

  "Ah," said Rambeau. "He has money, then."

  "Oh, no, I do not think so." She was surprised. "It was a very poor place they lived when Elise was a young girl."

  "Do you know the name of Claire Ducasse?"

  "Why, of course. She is Julie's closest friend. They were at school together. They shared an apartment in Paris until Claire was married a few months ago. Her husband has been transferred to Bordeaux, he is in a wine merchant's office. And Julie had missed her, but she said she would keep the apartment alone until she and Paul are married in January."

  "The fiance, Paul-"

  "Paul Goulart. He is a fine young man. A doctor like his father, he is finishing out his term at, what is it in English, internship at the Paris General Hospital, and then he will go into practice with his father. He is such a handsome young man, they are so much in love. I have been very happy for Julie."

  "What," asked Mendoza, "is Elise's father's name?"

  "Oh, that is very American, too. Elias K. Dobbs-more thud, thud," and she laughed.

  "Juliette's first letter to him was sent on. To where?" demanded Rambeau. "She agreed to visit him, he sent her the money for the plane ticket, somewhere in or near Los Angeles-where?"

  She put her hand to her cheek. "I could not tell you. I am sorry. Julie must have said the name, but I am not familiar with American names and I do not remember. It was not important. Julie has gone to see him-of the family feeling. The old man, sentimental and sorry-it is only for a short time. Inspector, I must ask you why you are asking me all these questions. I do not understand."

  Rambeau leaned forward and patted her hand. "Now, you will be brave, madame. We must tell you that Juliette Martin is dead. That is right, you weep for her. I can only say you have helped to avenge her death."

  But when they came back to the Renault, parked in the quiet street, he was looking distracted. He stopped on the sidewalk and said, "But why does that name ring a small bell in my head? Paul Goulart, Paul Goulart. However, we now have the name of Grandpere."

  "And like the ones I handed you-a common one. But we have telephone directories, too," said Mendoza.

  "So again, allons! You will get there, my friend. You will find Grandpere." Rambeau reached the key to the ignition and stopped. He sat frozen, motionless for thirty seconds. And then he said very quietly, " Sacree Mere. I have just remembered. Paul Goulart." He lit a cigarette and sat smoking silently, staring through the windshield of the Renault.

  "He was murdered," he said softly. "The reports that pass across my desk, other men investigating other cases than concern me-the names cross my mind and go. But that much I remember. This Paul Goulart has been murdered."

  He switched on the engine. "We will go to the office and look up the report on him. Your mystery-it gets to be stranger and deeper, my friend."

  ***

  THEY TALKED to Dr. Jules Goulart briefly that evening, in the parlor of his rather shabby comfortable old house in a suburb north in the city. "I have nothing left," he said. He was a leonine man with an aristocratic profile. "Paul was a fine doctor, a son to take pr
ide in-and his life is taken for no reason. A burglar stealing what little he had-perhaps a drug addict. He was to have taken my practice. And now you tell me Juliette is dead, such a dear girl, the right wife for Paul." After a silence, "If it is possible, I would like to have the ring back. Paul gave it to her as an engagement ring. I had it made for his mother when he was born. It is unique, a diamond and sapphires."

  "You know," said Mendoza in the Renault, "that ring is somewhere in the sewers of Los Angeles."

  "It is always well to be thorough," said Rambeau. It was a small jewelry shop in the Rue Lafayette. The youngish man behind the counter said, "I remember the ring, sir. M. Goulart brought it in for cleaning, to see if the stones needed tightening. My father was interested, for he designed it. He is in the rear office-you may talk to him."

  M. Dupres said, "Indeed, it is a unique ring. I designed it, it would be some twenty-six years ago. The account book would give the date." He was fussy and slow, looking up the record. "I can give you a sketch of the design. My memory is excellent, despite what the young people say. It is a yellow-gold ring-eighteen-karat gold-a diamond and two sapphires, all the stones are of half a carat weight." He insisted upon drawing a neat little sketch.

  Rambeau said at the hotel, "So, my friend, you go home to find the solution to your mystery. And when you do, write and tell me, for I am interested to know. I shall never forget the little Juliette."

  ***

  HACKETT AND HIGGINGS had just come back from lunch when a man from Communications brought in a cable.

  Hackett scanned it rapidly POSITIVE PROOF IDENTITY. BRINGING DEPOSITIONS. LEAN ON DAGGETTS HARD.

  Hackett said, "Well, I will be damned. Hie seems to have got what he went after."

  Sergeant Lake looked up from the switchboard. "You've got a new one just gone down-a body."

  TEN

  HACKETT, HHIGGINS, and Palliser confronted the Daggetts and Helen Garvey in Mendoza's office; there wasn't space for all of them in one of the interrogation rooms. The two women were silent and Daggett tried to bluster. Higgins said, "We've spelled it out for you, Daggett. Now we can prove you've all been lying. We've got legal proof of who the girl really was. That she hadn't been living in that apartment-that her name wasn't Ruth Hoffman-and now we'd like to hear what you know about it. Who primed you with that story?"

  Daggett's Adam's apple was jerking wildly. He said, "I don't know anything about it. Not a thing. Just what I told you."

  "Don't waste time trying to deny it," said Hackett. "How did the girl get there and when? Who told you what lies to tell?"

  Daggett looked at his wife and he looked like a frightened rabbit cornered by hounds. "We never did anything to that girl. We don't know anything about that girl."

  "So what do you know about?" asked Palliser.

  Daggett shifted in the chair, still looking at his wife. "We never wanted to get into any trouble-"

  "Well, you're in a hell of a lot of trouble now," said Higgins brutally. "You'll have to tell us about it sometime, and it had better be here and now."

  The woman said evenly, "I guess we better tell them, Fred. I thought we put it over-even when that other one asked questions. But I guess we'll have to tell them the rights of it now."

  He licked his lips. "Well," he said, "it was the money. I told you that building's going to be torn down and I'll be out of a job. I'm fifty-seven years old and it won't be easy to get another. I worked around a lot-construction and clerking in stores-but it won't be easy to find any kind of decent job at my age. I managed that apartment for ten years, we get the place rent free. But it's coming down. They're gonna build a big office building there. The land belongs to some big company, they couldn't care less about the likes of me, and we've been worried about it. I've been damn worried about it. It was around the first of August I got the phone call." He was hunched forward, clasped hands between his knees, head down. "And I can't tell you anything about the guy. I never laid eyes on him. It was just a voice on the phone-an ordinary voice. He asked me if the wife and me would like to earn ten thousand bucks each. We wouldn't have to do much, he said. Just tell a little story to the police. I didn't like the idea of police being in it. I never had anything to do with the police, but they can be nosy- and when he said what we'd have to do, I didn't like that so good either. But he said there couldn't be any trouble, the police would only come once and they'd believe what we said because there'd be things to back it up so the police would believe us. He said he'd let us think it over and call me back. Well, the wife and I talked it over and decided to do it-for the money. But I thought about Helen, see. She and Ethel been pretty good friends, time we'd been here, and I know things hadn't been easy for her either. And I thought it'd look better if somebody else was to back us up on that story. We talked it all over and when he called back I put it to him. I said Helen'd back us up for another ten thousand, and he said that was O.K."

  Hackett said, "Not so much money for a thing like that, was it? With a dead body involved."

  Mrs. Daggett looked at him almost contemptuously. She was a short fat woman with sandy blond hair and hard pale blue eyes, a small tight mouth. "Mister," she said, "I don't I know how old you are or how much you make at this job, but sooner or later you'll find out like the rest of us, in this life, it's dog eat dog. You got to look out for yourself first. Sure it was a little risk to take. But we figured it was worth it for the money, and so did Helen." Helen Garvey was sitting silent, her much-made-up face gaunt in the bright sunlight pouring in the window. "The fellow told Fred just what was going to be in that apartment. There'd be things to make the story look on the level."

  Daggett said, "He told me just what I had to do. All I had l to do was just what he said. He didn't know exactly when it would be, but he'd let me know beforehand. He said I was to tell him the number of the apartment. Well, that was easy. People moving out the last three months-not five tenants left in the place, and Helen was the only one left on that floor, so I told him the one opposite her. He said when he called I was just to leave the key in the door and the only thing I had to do, make out rent receipts like the Hoffman girl had been living there. Leave the top ones in the apartment and have the carbons ready to show the police, and the next morning I was supposed to go up there and call the police and say how I'd found her."

  "You all knew you were getting mixed up in a murder, didn't you?" asked Higgins.

  "You can't say any such thing! We never-how'd we know that?"

  "When the fellow told you a month in advance," said Hackett, "that there was going to be a dead body in that apartment? You're not that much of a fool, Daggett."

  He looked wildly from side to side. "I didn't want to know anything about it-it wasn't anything to do with me-with us. I didn't want to think about it."

  His wife said, "We'd never have taken the risk except it looked like he had it all set up so the police wouldn't think it was a lie. Well, we lost the gamble, that's all."

  Palliser asked, "And what happened next?"

  "We had to be sure he'd pay up. He sounded like he meant business all right, and even before I asked him he said he'd pay us half first. The money came in the mail. It was a little package came by first-class mail and it was all cash- all in twenties. Fifteen thousand dollars. I never heard from him again until just the night before. He called and said we should get ready-to do it-the next morning. I-right then, I'd have liked to back out of the whole deal. I hadn't really thought about-about the body, but we were in it then-and I said O.K." He took a deep breath. "And he said, leave the key in the door and leave your own door shut-just sit and watch the T.V."

  "And that was what you did?" said Palliser.

  Daggett nodded. "And next morning I went up there. It was all just like he said it'd be, and the rest of the money was there on the table-another fifteen thousand in twenties. So I just did what he said to. We all did."

  Higgins said, "You know you've laid yourselves open to a charge of accessories to a murder,
don't you? That's what I it adds up to. Is that all you can tell us about him?"

  "We don't know anything about a murder. I never laid eyes on him. That's all I can tell you. Just a voice on the phone. We never knew anything about that girl. You can't say we knew nothing about a murder. It was just a chance to make all that money. It didn't seem much to do for that much money."

  Hackett said, "It's put you in one hell of a lot of trouble, Daggett. You're all going to jail and the money won't do you much good there." Mendoza had predicted something like this, but it was unsatisfactory. It left the thing still shapeless. They talked it over a little after they'd booked the Daggetts and Garvey into jail. There had, of course, been an inquest on the supposed Ruth Hoffman, and at Mendoza's request the coroner had instructed the jury to leave it open. Now it was to be hoped that he had enough further evidence to conclude the inquest with a verdict of murder. He hadn't said when he'd be back. He might be on the way now.

  ***

  Robert Shafton said to Landers and Galeano, "This neighborhood's run down in the last twenty years. It was convenient to my business. But nearly anywhere in the city these days you get all sorts of crime-the violence. We bought the house on Scott Avenue twenty-five years ago, it was handy to the store, but we'd like to get out of the area now. Only who can afford the interest rates? Any other place we'd get, we'd have to get a loan on. And nearly anywhere these days-" He spread his hands. They were talking to him at his store on Glendale Avenue. It was a stationer's and office-supply store, a fairly big place. He had this little office at the rear of the store, and there was a woman clerk in front.

  "We talked to the patrolman," said Landers, "but we'd like to hear what you can tell us, Mr. Shafton."