by Ed McBain
The two deputies saluted him and he returned the salute and asked, “Where’s the body?”
We started to lead him to the cabin when Jean and Sam stepped over the rocks between the two sites.
“What’s the trouble?” Jean asked.
“Who’s that?” the sheriff asked me.
“The dead girl’s sister,” I told him.
We waited for Sam and Jean to walk over to us. She was wearing a swimming suit, and a little sweater was thrown over her shoulders. Sam was wearing a sport shirt and slacks.
“What’s the matter, Steve?” she asked. Sam stood behind her, reluctant to look at me, but curious about the big crowd.
“Your sister’s been murdered, miss,” the sheriff said evenly.
Jean’s mouth fell open, and her breath caught in her throat. Her hand moved up to the side of her face, hung there like a disjointed member, then fell to her waist again.
“W-w-what?” she stammered.
Sam had turned pale, and he pulled at his collar now, his eyes wide in amazement.
We all walked up to the cabin and the sheriff stepped inside briefly. When he came out again, he said, “I wouldn’t go in there, miss.”
“I want to see her,” Jean said.
“Suit yourself,” the sheriff said drily.
Jean opened the door and stepped inside. I heard a faint gasp and then she was sobbing wildly. Sam went into the cabin after her, and came out with his arm around her shoulders.
The sheriff was looking over the notebook Shorty had given him.
“You’re Steve Richmond?” he asked me.
“Yes.”
“Found the body an hour ago, eh?”
“About then.”
He glanced at his wrist watch. “Three-thirty now. You’d say it was about two-thirty, then, when you found her?”
“Yes, about that time.”
Jean stopped sobbing and looked up at me curiously.
“You live alone on this site?” the sheriff asked me.
“Yes.”
“With the dead girl?”
I glanced apprehensively at Jean and nodded. “For the past three days,” I said.
“Mmmm,” he murmured. He turned to Jean and Sam.
“I didn’t get your names,” he said.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sam Fowler,” Sam replied.
“What was your maiden name?” the sheriff asked Jean.
“Endicott,” she answered.
“Your sister’s name was Lois Endicott?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Sheriff Owens,” he said, “from Lake George.”
“How do you do?” Jean said.
“You understand, of course,” Owens said, “that I’ve got to ask these questions. I don’t want to add to your grief, but we’re trying to find a murderer.”
“I understand,” Jean said.
“Suppose we start from the beginning then,” Owens said, turning to me. “When did you see the dead girl last?”
“Right after lunch. She was going for a walk in the woods.”
“And you didn’t see her after that?”
“Only when I found her in there.”
Jean looked at me again, and there was a strange look on her face. I wondered if she believed me or not. Owens’ face was noncommital.
“Where were you before you found her?” he asked. “What did you do between the time she left and the time you found her dead?”
I hesitated, wondering if I should tell him about the phone call I’d been ready to make. Perhaps I’d best skip that and just tell him I’d been to Glen.
“Well?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to speak when Jean cut in quickly.
“He was with me,” she said.
I glanced at her quickly, as Owens turned to face her.
“Oh?” he said. “And where were you? The both of you, I mean.”
“We were out in Steve’s boat.”
“What?” Sam said, glaring at me.
I almost shook my head unconsciously. What the hell was she trying to do?
Owens faced me again. “Is that true?” he asked. “Were you on the lake with Mrs. Fowler?”
I swallowed hard. This was one hell of a spot. Why hadn’t she kept her fool mouth shut? Why had she tried to alibi me when I didn’t need one? And if I told the truth now?
“Yes,” I lied, “I was with Mrs. Fowler.”
Sam started visibly, and I could see the lines of rage forming on his face.
“Where’d you go?”
“Just around the lake,” I said.
“How far?”
“Just up a little ways.”
“And when you came back?”
“He dropped me off at my site and then brought the boat over here,” Jean said. Her eyes caught mine and held them for an instant.
“And then you found the body?” Owens asked me.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you call for Mrs. Fowler?”
“I … I didn’t think of it.”
Christ, how had I gotten into this pack of lies? Maybe I ought to start telling the truth now, I thought.
“Wouldn’t she be the logical person to call?” Owens asked.
“I … I guess so.”
“Then why didn’t you call her?”
“I didn’t think of it. I only thought of calling the police.”
“Did you hear any noises over here after he dropped you off, Mrs. Fowler?”
“No.”
Owens nodded and sighed deeply. “Where were you all this time, Mr. Fowler?”
“I was on the other side of the island.”
“Where?”
“With some friends.”
“I thought you were staying in the cabin all afternoon,” Jean said, a puzzled frown wrinkling her forehead.
“I thought so, too. I changed my mind,” Sam said gruffly. “I thought you were going for a walk.”
“I was, but Steve asked if I’d like to take a ride and I thought it would be a good idea.”
Sam grunted and Owens asked, “What friends were you with?”
“Some folks on Site Seven. You can check there if you like.”
“How long were you with them?”
“I just got back. I was going into the cabin when Jean came out to see what all the noise was. That’s when we came over here.”
“And when did you see the dead girl last?” Owens asked Sam.
Sam hesitated, glancing apprehensively at Jean. “Three nights ago,” he answered at last.
“And you haven’t seen her since?”
“No.”
Owens stroked his chin thoughtfully, then looked at me. “Was that when the dead girl came to … live with you, Mr. Richmond?”
I wished he’d stop saying “dead girl,” and I wished too that there were less stress on Lois’ having shared my cabin.
“Yes,” I answered.
“How’d you feel about all this, Mrs. Fowler?”
“About all what?” Jean asked.
“About your sister coming over here with Mr. Richmond.”
“My sister was old enough to do as she pleased,” Jean said. “I never interfered in her private affairs.”
“Mmmm,” Owens said. “And when did you say you saw her last?”
“I didn’t say,” Jean answered, “but it was at the party three nights ago.”
“Where was this party?” Owens wanted to know.
“On Big Burnt,” Jean said.
“I’ll have to ask you folks not to leave the island except to go to Glen for any supplies you may need,” Owens said, rubbing his finger along the side of his nose.
“Why, I don’t understand,” Sam protested. “We’re not under suspicion, are we?”
Owens sighed tiredly. “Everyone’s under suspicion,” he said, “until the murderer is apprehended.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Sam said. “I was with my friends. You can ask them if you don’t believe me.”
“We wi
ll,” Owens said quietly. “Believe me, Mr. Fowler, we will.”
CHAPTER NINE
In less than a half-hour, the state police arrived, crisp and efficient-looking in their spotless uniforms. From what I could gather, Sheriff Owens was in charge of the case, with both the Bolton police and the state police lending a hand where needed.
The coroner arrived along with the state troopers. He was a small man with a black bag and a shock of unruly blond hair. He walked with a roll, like a drunken sailor, and he completely shattered the preconceived notion I’d had of what coroners should look like. He walked up to my cabin, said a few words to Owens, and then walked inside.
Owens dispatched a squad of troopers into the woods, and I was surprised to see them start off with drawn guns. He sent Manners and Shorty, the two Bolton deputies, along with Sam to check on his alibi.
He walked over to me then, where I was standing by the dock.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, mopping his brow with it.
“Hot as hell,” he commented drily.
I felt a little uneasy in his company, as if he were anxious to pin this murder on me. I knew it was foolish, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. It reminded me of a time back in the sixth grade when someone had stolen Mrs. Margulies’ fountain pen. I remembered trembling violently when she first announced the theft, even though I hadn’t ever seen her pen. There was something of the same fear in me now as I watched Owens pocket his handkerchief and pull out a package of cigarettes.
“Cigarette?” he asked.
I reached over and took one from the extended package.
“Thanks.”
He nodded, placed a cigarette between his own lips, and thumbed a lighter into flame. I leaned over to light my cigarette, blew out a stream of smoke, and waited. Owens sure as hell had something on his mind, but he was taking all his time getting around to it.
“Nice out here,” he said, his eyes scanning the water. “Every year I say I’m going to take an island come vacation time. Every year I say it, and I never do it.” He grinned, turned to me so I could share his enjoyment. “Looks like this year I’m doing it whether I want to or not, eh?”
“It looks that way,” I said.
“Ahhh,” he complained, shaking his head, “it’s a lousy thing. Who’d want to smash in the skull of a pretty little thing like that?”
His eyes were glued to my face, and I felt vaguely uncomfortable and guilty again.
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I’ve been trying to figure it myself.”
“Anything serious between you two?” he asked in a friendly tone.
“No,” I said, “not really.”
“You knew her pretty well though, I imagine. I mean, under the circumstances.”
“Yes, I knew her pretty well.”
“Did she ever mention anything important? I mean, anything that might have a bearing on the killing.”
“No,” I said.
“Any enemies?”
I hesitated.
“Well?” Owens prompted.
“Well, not exactly. She and her brother-in-law didn’t get along too well.”
“Mr. Fowler?”
“Yeah.”
“He wouldn’t kill her, though, would he?” the sheriff asked, faint curiosity in his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“Would you kill her?” he asked, his tone light, his face still only mildly interested.
“Would you?” I countered.
Owens smiled and drew in on his cigarette. “I wasn’t sleeping with her, Richmond,” he said.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“You tell me,” he said.
“I’ve told you all I know,” I lied, feeling guilty about not having mentioned Johnny. But how could I mention a body that wasn’t around? Besides, I was in this deep enough already.
“I hope so,” Owens said. “We’re going to catch whoever did this, you know. Whether you help us or not.”
“I’ve told you all I know,” I repeated.
“I certainly ho …”
“Got a minute, Hank?” a voice asked.
I turned to see the coroner standing next to us, his head cocked boyishly to one side.
“Sure, Sid, what is it?” Owens replied.
“I estimate time of death to be about two hours ago,” he said slowly. “That check?”
“Sure does,” Owens said. “Doesn’t it, Mr. Richmond?”
I nodded, saying nothing.
“Do I have to go into the cause, or is that too obvious?”
“The rock, wasn’t it?” Owens asked.
“Sure,” the coroner replied, nodding his head lazily. “A series of sharp blows, I’d say. Probably dead after the first blow. That’s about it, Hank.”
“Well, thanks a lot, Sid.”
“You can cart it away now if you like. The boys have taken all their pictures.”
“Thanks again, Sid.”
“Quite all right,” the coroner said, walking down toward one of the waiting launches. “Regards to the wife, Hank.”
“Same here.”
The coroner lifted his hand over his head in farewell and stepped into the launch.
“Notice that pencil in her hand?” Owens asked suddenly.
“What?” I asked, startled.
“The dead girl. Did you notice she had a pencil stub in her hand?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Your pencil?”
“Yes.”
Owens ground out his cigarette underfoot and waved again at the departing launch. “You didn’t happen to find a note, did you?”
“No. I wish I had.”
“Why?” he snapped, his eyes focusing on my face again.
“Well, I imagine she was writing something, don’t you?”
“I imagine so.”
“Well, she may have been writing something important.”
“To who?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “If I knew, it might make things simpler.”
“Sure,” Owens said. “Well, I’d better see how things are going.” He stretched and looked off in the direction of the woods.
“Mind if I take a ride over to Glen?” I asked.
“Not at all. What for?”
“I want to make a call.”
“You won’t need a lawyer,” he said. “Yet.”
“It’s a personal call,” I explained.
“Go ahead, go ahead,” he said. “No sense keeping you here.”
I started to walk down toward the dock, then remembered I didn’t have any change.
“Uh … my money. It’s all in the cabin.”
“You can go get it,” he said. We walked together as far as the cabin. A few men from his office were inside taking prints. I stepped around them and lifted my wallet out of the suitcase. I opened the change compartment to see if I had any. I did, so I snapped it shut again and stuck it into my back pocket.
“I suppose these will all be yours and hers,” he said.
I looked at him, puzzled. “What? What will be mine and hers?”
“The prints,” Owens explained.
“Oh. Yeah, I suppose so.” I hadn’t looked at Lois since I’d entered the cabin. I glanced down at the bed now and saw that they’d covered her with one of my blankets. Her left foot was exposed, the painted toenails looking very much alive.
“We’ll be moving her soon,” Owens said. “I’m having a new mattress brought out for you. This one is kind of wet.”
I remembered the pool of blood soaking through the mattress.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You won’t mind sleeping here tonight?”
“No,” I said hesitantly.
“You’ve got a strong stomach.”
“I’m going now,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll be around,” Owens called as I left.
I took the outboard straight to Glen and walked into the post
office. The booth was empty and I quickly dialed the operator and asked for John Aurori’s number, remembering his last name from Lois’ mention of it a few nights back. A few nights back when she’d been alive.
“Would you spell the last name, please?”
“A-U-R-O-R-I,” I spelled slowly.
“And that’s in Hague, sir?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause during which I could hear muffled voices and sounds of office activity. Finally, the operator said, “I have a listing for Mr. Frank Aurori in Hague, sir. Would that be the same party?”
“Are there any other Aurori’s listed?”
“No, sir.”
“I guess that’s it then.”
“Shall I ring the number, sir?”
“Please.”
She told me how much the call was and I dropped the coins in the box. On the other end, I heard the phone buzzing persistently.
“’Allo,” a rich, mellow voice answered.
“Hello, may I please speak to Johnny?”
“Johnny no home,” the woman said. “Who’s this?”
“This is a friend of his. Can you tell me where he is?”
“Sure,” she said pleasantly. “Hees ona island. He no tell you?”
My heart skipped a beat, and I clutched the receiver tightly, leaning closer to the mouthpiece.
“What island?” I asked.
“You know,” she said, “inna Lake.” She paused again. “He no tell you? Hees ona vacash.”
“He … he hasn’t come home yet then?”
“No. No, heesa stay all summ’, you know?”
“All summer?”
“Sure.”
“Are you sure he’s not home?” I asked.
“Sure, sure.” There was another pause, and then her voice grew suspicious and a little worried. “Issa anything wrong? Johnny, hees all right?”
“Yes, yes,” I said hastily. “I just thought he might be home. I mean, I didn’t know he was away for the summer.”
She sounded reassured. “He be backa Septemb’,” she said. “He goes to school then.” She paused, then asked, “Parle ’taliano?”
“Un poco,” I said hesitantly.
“Andrā a scuola, capisci? Non e a casa adesso. E all’isola, nel logo. Capisci?”
“Yes,” I said, “I understand. Thank you very much.”