The Wayward Widow

by William Campbell Gault

  He asked, “You heard a moan? He was still alive, then, when you opened the door?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.”

  “Didn’t he say anything, or try to say anything?”

  “He may have tried, but he didn’t say anything. Have you found his car, Lieutenant?”

  He nodded. “Almost half a mile from here. It doesn’t seem logical he could have crawled that far. The doctor didn’t think so. I suppose an autopsy will tell us more about his condition at the time. Of course, he may not have been killed in the car. We haven’t found any blood in it yet.”

  “Do you think,” I suggested, “he might have been snooping around here and somebody got to him close to the house?”

  He looked at me levelly. “Why? What reason would he have to snoop around here?”

  “I’ve no idea. I don’t know his reputation.” He smiled. “Were you thinking he might be a voyeur, Mr. Puma?”

  “Not exactly. But maybe he thought the kid who threw the rock through that window might be back. Or he got some crazy idea of staking out in the woods to watch the house.”

  Ortega’s eyes were reminiscent. “We teased him a lot, down at the station, but Elmer had some first-rate investigative abilities. It’s my opinion he learned something he shouldn’t have.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Would you have any idea what that might have been?”

  “None, Lieutenant. You have my complete story.”

  “What time did Mrs. Trapp go to bed?”

  “About ten o’clock.”

  “And Miss Destry came home at what time?”

  “Around midnight.”

  “You have no one to vouch for you, then, between ten o’clock and midnight?”

  “Sergeant Purvis was here from ten-fifteen to ten-thirty.”

  “Yes, you told me that. From ten-thirty, then, until midnight, you were unobserved?”

  “So far as I know. Unless Elmer Duggan was watching me. I have a number of people who will vouch for me in the Los Angeles, Beverly Hills and Culver City Police Departments, though, Lieutenant.”

  He nodded. “I’ll want some of those names. Now, when Miss Destry and Mr. Hawley went outside, were they out there long?”

  “I thought so at the time, though I couldn’t judge how long. It simply seemed to me they were out there longer than it would take to say good night. Of course, I have no way of knowing how they usually say good night.”

  He didn’t smile. “She’s your client, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. But in a murder case I have learned, painfully, that it’s best to tell the police everything.”

  He said nothing, staring at me thoughtfully. I asked, “How was he Killed? I never did turn him over.”

  “Stabbed,” the lieutenant said. “Stabbed three times with a screwdriver. It appears he was slugged first. Now, about those police department references — ”

  After that he went in to talk with Mrs. Trapp and Miss Destry; Sergeant Purvis came out to the kitchen, where I was making some instant coffee.

  “Want a cup?” I asked. He didn’t answer me. “How come the cases you get involved in always wind up in murder?”

  “Ninety per cent of them don’t,” I said, “but the murder cases always make the newspapers.”

  “Well, in this town,” he told me, “private investigators stay the hell out of all murder cases.”

  “As soon as Lieutenant Ortega tells me that, I’ll leave for home,” I promised. “Or anybody else at his level, or above.”

  “I’m telling you now,” he said harshly.

  “I heard you. Do you want some coffee or don’t you?” His eyes flared and he seemed to be holding himself rigidly in check. “Don’t get cute with me, Puma. I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

  I turned around and met his stare. “I’m not getting cute. And don’t try to scare me, Sergeant. Neither hoodlums nor policeman nor politicians nor anything else that walks on two legs frightens me. I’m the last of the unfrightened men. You should take a lesson in courtesy from Lieutenant Ortega.”

  “That spick,” he said. “Your kind, eh?” I smiled. “I’ll tell him you said that. And when I drop in to see the chief, I’ll mention it, too. Get real smart, Sergeant. Now, do you want a cup of coffee?”

  He stood and glared at me, as rigid as a cigar store Indian. I sat down and sipped the coffee and looked at him impersonally. He must have been holding his breath, because he expelled it noisily, turned, and went out.

  Lieutenant Ortega came in with Carol Destry. She said, “I could use some coffee, too. How about you, Lieutenant?”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I certainly could. Perhaps Sergeant Purvis, too, if you wouldn’t mind — ”

  “Of course,” she said. I said, “He just called you a spick, Lieutenant.” The flare in his brown eyes was dim and brief. He looked at me again in his thoughtful way. “Did you enjoy repeating that, Mr. Puma? You’re Italian, aren’t you?”

  I nodded, suddenly shamed. Then I smiled. “Okay. But I don’t want the bastard in here. He already refused a cup of coffee.”

  “I don’t want him in here, either,” Carol Destry said. “Sugar, Lieutenant? Cream?”

  “Black, please,” he said. He sat down, sighed, and looked at me. “Have you always been arrogant?”

  I nodded. “I was a runt as a kid. I guess I have to get even for all the lickings I took then.”

  He sighed again. “Well, take it easy with Sergeant Purvis, if you stay around town. He has a number of important connections. I got the job he thought was due

  “I never look for trouble, Lieutenant,” I said mildly. “But it certainly looks for me.” I asked Miss Destry, “Where’s Mrs. Trapp?”

  “She went to bed. The doctor gave her a sedative.” A uniformed man came in and asked, “Could I speak with you for a moment, Lieutenant?”

  Ortega got up and went into the living room with the officer.

  Carol Destry asked, “Why couldn’t they talk in here?”

  “Because we’re suspects,” I said, “you and I and Mrs. Trapp and Dave Hawley.”

  She stared at me. “We — ? Now, why — ?”

  “Because we were in the area. Everybody in the area will be under temporary suspicion.” I drank some coffee. “Am I still working for you?”

  “Well, I should hope so. Now more than ever. God, what a jolt that was, seeing Elmer there.”

  “Did you know him very well?” I asked.

  “Mr. Greene did. He took an interest in Elmer, let him use the pool, borrow books. I’m sure he lent him money a few times, too.”

  “I see. He was more a friend of Mr. Greene’s than of yours, then?”

  She looked at me wonderingly. “That’s right. You make it sound wrong. Are you suspicious of me, Mr. Puma? Try to remember I’m your client.”

  “I’ll keep reminding myself,” I promised her. Ortega came back into the room and sat down at the table again. He looked at me, started to say something and said nothing.

  “Give, Lieutenant,” I said. “What did you learn?” His smile was slight. “I learned you might have made a good guess. It appears Mr. Duggan was watching the house. At least, the blood trail we’ve managed to trace indicates he was standing in some shrubbery where he had a good view of the house, front and rear.”

  “And then — ?” I asked. He frowned. “Then what?”

  “And then somebody came along and killed him. Why?”

  “I have no idea,” he answered. “You were the one who guessed he might have been watching the house. Perhaps you can tell us why he was killed.”

  “Perhaps,” Carol added, “someone can tell me why he was watching the house?”

  The lieutenant shrugged and looked at me. “When a man is killed with a screwdriver, what does it mean to you, Mr. Puma?”

  “That the murder wasn’t planned. Have you established the ownership of the screwdriver?”

  “Of course not. Or we wouldn’t be sitting here, drinking coffee. I’m sure, howe
ver, we’ll know a lot more as soon as the technical men are finished.”

  I’d had a hunch about Elmer watching the house and I had another one now; I had a hunch the screwdriver would turn out to be his.

  They all left, finally, and we went to bed. Ortega had told us to come down to Headquarters late the next morning and we were already well into next morning before we hit the pad. I didn’t think I’d sleep, but I did.

  In the morning Mrs. Trapp was still with us, another eventuality I hadn’t expected to see. She was grim and a little pale as she served us in the breakfast room, but Miss Destry told me she hadn’t given notice.

  We were on the coffee when Jack Darbo came. He had driven up from Los Angeles immediately after reading about the murder. He asked Miss Destry why she hadn’t phoned.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Why should I?”

  “Don’t you think you need an attorney at a time like this? Or have you retained a local man?”

  “Jack, you’re being absurd. I’m not under suspicion.” He sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee, as smug and snug as the lord of the manor. “In this town? Carol, Winters is on our side, and he’s probably the only person you can bank on to be on our side. We don’t want to lose him with unfortunate publicity.”

  “What difference does it make to him?” I asked. “He’s simply the executor or administrator, isn’t he?”

  “And Mr. Greene’s attorney,” Darbo told me. “And he has told me, in confidence, the plans Mr. Greene had for rewarding Miss Destry.”

  “Does that give you a case? It seems to me that — ” He held up a hand. “Mr. Puma, you’re here as a bodyguard, not a legal advisor. It’s an extremely complicated case, involving comity because of a possible established relationship in Arizona and — ”

  “Comity?” I asked. “Because of perhaps a common law marriage in Arizona?”

  Carol Destry flushed. Jack Darbo glared at me.

  “Common law marriages aren’t recognized in California,” I said, “but comity would mean that California recognizes a common law relationship established in Arizona. Am I right?”

  Jack Darbo said coldly. “That will be enough from you.”

  “I didn’t see anything in the paper about a common law marriage,” I went on stubbornly. “Is that the blackjack you’re holding over poor Mr. Winters’ respectable head?”

  Darbo said, “I warned you, Puma — ”

  “Because,” I went on in my bull-headed way, “Dennis Greene had an undivorced wife and you would have one hell of a time proving a common law claim against an already married man.”

  Carol was staring at Jack Darbo now. He was glaring at me. It was possible I had revealed an angle to her he had forgotten to mention. It was also possible he had less of a legal than a scandal claim against the estate of the late Dennis Greene.

  Carol asked, “Is he making sense, Jack?”

  “He’s making layman’s sense. The law is more complicated than he’s trained to understand.”

  Complicated was the word he used to mean tricky. I sighed and said, “If I’ve been out of line, I apologise. But when Miss Destry hired me, she became my client. And her interests became mine so long as they weren’t in violation of the law.”

  Darbo said stiffly, “Are you suggesting I would advise her to violate the law?”

  “It would be alien to what I have learned of your reputation,” I admitted, “but I don’t really know you too well.”

  Miss Destry said quietly, “This is all very embarassing to me. I suggest we talk about something else.” We hardly talked at all. My impertinence had miffed Jack Darbo and he sulked. Miss Destry appeared lost in thought. I was quiet as penance for having already talked too much about something I didn’t clearly understand.

  When I’d finished my second cup of coffee and the local sport page, Miss Destry said, “Perhaps you’d like to use the pool again, Mr. Puma? Mr. Darbo and I have something to discuss.”

  “I’ll go sit in the sun,” I said. Darbo had brought a Los Angeles Times with him and I took that along with me out to the patio. The way this job was shaping up, I’d be getting a lot of reading done. I could use it.

  The Times, in its thorough way, had given a detailed account of the Elmer Duggan murder. Duggan had left only one sister as a close survivor, I read, a lady of twenty-four. His parents had died three years ago in a collision of their car with a bus. His sister was identified as a former actress, now employed by a San Valdesto travel bureau.

  Any eighty dollar bit part establishes the girl as an actress in this area. The unemployed are called writers. Thirty dollar extras are called starlets. Until they reach fifty-five.

  The screwdriver had been identified as one belonging to Elmer Duggan and that had prompted a possible suicide theory. However, the wounds had been made right through Elmer’s shirt and for some reason most suicides bare their anatomy before puncturing themselves, so this theory was not too substantial.

  Killed with his own screwdriver. And what in hell was Elmer Duggan doing at that vantage point where he could watch the house, what in hell was he doing up there with a screwdriver?

  If the killer saw him there and clubbed him before stabbing him, would he stab him with his own screwdriver? A real dandy, this one was.

  I heard the scrape of a heel on concrete and looked up, startled. Jack Darbo stood there, smiling down at me with that solemn smile of his.

  “Talk over?” I asked. He nodded. “Miss Destry has asked me to tell you that your services will be no longer required.”

  “Why can’t she tell me?”

  “She seems a little embarrassed about it. However, I assure you, it was entirely her decision.” He looked past me at the pool. “She won’t be seeing you again, but wanted me to assure you that your services were entirely satisfactory.”

  “She’ll be seeing me again,” I said. “We have to make out our statements for Lieutenant Ortega down at Headquarters.”

  Chapter Four

  I WAS directed to a room that was supposed to house Lieutenant Ortega and opened the door to learn it was inhabited by Sergeant Purvis. I started to back out, but he called, “Come in, come in. Ortega will be here in a minute.”

  I came in and took the chair he pointed at. He was wearing a cheaper and older suit today, but his face was as unpleasant as ever. It was a handsome face, for those who like excessively virile faces, but it was also a mean face and I could never see myself getting used to it.

  “Well,” he said, “I hear you got the bounce.”

  “News travels fast in this town,” I said. “It only happened half an hour ago.” I took a breath. “Where did you hear it, Sergeant?”

  He smiled. “It’s a small town.”

  “Where did you hear it, Sergeant?” I repeated.

  “Don’t crowd me, Puma. My temper isn’t too good this morning.”

  I said, “Will you tell the chief I’d like to speak with him?”

  “Relax,” he said. “You’re not in Los Angeles now. I phoned Miss Destry to ask when you were coming in, and her lawyer told me you were no longer working for her. He asked if she could come in this afternoon. Is there some reason why she wants to avoid you?”

  “None I know of.” I leaned back in my chair and lighted a cigarette.

  He leaned back in his and looked at me contemptuously. “Have you figured out the kill yet? I should think by this time you’d have the killer in jail and your picture in all the newspapers.”

  “I don’t like to solve ‘em in these one-paper towns,” I said. “Not enough ink. And there isn’t enough for the local force to do, anyway, in a small town. I wouldn’t want to increase the unemployment.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You think you’re something, don’t you?”

  ‘Why not?” I said candidly. “I am.” The door opened then, and Lieutenant Ortega came in. He looked briefly at Purvis and nodded at me. He turned back to Purvis and said, “Have Officer Braham come in or Sergeant Daniel —
whoever is available for dictation.”

  Purvis stood up and said, “Yes, Lieutenant” in a very dead and somehow insulting voice.

  The dim light flickered briefly again in the lieutenant’s brown eyes. The door closed and he turned to smile at me.

  “Count ten,” I kidded him. He took a breath. “I expected Miss Destry would come with you.”

  “I’m no longer employed by Miss Destry. Sergeant Purvis phoned the house this morning and Miss Destry’s attorney asked if she couldn’t come in this afternoon. Didn’t the sergeant tell you that?”

  He shook his head. “You enjoy trouble, don’t you, Mr. Puma?”

  “Maybe,” I said honestly. “I don’t know, Lieutenant. I guess I’m not a hundred per cent mature, but who is?”

  The officer came in then and I dictated my statement. He took it out to type it up. Lieutenant Ortega leaned back and seemed to be doing some heavy thinking.

  Finally he said, “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but Mrs. Greene was in here this morning, asking about you.”

  I frowned. “Mrs. Greene? Mrs. Dennis Greene? His widow? Is she in town? I read she was in Bermuda.”

  “She was in Bermuda when her husband died. They hadn’t lived together for years, you know. At any rate, she wanted a character reference from me — on you.”

  I smiled. “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her I didn’t know you. I gave her the names of the officers that you gave me last night. I have a feeling she wants to hire you for some purpose.”

  “Didn’t she know I was working for Miss Destry?”

  “She did. But she was sure that wouldn’t last long. And she said she had heard about you from a friend of hers in Los Angeles, a Mrs. Witherspoon.” He paused. “Are those the Pasadena Witherspoons?”

  “None other,” I answered. “I sure get the carriage trade, don’t I, Lieutenant?” He smiled and said nothing.

  “Did she leave an address where she could be reached?” I asked.

  He nodded and stared at his desk.

  “Maybe she wants me to investigate the murder of Elmer Duggan,” I said. “Maybe she has a theory on that which might jeopardize Miss Destry’s claim against the estate.”