Where There's a Will

by Kip Chase

  Twelve 8 x 10 glossy prints of the victim and the room, and a report from Sergeant Smith on fingerprints, completed the folder.

  ‘No strange prints, eh, chief?’

  ‘Nope. Just what you’d expect. The victim’s, that secretary gal, the servants—nothing we couldn’t explain. Course that don’t mean much. The murderer could have worn gloves, or just been careful. But right now, it looks like the murderer was no stranger. Hodges assumes in his report the murderer came through the window because of the statement of the cook the door was locked when she found the body. Doesn’t necessarily follow, of course. Anyone who had been around the house for a while wouldn’t have had much trouble getting a duplicate key made. Checking on that now, by the way. Having every goddamn key-making place within a hundred miles checked with photos of everyone connected with the place.’

  Carmichael shot a sly glance at his grandson.

  The chief continued. ‘But assuming there was no extra key, it still keeps it pretty narrow. The only way to get on that porch is from an adjoining bedroom which is not used. The old lady was fussy about people sleeping in the room next to her. And the only way to get into the vacant bedroom was by a back stairway—wasn’t used much either. There’s an outside door for the stairway, and it was locked, but the key kept on the outside door-jamb. So it looks like if that is the way entrance was gained it would be by someone with specific knowledge of the house. Now I see the gleam in your eye, Carmichael. I grant you this ain’t necessarily so. But as you know better than me, we have to start out with probabilities and work from there. And I claim it is most probable it was done by someone acquainted with the place. Sure, there are other possibilities. One, the cook is lying—more of that later; two, a burglar could have used that back staircase door, blundered into Mrs. DeVoors’s room, strangled her, took the money and left. Now, while this is a possibility, it seems to me not very probable. In the first place the tie used to do her in belonged to Jack Newton, the nephew I told you about. A stray burglar wouldn’t have had it with him. Also, the thief went right to the money box, nothing else disturbed. Chances are pretty poor he would just happen to find it right off unless he knew where it was. Plus the fact we know professionals just don’t work that way. They do a thorough job of casing a joint before they bust in. Too many things left to chance here. Now, another possibility is it was done by a burglar, but with help from someone on the inside. However, that still makes it a matter of beginning with the known suspects.’

  ‘How’s it going?’ This from Pinkie.

  The chief pulled a long face. Then, in answer, he reached into a left-hand drawer and pulled out a pile of reports. Before he closed the drawer his hand dipped into it again, this time withdrawing a thermos. He handed the thermos to Carmichael without comment. At first sight of the flask Carmichael had wheeled himself within reaching distance of the desk. Delmar turned briskly to Pinkie.

  ‘Now, then, son,’ the chief continued, oblivious of the gurgling sounds to his immediate left, ‘so far it’s going, but that’s about all. The servants are easiest. Nothing suspicious yet, but …’

  ‘What do you mean by suspicious?’ Pinkie said. ‘Sorry, sir’, he added. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt.’

  ‘That’s all right, son. I keep forgetting this sort of thing don’t mean much to you. You see, the way we have to work on a case like this, where we don’t have anything tangible right off the bat, is just to investigate the hell out of all the people involved. What we’re looking for is anything suspicious. In the case of a servant, some false references along the line, maybe a criminal record or association with known criminals. Same thing for the guests. Only here it’s a little tougher. No record of past employers to begin with. And this particular bunch is one of the finest collections of oddballs I’ve run across. If one of them deliberately sets out to conceal his past, it makes it rough. But not impossible. Scratch, scratch, scratch. That’s how it works, right, Carmichael?’

  The old man nodded assent. ‘Now I have a couple of questions of my own, Louie’, he said. ‘Here’s your jug, by the way. Thanks.’

  The chief grinned. ‘Any time. What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Just curious. How much pressure are you putting on this Dr. Newton, the nephew?’

  The chief sighed. ‘As a matter of fact we’ve got him down the hall right now. But no progress. Says he was with his father the night the old lady was killed. It will stand up, no doubt, but we haven’t located the father yet. His father is Mrs. DeVoors’s brother. Doesn’t even know his sister is dead yet, as far as we know. He’s the caretaker for Mrs. DeVoors’s lodge up in the San Bernardino mountains. Off in the woods on horseback right now, according to the son. We tried to locate him but it’s impossible without an all-out search. We’ll just wait until he comes in—assuming that’s today or tomorrow. If he doesn’t show, we’ll really look for him. When he does show up he’ll confirm his son’s story, almost for sure. Besides all we have on the doctor anyway is the tie. Young Newton admits it’s his all right. But we can’t place him anywhere near the scene. I’d look pretty silly going to the D.A. with one necktie. I’m about to have another talk with this Newton guy right now, before I turn him loose. Come on along.’

  At that moment the callipygous secretary made another appearance at the door.

  ‘Chief,’ she said, ‘some gentlemen to see you.’ She pronounced gentlemen as though it were a dirty word. Suddenly she whirled. ‘Say, which one of you fresh guys did that?’ she demanded fiercely. She turned back to Chief Delmar. ‘Reporters, chief.’

  ‘O.K.’, the chief said unhappily. ‘I’ll get it over with now.’

  Six men of assorted ages and sizes crowded into the room. The only thing they had in common was a poised notebook and a look of determination. A tall, gangly fellow about thirty with ears that stuck out almost straight from his head, spoke first.

  ‘Nine o’clock, chief. We’d like that statement you promised.’

  ‘All right, I’m sorry. Nothing new.’

  A self-possessed looking man about sixty with attractive greying hair was next. He spoke softly, almost apologetically.

  ‘How about Newton, chief? Is he in the clear?’

  Chief Delmar warmed to the respectful tone.

  ‘I don’t know what to tell you there, Davidson. There is no doubt it was done with his tie. You already know that. But other than that, nothing. He’s not being charged.’

  ‘But are you still holding him?’ a brash young man with thick eyeglasses broke in.

  ‘Listen, you’, the chief turned angrily. ‘Are you from the News?’

  ‘That’s right. Name’s Clark. How about your holding Newton?’

  ‘All right, Clark. First I’ll tell you how I know you’re from the News. Your rag was the only one yesterday that happened to use that phrase “holding”. We are not “holding” Newton. We never have held him. He is being questioned. He is co-operating. He is free to go and has been free to go. This time get it right.’

  More questions followed. Most of them were answered with a glum, ‘There is nothing new’ from Delmar.

  Finally the reporters were herded out of the room. Except one who lingered in the doorway while his companions scurried down the hallway. He was somewhere past fifty with a tanned face, humorous blue eyes and teeth so perfect it was obvious they were false even before one heard the slight clickings they produced during speech. The reporter sidled back into the room.

  ‘Know you’re busy, chief,’ he said, ‘but I would appreciate about thirty more seconds.’

  ‘Okay, Sullivan, shoot.’

  The reporter immediately hurried over to Carmichael’s wheelchair and grasped the old man’s hand cordially. ‘Very nice to see you again, sir’, he said. Carmichael responded with a pleased smile.

  The reporter turned to Chief Delmar. ‘Boy,’ he said, ‘there sure is a new bunch of boys on the police beat these days. I don’t think one of them spotted Mr. Carmichael, unless someone is playing it real cage
y. And it was just eight years ago, he was top headline stuff. Now what’s the deal? Down here on the DeVoors thing?’ He half turned to Carmichael.

  The chief said, ‘Just a minute now, Sullivan …’

  ‘That’s okay, Louie’, Carmichael broke in. ‘Sullivan has done me many a good turn in the old days. I don’t mind giving him a break. Besides, if I’m going to stick around, can’t keep it a secret anyway.’

  ‘I suppose not’, Delmar grumbled. ‘So you got your angle, Sullivan.’

  ‘Yeah, but what angle? Is Mr. Carmichael coming out of retirement for this case only? Is he working for San Margaret? Is he just helping you, chief?’

  ‘Chief Delmar needs no help from me’, said the old man gently. ‘The simple truth is Louie called me in as a favour to me. Thought I’d be interested. Which was damn’ nice of him. But I know your readers won’t buy that. Just say I have been called as an unofficial adviser. Which is also the truth. All right, Louie?’

  ‘Fine’, the Chief smiled. ‘That do it, Sullivan?’

  ‘Done’, said Sullivan. He closed his notebook with a satisfied snap and departed, grinning broadly.

  ‘Now to visit our friend Newton’, the chief said. The three men proceeded down the hall past the duty area. Pinkie craned his neck about trying not to miss anything.

  ‘Well, how d’you find it, eh, son?’ Chief Delmar asked.

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Interesting, huh’, the chief responded. ‘I guess that’s most people’s conception of a policeman’s job.’

  ‘Here,’ he said, turning to the uniformed officer on duty, ‘hand me that log book, if you please, sergeant.’ A book of log sheets held together by pasteboard backing was passed over the counter.

  ‘Now then’, the chief said. ‘You want to see what our job is, that is, ninety-nine and nine-tenths per cent?’

  Pinkie glanced through the typed sheets:

  2200 Minor TC, no accident report.

  2210 Runaway juvenile, Mary Jo Grimley, WF, parents John Grimley, 107 Dover Lane, 5’2”, 117 blue pedal pushers, black jacket.

  2210 Disturbance at Mickey’s Bar. No arrests.

  2250 Family row at 1333 Washington St. Parties warned.

  2310 Prowler at 5512 Bentley St. GOA.

  2315 502, George Wilhous, intersection of Main and Broad, see arrest report.

  There were a dozen or so more entries for the night shift. Most of those past two o’clock were simply, ‘Prowler at ____. GOA.’

  ‘And that,’ said Chief Delmar, ‘was a busy night.’

  ‘What does GOA mean?’ Pinkie asked.

  ‘Gone on arrival.’

  Pinkie glanced further through the book. ‘How about “flat cat”?’

  The chief laughed. ‘Means some pussy-cat got smashed by a car and the area residents want him swept up. Anyway, you get the idea. A policeman’s job is not the exciting thing it’s cracked up to be. This is our first murder in ten months. Now with your grandfather here, it was a little different. He was on the homicide detail in the third largest city in the United States. Even then, I imagine it was dull stuff most of the time. Right, Carmichael?’

  The old man grunted. ‘Mostly husband shoots wife, wife shoots husband, man gets hit a little too hard in a bar fight. Plenty of pen-pushing; very seldom any “mystery” about it.’

  The men reached a closed doorway on the right of the hallway. Chief Delmar swung the door open. The room was small—a plain table, a chair on each side of it, the walls bare. In one of the chairs a young man was nervously puffing a pipe. Across the table was a beefy individual with an open notebook in front of him. A tape recorder sitting on the table was in operation. As the door opened the young man glanced up apprehensively. He was inclined to chubbiness, with broad, square hands and a face that would have been cherubic except for deep wrinkles between his eyes and a certain set determination of his mouth. His blond hair was drastically cropped.

  ‘Okay, Fields, I’d like to talk to the doctor for a bit’, the chief said. The burly man rose and left. Noting the difficulty Carmichael was having manoeuvring his wheelchair into the room, the chief said, ‘Never mind, Carmichael. Too crowded in here anyway. We’ll go back to my office. If you’ll step this way, please, Dr. Newton.’

  Back in his office Delmar sank comfortably into his niche behind the desk while Pinkie and Dr. Newton did a balancing act on the leather-covered chairs.

  The doctor spoke first.

  ‘See here, chief, I know this is a murder investigation, but I thought the days of the third degree were over.’

  Chief Delmar’s eyebrows expressed surprise. ‘Third degree, Dr. Newton?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean anything physical. But after all, I’ve been here almost seventeen hours now, though I did have a lovely cell to sleep in. Don’t you think you’ve learned all you can from me? I do have things to do.’

  ‘I realize you are needed on your job, doctor …’ Delmar began.

  ‘To hell with the hospital, I’m concerned about my father. I want to be there when he gets back.’

  ‘We left a note asking your father to call us when he gets back’, the chief said.

  ‘I know, I know. But I’ve had an example of your boys’ subtlety. I’d rather break the news myself.’

  Carmichael leaned forward. ‘Would you explain to me, please, Dr. Newton, just what it is your father is doing?’ he asked.

  The chubby doctor glanced at Carmichael with irritation. ‘Who are you?’ he snapped. The chief made the introductions.

  ‘Oh. Well, I’ve repeated this a couple of dozen times. Once more won’t hurt me, I guess. My father is employed by Mrs. DeVoors to take care of her lodge. During deer season, which is now, he is required, besides his other duties, to ride the fences. You know, look for any signs of deer hunters breaking into the place. He takes a couple of days off a week during the season to go out.’

  ‘And doesn’t return at night?’

  ‘It’s a big place. Couple of thousand acres. Couldn’t be covered properly if he came back every night. My father is a very conscientious man. He takes a sleeping bag along and sleeps out. I talked to him yesterday afternoon on the phone—before I knew about the murder—and he said he was just about to go fence riding. I expect he’ll be in tomorrow.’

  The old man in the wheelchair nodded. ‘Thank you, doctor’, he said. ‘I realize this next inquiry is a personal one, but I’m sure you can understand the necessity of our having a full picture. I would assume from what you have said that your father’s work for his sister includes some rather menial tasks. Your aunt, I understand, was an extremely rich woman. Under the circumstances, isn’t this a bit unusual?’

  ‘Sadistic is the word, Mr. Carmichael’, the doctor snapped. ‘My aunt is—was—a cruel, ignorant woman. It gave her pleasure to hire her own brother as a common caretaker.’

  Carmichael cleared his throat noisily. ‘You certainly are frank about your relationship with your aunt, Dr. Newton’, he said. ‘How do you get along with your father?’

  The doctor gave Carmichael a frosty stare. ‘I have always been on the best of terms with my father’, he said.

  Carmichael waved his hand apologetically to Chief Delmar to indicate he was through.

  ‘Okay, doctor,’ the chief said, ‘you may leave now. Please leave us a number where you can be reached.’

  The slight sarcasm in the chief’s voice brought another question to Carmichael’s mind.

  ‘Just one minute, doctor, if you please,’ he said. ‘You said when you called your father yesterday afternoon you yourself did not yet know of the murder. Your aunt’s body was found early in the morning. Hadn’t you been notified?’

  ‘The police didn’t reach me until late yesterday afternoon.’

  Carmichael frowned. ‘Surely as a doctor you have to keep in close touch with the hospital in case one of your patients needs you?’

  ‘I have no patients. If I had I would have been screaming to get out of her
e long ago.’ He shot a baleful look at Chief Delmar. ‘I am a pathologist—strictly lab work. As a matter of fact, yesterday was the first day, including Saturdays and Sundays, I have taken off in more than three weeks. There’s a virus I’m working on, but that wouldn’t interest you. Yesterday, being Sunday, I gave myself the day for relaxation. Spent most of the day on the beach. And, I might add, all of this you might have learned from the police here. I’ve spent enough time accounting to them. I trust you are now finished with me?’

  ‘Of course, of course’, Carmichael answered hurriedly. ‘I’m sorry. Please forgive an old man his vagaries.’

  The doctor’s face softened. ‘Certainly, sir. I’m sorry I was rude.’ He stumped out of the room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  EIGHT blocks from the home of the late Mrs. DeVoors and across the street from a Safeway Market is DiVedi’s Bar. George Awlsen, chauffeur, butler, and self-styled major-domo, was having his mid-morning bracer. When there were no errands to run in town, Awlsen either refurbished his flagging constitution from a supply in his room at the DeVoors house or dipped into the supply kept by his employer under lock and key in the library. Of a naturally frugal turn of mind, he usually preferred the latter method. The lock was easily opened with a nail file.

  Awlsen was downing his second drink and for the second time relating his part in the number one topic of the day. He was a beefy man with prominent greenish eyes and receding dark hair combed straight back without a parting. He was saying, ‘That’s right, chief called up early this morning, told me to be sure and have everyone there for more questioning.’ Delmar had, in point of fact, made his request to the secretary, Miss Wycliff. ‘So I told him I would have them all on hand.’

  ‘What do they know about you and that girl, eh, George?’ the bartender asked with a lascivious wink.

  ‘Nothin’ more than I want ‘em to know, you can bet on that.’

  ‘Be a shame if all this rumpus queered you on the gal’, one of the regular customers said. ‘You sure she’s legal, George?’