Where There's a Will

by Kip Chase

  A moment later Newton turned to Chief Delmar, his face composed. ‘Chief, I want you to find the person who killed him. I’ll do anything to help. Anything.’

  Chief Delmar glanced at Sheriff Cansalli. Standing close to him, his head barely reached Cansalli’s shoulder.

  ‘It isn’t really my case, doctor’, the chief said. ‘Assuming the crime happened at the lodge, and there’s no reason at this point not to assume that—then it’s in the sheriff’s jurisdiction. And you can help by answering his questions. If you feel up to it.’

  ‘I’m allright.’ Dr. Newton turned to Cansalli. ‘Fire away.’

  The sheriff pulled out a notebook. ‘According to what the chief tells me, the last time you saw your father was … let’s see … last Friday. But you talked to him on the phone yesterday, is that right?’

  ‘I saw my father last night’, Dr. Newton said in a tired voice.

  The men started.

  ‘How’s that, doctor?’ Chief Delmar said. ‘Why didn’t you …’

  Newton waved a languid hand. ‘I know, chief. Why didn’t I call you. I wish to God I had. This is what happened. Dad rode in about fifteen minutes after Mr. Carmichael, his grandson and Lydia left yesterday afternoon.’ He laid a square hand on Lydia’s arm.

  The excitement of the new turn of events was receding from Pinkie’s mind. With the doctor’s gesture he now really looked at Lydia for the first time since she had appeared on the scene. On the drive up to the lodge Chief Delmar had told Carmichael about the girl’s criminal record. Carmichael had listened without comment. The chief had said, ‘Of course all this mess she got into was six years ago. She had a court trial and pleaded guilty to the charges. She got five years, but the probation officer recommended she be released to the custody of her parents. They were intelligent people, well off financially. It didn’t seem to be their fault the girl got in trouble. Same old story of bad companions in school, I guess. The probation officer felt she would have a better chance to snap out of it at home than to be thrown in with a bunch of hardened delinquents. The judge agreed with him. I talked to her probation man on the phone. He was real proud of her. Said it showed what could be done with proper guidance. She finished high school, went through college and never failed to report to him. Never was in any other trouble. Last year her sentence was up and she went off probation. He says he hasn’t seen her since, but she did call him up to tell him about being accepted for graduate school. We’ll dig around some more, of course, but from here it looks like she’s clean. I don’t know though, it’s damn unusual. I’ve never seen anybody completely off the junk once they’re hooked. I suppose it does happen …’

  Looking at Lydia as she stood by Newton, her face white and strained but still clear-eyed and lovely, it was hard for Pinkie to believe she was ever involved in any crime more serious than a parking ticket. With difficulty he forced himself to listen to Dr. Newton.

  ‘… I told dad about Aunt Constance, as gently as I could. He took it hard. I was afraid he would. I think he was the only person in the world who had any affection for her. He knew she was an impossible tyrant, but I believe he felt sorry for her … the same way he’d feel sorry for an animal that had been hurt somehow, and become morose and bad-tempered. Sorry, I didn’t mean to digress. I told him he’d better come down-town with me and get things straightened out with Chief Delmar. He said he didn’t feel like talking to policemen right away. He seemed dazed. He asked me if I thought it would be all right if he got some sleep and came in in the morning. He’d been sleeping on the damp ground for two nights, you know. And an old man like that, he had enough arthritis to keep him awake a good part of the time in a decent bed. He looked pale and haggard. I couldn’t see that it would make that much difference to the police. I told him, sure, go ahead. Get some sleep. I’d stay with him of course. He told me there was no reason for that. He knew I had work in town. He said to go on back and he’d drive in in the morning. I told him not to be silly, of course I’d stay with him. But he was absolutely adamant. It seemed very peculiar to me. He got quite excited about it. I didn’t want to upset him any more than he was already, so I said all right, I’d go. So I did. I never should have.’

  Tears started in the doctor’s eyes. He brushed them away irritably. Lydia laid her hand on his shoulder while the men shuffled in embarrassment.

  Dr. Newton continued. ‘I got more and more worried as I drove back. It was so unnatural of dad. I almost turned back.’ He paused, then continued in a quieter voice, ‘When I got home I called him. He said he was all right, just about to get into bed.’

  ‘What time was that—when you called, doctor?’ Cansalli interrupted.

  ‘Must have been about, let’s see, I stopped at the drugstore … I would say about nine o’clock.’

  The sheriff sat down ponderously in a green, overstuffed chair. He flipped through a notebook.

  ‘Now then, doctor,’ he said, ‘I suppose you have no idea who killed your father?’

  ‘Absolutely none. It’s incredible.’

  Carmichael spoke from a dark corner where he had wheeled himself.

  ‘Doctor Newton, why do you think your father wanted you out of the house last night?’

  ‘I don’t know. In the light of what’s happened, I could only guess he was expecting a visitor he didn’t want me to know about. But who or why, I can’t imagine.’

  Carmichael cut in apologetically. ‘Pardon me, doctor. You said a few minutes ago, it was your fault. Did you mean because you didn’t stay with your father last night?’

  ‘Yes. It isn’t rational, I know. Given the same circumstances again, not knowing what I know now, of course, I would probably do the same thing. My father was insistent, it appeared useless to argue with him further; there seemed no reason why he shouldn’t get a good night’s sleep by himself. It’s all perfectly reasonable—yet if I had stayed with him, overridden his protests, he might be alive today.’

  ‘Another question, doctor’, Carmichael said. ‘When you were shown your father’s body, you examined him. Why?’

  Dr. Newton made an impatient gesture with his hands. ‘Because I wanted to know what killed him, of course.’

  ‘And what do you think? Was he strangled?’

  ‘Probably. I couldn’t tell without a more thorough examination.’

  Carmichael nodded and wheeled his chair back a few feet to indicate he was finished, for the moment.

  The sheriff and Chief Delmar took turns questioning the distraught doctor for another twenty minutes. His story remained unshaken. At one point they were interrupted by a reporter. He had slipped quietly into the room unnoticed, then addressed himself to Sheriff Cansalli at the first opportunity.

  ‘Just one question, if you could spare a minute, sheriff’, he asked. The sheriff shook his head in annoyance.

  ‘Look,’ the reporter pleaded, ‘I’m on the line. It won’t take you ten seconds.’

  Sheriff Cansalli turned impatiently to the man. ‘Okay. One question.’

  ‘Have you definitely linked this killing to the DeVoors murder?’

  The sheriff looked inquiringly at Chief Delmar.

  ‘It would appear obvious there is a connection,’ Delmar said, ‘but at this point we are not definitely committed on that point.’

  Quickly the reporter shot back, ‘How about the tie? has it been identified?’

  The sheriff interposed. ‘You said one question. We’re busy. This is an official interrogation. You’re not invited. Scram.’

  ‘Okay,’ the reporter said cheerfully, ‘got a phone around I could use?’

  ‘Down that hall, last door on your left’, Dr. Newton waved his hand. The questioning continued.

  Though news of the elder Newton’s death had not yet been received there, he also played a part in a conversation being held at the DeVoors house in San Margaret.

  ‘I don’t understand, dear,’ the Countess was saying, ‘just what is the situation? The servants, for example, they are stil
l here, the household carries on. By whose orders? How do they know they will be paid?’ She and her husband were seated by the pool.

  ‘The servants have no problem’, Ivanov grumbled. ‘I think they’re protected by some sort of law to get so many days’ notice. The money belongs to the old lady’s brother now. He’ll see everyone is taken care of.’

  ‘Everyone?’ The emphasis on the ‘every’ was ever so slight.

  ‘We’ll be sent packing, no doubt, as soon as the new lord and master takes over. But, in the meantime, the groceries are being bought, we are here, so …’

  ‘And what are your plans, Mr. Kuru?’ asked the Countess, turning to the Indian, who was reclining, un-yogilike, in a canvas chair.

  The little man sighed. ‘My activities are not mine to decide’, he answered in his curious indirect way of speaking.

  ‘And what do you mean by that’, the Count asked gruffly ‘Does that, er, organization of yours decide where you’ll go?’

  ‘I mean,’ Kuru replied softly, ‘human destiny is not determined by the minds of mortals.’

  ‘Good God, man,’ the Count exploded, ‘can’t you talk in anything but riddles?’

  ‘As one of your Western philosophers so aptly said,’ Kuru answered, ‘“riddles are but doors for which we have not the key.”’

  ‘Now, look here, Kuru,’ the Count continued in a more friendly tone, ‘I know we haven’t got along so well, but now we are both involved in this tragedy. It seems we ought to more or less stick together. I’m willing to forget our little, ah, difficulties.’

  The small, dark man flashed a white smile.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Count. I realize I am, perhaps, too esoteric in my way of speaking. It is just my nature, I’m afraid. And I apologize for my lack of perceptiveness. Now, your charming wife asked a straightforward question and she deserves a straightforward answer.’ He bowed to the Countess. ‘In truth, madam, I do not know where I will go. But, if you’ll pardon the indiscretion, it would appear none of us is going far until this matter is cleared up to the satisfaction of the police.’

  ‘You’re right enough there, Kuru’, the Count grumbled. ‘Tell me now, honestly, do you really believe that story you gave them about Mrs. DeVoors attaining a … a “higher plane”, I think you called it?’

  ‘I do’, the Indian said gravely.

  ‘Then how about that fifty thousand dollars, eh?’ Ivanov said. ‘Do you suppose she took that along to bribe her way past the gateman?’

  Kuru smiled. ‘That is a good point, Count. No, money is of no value where she is. I think the money was stolen.’

  ‘After she, ah, passed on?’

  Kuru shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And who do you think stole it?’

  ‘Someone in the house—a servant, or a guest.’ The Indian returned the Russian’s stare without blinking.

  ‘I suppose, in your mind,’ the Count said, ‘it might have been I or my wife?’

  ‘I regard you as no more likely suspects than the others,’ Kuru answered calmly, ‘as I imagine you have some doubts as to my connection with the crime.’

  The Count smiled. ‘Yes—some doubts.’

  The Indian spoke softly, ‘Tell me, how much do you think you will benefit by Mrs. DeVoors’s death?’

  The Count’s voice lost its friendliness and became cold as the snows of Siberia. ‘I have not even considered it’, he said. His hands shook as he lit a cigarette.

  It was at this point that Awlsen brought the news of Philip Newton’s murder.

  In the servants’ quarters, Mrs. George and Lily Rogers had been left to ponder the implications of the phone call from the police, when Awlsen departed to inform the guests. With the old lady gone there were a number of coffee breaks in the household routine.

  As the door closed behind the butler, Mrs. George leaned across the table to the girl and spoke with a lowered voice.

  ‘Lily,’ she said, ‘I know where you were the night Mrs. DeVoors was killed.’

  The maid stared at the woman with frightened eyes. ‘Why, what do you mean, Mrs. George? I was in bed reading my Bi …’

  ‘You were in bed all right, but not your own.’

  The girl tried to answer, but could only make gurgling sounds. Mrs. George continued, ‘What do you think I am, blind? And deaf, too? I’ve known for some time about you and that jackanapes. I don’t approve of such goings-on. And you making out to be such a church-going girl, too! But I don’t make a habit out of telling other folks their business. The police didn’t ask me so I didn’t tell them. But if they do ask me, I’ll tell them the truth. What with poor Mr. Newton killed now, there won’t be no peace for us till they find out who done it. There’s going to be lots of snooping goin’ on, mark my words. Now I’m just telling you this because I don’t think you’re really a bad girl. You sure could use a good old-fashioned likkin’, though. Maybe this will teach you a lesson. Anyway I think you better tell Chief Delmar where you was that night. Say, old George was with you all night, wasn’t he?’

  The girl started to cry. Mrs. George put a kindly arm round her shoulder.

  ‘Now, none of that. You’ve made a bad mistake, and it probably isn’t your first either. Just let it be your last. Now, was George with you all night?’

  ‘He … he … got up. It was late, I don’t know what time. I heard him put on his clothes and go out. I … thought maybe he went out to get a drink. He does that sometimes. I don’t know what time he got back. I was asleep.’

  Mrs. George frowned. ‘Well, that sort of makes it different. You know that old man who was here, in the wheelchair?’ The maid nodded. ‘I think you better see him. He looked like he’d be easier to talk to than that chief. Just tell what you told me.’

  ‘Will … they make trouble for me?’

  ‘I don’t think so. If you tell it to them right, no lies. I’ll tell you straight off, if you don’t, I will. I didn’t like the old lady any better than the next one, but murder is something else. They’ve got to know everything there is to know. Maybe this isn’t important at all. But maybe it is. It’s for them to decide. Now this afternoon you try and call that man; Carmichael, I think his name is. They can probably tell you where to find him at the police station. Then get him to meet you somewhere and you tell him. Will you now?’

  ‘I will.’ The girl dried her tears. ‘I hate him,’ she said viciously, ‘I hate him anyway.’

  Mrs. George knew whom she meant.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NEWTON’S body had been found by Sergeant Picketts at eight-thirty in the morning. It was past one when Carmichael, Pinkie and Chief Delmar got back to the station. The chief threw himself into his chair with a snort of disgust. Carmichael stared moodily out of the window, while Pinkie perched nervously on a chair, uncertain as to what he should do or say. The chief reached into his drawer, pulled out his thermos and three glasses. Without a word he poured out three drinks and handed them round.

  ‘Well’, said the chief.

  ‘Well’, said Carmichael. Pinkie said nothing. There was a prolonged silence. Finally the chief pushed a button on the intercom.

  ‘Miss Fuentes,’ he barked, ‘is Hodges here?’

  Miss Fuentes’s voice, trained to achieve the ultimate in lucid diction, came back loud and clear, ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Send him in.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Hodges came in and sat down at his boss’s invitation. He was not offered a drink, Pinkie noticed.

  The chief spoke in a tired voice. ‘Now, Hodges, we have a lot of work to do. We’re going to have to call in Perkins and Steiner off vacation.’ Hodges opened his mouth to protest, but his superior cut him off. ‘I know. I know. And don’t worry about it, I’ll call them myself. We’ll make it up to them. Sheriff Cansalli’s boys have been helping us out, you know. The least we can do is return the favour. Besides, the killings are obviously tied. At least that’s the way I’m going to play it, until proved otherwise. I g
ot a list of the dead man’s friends, at least everyone his son knew of. There are a couple of dozen. We’ll check on them, every goddamn one. Sheriff is going to check on the area up there. Couple of petrol stations, neighbouring ranch houses, ranger station, milk delivery, couple of more assignments I can’t think of of off hand. They’re also handling all the lab work, and the teletype on it. Now these names,’ the chief waved a sheet of yellow paper in front of his lieutenant, ‘start with them, you know what to ask. But hold off till after we get the autopsy report tomorrow morning. Sandleigh figured Newton was killed about ten last night, but we’ll wait and see if that holds up. And be particularly careful about this time business. When someone says he was at such and such a place at ten, you check on it, then check on the people who verified it. We’ve got to check and double-check and check again. I’ll give you two men—I’ll let you know in the morning who. When you finish that, report to me. Anything you find out that looks good, let me know right away, of course. Then we’ll see where we go from there. Meantime, keep Wilson and Craig on Mrs. DeVoors. Keep them working on that schedule I set up the other day. Questions?’

  The big policeman shifted uncomfortably. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘What do you mean you guess not?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay.’ Chief Delmar turned to Carmichael. ‘Any suggestions, Carmichael?’

  Carmichael shook his head. ‘No, but I have a question to ask Lieutenant Hodges.’ The old man turned to Hodges. ‘I was looking through your follow-up report on Mrs. George, the housekeeper. Something I’d like to check.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘You questioned Mrs. George’s three previous employers, which covered a period of about fifteen years?’

  Hodges nodded.

  Then Carmichael looked apologetically at the chief. ‘I may be all wrong, lieutenant,’ he went on, ‘but there was nothing in this particular report to indicate a tie-up between the two.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What I mean is, apparently you didn’t take along a picture of Mrs. George, and I didn’t note any questions concerning physical appearance. Maybe you just left that out of the report, of course. What I want to know is, did you positively establish that the Mrs. George you questioned the employers about and the housekeeper at the DeVoors’s who calls herself Mrs. George, are the same woman?’