Square in the Middle

by William Campbell Gault

  “Yours or the firm’s. You can suit yourself on that, Jim. I can’t give you any more than three days.”

  I nodded. “I can hit Hillview, I think, for some of it. I’m pretty solid there. And I can cash in some stuff. I’m afraid I’m going to have to include Max. I’ll need some of the firm’s money.”

  He shrugged. “That’s your business. But Jim, don’t tell that — Schuman a damned thing until you’re ready to come in with him.” The Colonel stood up. “I don’t trust him, Jim. If this should get out …”

  “Don’t worry, Colonel. I’ll be extremely careful.”

  He smiled. “Sure you will. How are Carol and the kids?”

  “Fine. They’re up at Arrowhead right now, the lucky stiffs.”

  “Great. We’ll have to drum up a poker game at your house. Mustn’t waste an opportunity like this.”

  “Any time,” I said. “Though a man’s a sucker to play cards with those pirate friends of yours.”

  He was laughing as I walked with him to the door that led to the hall. When it closed behind him, I turned to face Miss Padbury.

  “Well …?” she said. “Am I in or out?”

  “I don’t know. I … It doesn’t seem, well — what word shall I use?”

  “Honest …?”

  “It’s not illegal. It would double our money in a year. That would be a minimum expectation.”

  “You don’t want to tell me what it is?”

  I shook my head. “Absolutely not. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to buy a pig in a poke.”

  “When Colonel Dean is selling the pigs, I do. I can get almost seven thousand dollars, Mr. Gulliver. My lifetime savings, and I don’t ask a single question. Now, am I in?”

  “It’s marks like you, Miss Padbury, who keep con men in business. Don’t say a word to anybody. And I’ll let you know what I decide. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” she said, and started to type again.

  I went back into my office and over to the window. I saw the Colonel’s new Imperial pulling away from the curb below. And then I saw Lynn looking in at the window.

  “Beautiful morning,” she said. “I’ve come to get the car.”

  “Why don’t we go to lunch?” I asked her.

  “It’s too early for that. And anyway, I have a date for lunch.”

  “With Tom Edlinger?”

  She shook her head. “With Janis Paige. Tom is probably annoyed about last night. He’s — proprietary at times.”

  “Well, you could come in and see my office.”

  She shook her head. “It has bad memories of that Schuman person. He’d remember me.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “The memory is. I’ll see you around, Jim Gulliver.” She made a face. “I hope.” She said something else after that, but a truck was going by and I didn’t hear it.

  I waved, and turned to find Miss Padbury staring at me. She had some letters in her hand.

  “Just a friend,” I said. “You probably didn’t know I had any friends.”

  She put the letters on my desk, shook her head, and went out.

  I signed the letters and drank a glass of water and took the letters and the books I’d been studying back to the outer office. Then I went back into my office and sat, staring at nothing.

  And then, like a seventeen-year-old, I looked up the address of Tom Edlinger in the phone book. It was on Digo Drive, which I knew was up in Mandeville Canyon, a new development.

  I told Miss Padbury, “I might be back late from lunch. Close the office when you go. There’s nothing important for today, anyway, is there?”

  “Nothing. This is the dullest day we’ve had in two years.”

  The Packard wasn’t on the lot when I drove the Olds off. I headed for Burlingame, feeling faintly foolish. I don’t know if I meant to check up on Lynn’s story about having lunch with Janis Paige or if I meant to talk to Edlinger about Lynn. I suppose it was a combination of both, combined with a restlessness caused by the Colonel’s little plan and the boredom of sitting in a quiet office.

  At any rate, I took Burlingame to Sunset and Sunset to the Mandeville Canyon. This area was getting a very big promotion lately for estate-size properties and I remembered the name of Tom Edlinger had been connected with some of the well-publicized places up here.

  The Olds went past two homes for sale and then through a more established area. Digo Drive branched off, climbing to a prominence overlooking the Canyon. A realtor’s sign here informed me that this was the Thomas Edlinger Award-Winning Home.

  It didn’t look much different from the average California home to me, a low, U-shaped place of antiqued barn siding with a shake roof and a partially covered front patio. Evidently Tom was living in his award-winning home; this was the address in the phone book.

  There are all kinds of awards in California architecture; some of them are given by the builder who builds the tract. The phrase has lost its meaning.

  I parked in front with the motor running. I wanted to talk to Tom about Lynn. If he loved her, or had loved her, he should be willing to help me put her on a firmer financial and emotional base.

  I turned off the motor and left the car and went up the flagstone steps to the gate in the patio wall. I paused here, trying to determine what the sound was that I heard.

  It was the muffled howling of a dog. It wasn’t a howl of warning; it sounded like the dog was in pain.

  I pushed the gate open and went into the patio. I saw the dog, then, facing me through the sliding glass doors of an immense, beamed living room. It was a French poodle and he looked frightened as he howled out at me.

  I walked across the flagstone patio, past a jacaranda tree that dominated the area, and came to the covered section near the house. The dog was still howling.

  I could see more clearly into the living room now. I could see past the dog — to where a man was lying face down in the center of the huge room.

  I couldn’t be sure it was Tom Edlinger, though I dimly remembered the suit from last night. I could be reasonably sure he was dead, because I could see the coagulated blood all over one cheek and on the jade carpeting of the floor.

  four

  I tried the front door, but it was locked. The dog’s howl had changed to a hysterical bark as I went around to try the other doors. They were all locked.

  From the side yard, I could see what looked like an occupied house about a block down the road. As I cut across the field toward it, I saw a man out in front, washing a car. I phoned the police from there.

  I went back, then, to wait in front of the house. I suppose the smart thing would have been to drive away after seeing that man on the floor. I had nothing to gain by identifying myself to the police; I had a reputation to lose.

  But I’d phoned and I waited.

  A prowl car came first with a pair of uniformed officers. Two detectives out of the West Los Angeles Station came shortly after that.

  The uniformed men hadn’t given me much attention; one of the detectives questioned me rather closely. His name was Sergeant Dyke, Sergeant Ernest Dyke, his identification informed me.

  I told him I’d come up to see Mr. Edlinger about a house I planned to build in this area. I’d met Mr. Edlinger only yesterday. No, I’d never had any dispute with him.

  Sergeant Dyke was a man of a little more than medium size, with alert gray eyes in a surprisingly scholarly face. His voice was quiet, though not gentle, and it held a professional skepticism.

  When he’d finished questioning me, I asked, “Is it Mr. Edlinger and is he dead?”

  He frowned. “He’s dead. Didn’t you identify him as Mr. Edlinger?”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t see all of his face through the window. And I couldn’t get into the house.”

  “Come along, then,” he said, “and take a look at him.”

  It was Tom Edlinger, all right. He’d been turned over, and his blank stare gave me the shivers.

  Sergeant Dyke asked, “You sa
y you were with him last night. Did he eat anything and do you know what time he ate it?”

  I said, “He ate a ham sandwich at Heeney’s in Santa Monica around seven o’clock last night. Oh, wait — about eleven, he ate some Mexican food at a place in the Canyon. He had — let’s see — some enchiladas.”

  Dyke wrote it all down. And then asked, “Know about any enemies he might have had?”

  I shook my head.

  “Did you know him well?”

  “No, I only met him last night.”

  “Oh …?” The sergeant paused. “And today you want him to build a house for you?”

  “Not quite that, Sergeant. I’m interested in getting a larger house and thought Mr. Edlinger might be a good man to come to for advice. I was impressed by him, frankly, last night and he seemed so friendly I — well, took the liberty of coming up here for a chat.”

  “You didn’t phone first?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I intended to see this area, whether I talked to Mr. Edlinger or not, and as long as I was going to be in the neighborhood, there wasn’t any need to phone him first.”

  “I see,” Dyke said quietly. He looked at me a few seconds before asking, “You drank last night, I suppose?”

  “Some.”

  “Much?”

  Resentment stirred in me and I waited for it to die down. I said, “I drank quite a lot, Sergeant. Am I under suspicion for this death? Or is this standard police procedure?”

  “It’s standard. Any record, Mr. Gulliver?”

  “Not even for parking, Sergeant.”

  “All right.” He closed his book. “I’ll have to talk with you again, Mr. Gulliver, and you’ll have to make out a statement as to how you found the body and so forth. You may go now.”

  My hands trembled as I walked down to my car. The man whose phone I’d used was standing near and he looked at me curiously.

  Then, as I opened the door on the driver’s side, he asked, “Is it Tom Edlinger? Is he dead?”

  I nodded.

  The man shook his head. “Young man, too. And the dolls he knew …” He shook his head again. “I can’t think of anybody who had more to live for.”

  I didn’t answer him. I swung the car around and headed toward Sunset. I thought back on the party, trying to remember if there’d been any arguments or hard talk. I couldn’t remember any, but then I couldn’t remember telling everybody what a square I was, either. Lynn had enlightened me on that.

  I had parked the car before I realized I still hadn’t had any lunch. I started to walk over to Heeney’s and then changed my mind. I ate at the drugstore east of the office.

  I’d seen corpses before, but not out of uniform. The picture of Tom Edlinger was with me while I ate.

  Young and wealthy, talented if not gifted, handsome and loving life. His neighbor had stated it — Tom had had a lot to live for. I hadn’t known him well; there wasn’t any reason for me to choke up. But I found it difficult to eat.

  Bludgeoned to death. By whom? Someone at that party last night? Perhaps a prowler and Tom had come home drunk and surprised him? Or perhaps one of the “dolls” he’d known? One thing seemed certain: all the guests at Lynn’s party last night were due for a police grilling.

  It was almost three o’clock when I got back to the office. I phoned Lynn, but there was no answer. I looked up the Paiges in the western section phone look and fortunately there was only one Joseph Paige.

  Janis answered the phone and I asked her, “Is Lynn with you? Is she there?”

  “No, Jim. I had lunch with her, but then she had a date for the beach with … Well, I don’t know if she had a date, really, but she was going to the beach.”

  “Something horrible has happened,” I said, “and I wanted to tell her about it. Tom Edlinger’s been murdered.”

  “No …” A silence, a choked sob and then, “Oh, God, no, not Tom. Jim, when — where … Oh, God … Joe, Tom has … Here, take the phone.”

  Joe Paige’s voice came on. “Jim, what’s happened? Janis is too distraught to make sense.”

  “Tom Edlinger has been murdered,” I said. “I went over to see him at lunchtime, and I found him. I was grilled by the police and I guess we all will be, all who were at the party.”

  Silence, and then, “He was our closest friend. I just can’t seem to believe what you’re telling me. How did it happen?”

  “He was beaten to death with a poker from a fireplace set, the way it looks right now.”

  “When, Jim? This morning?”

  “They don’t know yet. They’ll know when they examine his stomach, I guess. He was wearing a charcoal suit when I saw him. Is that what he was wearing last night?”

  “I — think so…. Yes, yes, now I remember. It was a new suit and Janis was kidding him about wealthy bachelors’ wardrobes. Don’t you remember, at Lynn’s …?”

  “There’s very little I remember about Lynn’s,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “Thanks for calling, Jim.” He hung up.

  I sat at my desk for a moment, thinking of nothing. Then I took out my portable typewriter and some paper and wrote a long letter to Carol, telling her all about today.

  And nothing about last night.

  Then I phoned Adele and told her, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to beg off for dinner this evening. An emergency has come up.”

  “Not a fight with Max?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Not — your family, Jim?”

  “No, Adele. Now stop worrying. I had to go over and see a man on business, and I found him dead and there are a number of complications that are going to keep me busy all evening. By the way, if I don’t see Max when he comes back from Malibu, will you tell him I think we have a good thing cooking? I’ll tell him about it tomorrow.”

  “Tell me what it is. He’ll badger the life out of me.”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. And I don’t want to phone him about it. It’s nothing that won’t keep, you can tell him.”

  Adele sighed. Then, “Why don’t I say nothing? And you can surprise him with it in the morning.”

  “All right. He should be back from Malibu before I leave, anyway. I’ll probably see him.”

  “Malibu — huh!” she said. “You lie badly, Jim.” She hung up.

  Miss Padbury came in with some letters and some reports. “Business has certainly been slow lately,” she commented.

  “Maybe people are getting wise to us, Miss Padbury.” I told her about finding Edlinger dead.

  She stared at me. “Tom Edlinger — the architect?”

  “That’s right. Did you know him?”

  She shook her head. “He was in the office a few times. He’s a friend of Mr. Schuman’s, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, that’s right, Max does know him.”

  She nodded, her eyes reminiscent. “And one time he brought some girl in here for a loan. Very lovely girl, I remember. Mr. Schuman saw her.”

  “A girl named Lynn Bedloe?” I asked.

  “That’s it. Do you know her?”

  “I’ve met her.”

  Miss Padbury was looking pensive. “Strange type of beauty. Sort of a — a haunted, a doomed type of … Good heavens, I sound like a Hollywood publicist.”

  I smiled at her. “I thought of her as a — vulnerable type of girl.”

  “That’s it. That’s it, exactly. Mr. Gulliver, you constantly surprise me.”

  “I’m not quite as stuffy as I look.” I signed the letters and handed them to her. “What was the name of that private investigator we used on the Gilfoyle business? Remember, he was a former Los Angeles Department detective?”

  “Mike Chopko,” she said. “A very good man.”

  “I thought so. Will you have him drop in tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “I’ll tell him tonight. We’re going to the Palladium.” She smiled, and left the room.

  Well, well, well … The
pleasant and efficient Miss Padbury at the Palladium with the very virile Mike Chopko. A new facet to the girl. Or was it? What did I know about her, except that she was efficient, intelligent, pleasant and attractive? That certainly wouldn’t make her a stay-at-home.

  I studied the credit reports and the appraisals she’d brought in and phoned Hillview to see how they were currently dealing on good solid first mortgages in the Canyon.

  Blake, over there, said, “I’m suspicious. Why don’t you handle it yourself, if it’s so solid?”

  “Those are the kind I don’t want, Art. Who wants to release five percent money?”

  He chuckled. “Not Gulliver-Schuman. We don’t want much five percent stuff, either, Jim. But, for a friend …?”

  “I’ll let you know on it. And while I have you on the wire, how’s my personal credit over there?”

  “For how much?”

  “About seventy thousand.”

  “You’re kidding. What’s simmering, Jim?”

  “A chance to make a million. All right, I can always go to Bay Shore.”

  “Not for seventy thousand. Let me talk to D.C. about it, Jim. I’ll phone you tomorrow. Personal or firm loan?”

  “Firm. Though I’ll sign for it personally, too, and so will Max. Gilt-edged, and you can’t know a damned thing about it. Tell D.C. that, too.”

  “Come on, Jim, what kind of business is this?”

  “Once-in-a-lifetime business. Now don’t get nosy.”

  “It sounds shady, boy.”

  “Well, that would put it up your alley. You boys don’t fool me with your dignified ads. I know you.”

  He chuckled. “All right. I’ll drop in tomorrow.”

  It was after four o’clock now and the going-home traffic from the aircraft plants was beginning to fill the streets. My phone rang.

  It was Max. “Nine more holes and I’ll have thirty-six for the day. Anything exciting happen?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Tom Edlinger was killed. You knew Tom, didn’t you?”

  “Hell, yes. How was he killed? Accident?”

  “No. He was murdered.”