by Kip Chase
‘Yes, Dr. Newton? You called her a …?’
‘It doesn’t matter’, the doctor mumbled.
‘Perhaps it does’, said Carmichael softly. ‘You called her a whore, doctor?’
Dr. Newton stared hard at Carmichael. ‘How did you find out?’ he said flatly.
‘Unfortunately,’ said Carmichael, ‘we didn’t. A reporter did. You’ll read all about it in the morning paper.’
The doctor shrugged. ‘Well, it really doesn’t matter. It doesn’t bother me. It was just while dad was alive I had to keep my mouth shut.’
‘You had to? Didn’t you want to?’
‘At times, no. When my aunt started putting on the dog about what a big society grande dame she was, it sort of curdled me. Hell, I didn’t care what sort of life she had had when she was a girl, but her brazen hypocrisy really got me. I would have just as soon let the cat out of the bag just to watch her bubble burst. But dad believed it would disgrace the family. His feelings meant much more to me than any little satisfaction I could get out of showing her up. So now it’s all going to come out anyway. Odd, how things work out. I suppose that’s what you called me over for?’
Carmichael nodded.
‘Well, I appreciate your trying to save me the shock of seeing it in the paper. But, as I say, it really doesn’t matter much to me. Of course, you couldn’t have known that. Thanks. Anything else?’
Carmichael told him about the tie-in with Veblen.
‘Interesting’, said the doctor. ‘But I can’t see how that helps in solving the murder of my father. That’s what I’m really interested in.’
‘It looks like it’s linked together somehow’, Carmichael said. ‘Any new information we get just brings us that much closer.’
‘I hope so. Thanks again. Good night.’
‘Good night’, said Carmichael.
Sullivan’s story did help out Chief Delmar. It so happened the San Diego Union used the Associated Press rewrite of Sullivan’s story. It also used a wire photo of Augustus Veblen. One of the Union’s subscribers is a Mrs. Lila O’Leary of the El Capitan Motel. Before nightfall, Mr. Veblen was enjoying the comforts of the San Margaret gaol.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE special delivery envelope from the New York City Police Department arrived on Chief Delmar’s desk the day after Veblen had been brought back from Tia Juana. It was with positive gaiety that the chief ushered Carmichael and Pinkie into his office.
‘Come right in, Carmichael’, he boomed. ‘This will warm your cold old heart.’
Carmichael prepared his face to look pleased.
‘Got a little communication here,’ Delmar bubbled, ‘that’s very interesting. Very interesting. We asked New York to check on Elinor Wycliff, you know. Well, they did a fine job, a real fine job. It started out pretty tough, but got a lot easier. Look it over.’ He flipped a folder to Carmichael.
Elinor Wycliff, it was revealed, had changed her name when she moved west. Her fingerprints identified her to the New York police as Elinor Wycropolis. ‘She would have had plenty of tan without ever going out in the sun’, the chief interposed. ‘Them Greeks get pretty dark sometimes, you know. Musta dyed her hair.’
‘Yes,’ Carmichael said, ‘Lydia Drew said she did.’ He read on. Miss Wycropolis, it seemed, had been in small difficulties with the police in Manhattan. She and other members of her family, in particular a brother with a slick tongue, had been known to make a fair living by assorted minor bunco games. Phoney stock, the switched diamond ring stunt, the hotel-room act with a married man, by no means exhausted their repertoire. But they had never been convicted. Their victims had never seen fit to appear in court to testify. The pair had dropped out of circulation after a close call almost got them a few years’ vacation with pay, courtesy of the State of New York. Carmichael turned the pages with interest. The report included pictures of Miss Wycliff and her brother, Frank. There was no mistaking Sra Kuru, despite the lack of the red caste mark. Carmichael finished the report and tossed it back to the chief.
‘What do you make of it, Louie?’ he asked.
‘To tell you the truth, I’m not too sure. But it looks good.’
‘What are your plans?’
‘I have a couple of ideas, but I’d like to hear yours.’
Carmichael pressed his fingers against his eyes. For two minutes he said nothing. Then he raised his head.
‘Okay, I see it this way. The girl and her brother were working together—obviously. She probably sent for him after she got the job with Mrs. DeVoors and figured the old lady would be a good mark. What the girl was doing at college for three years, it’s hard to say. Maybe figured a degree would help her out with “clients”. Or maybe she really decided to forget about bunco, then when she ran out of money and had to quit, had to go to work, she succumbed to temptation. That’s not important. So she got her brother out and started to work Mrs. DeVoors over. That was a good gimmick, having her mail the money to India. The girl would just take the letter and get the money out. Here’s where we have to start thinking. She was probably telling the truth about the cheques being made out to the name of that phoney outfit, the Supreme-whatever-it-is. Too likely the old lady would get suspicious otherwise. So they must have had a bank account somewhere under the name of the organization, and their own names, of course, so they could draw it out. Let’s work on it from that angle. Let’s get a couple of hundred pictures of Miss Wycliff and her brother printed and send them out to all the banks in the state. Of course, they might have sent them almost anywhere. The banks make it handy to do business by mail, these days. But we’ll start with the state. If nothing shows up, we’ll see. But I think it will. Then we will have something solid to go on. Keep them both well tailed in the meantime, of course. Make damn’ sure they don’t get away from us. Could be they got greedy and killed the old lady knowing they had a good chunk coming in the will.’
Chief Delmar nodded. ‘Sounds good to me. But where do you fit in the Newton killing?’
‘I don’t see it right now. But it may fit. It just may.’
The photos were processed and sent out. Two days later Chief Delmar was gratified to get a call from the manager of a bank in Laguna Beach. Yes, the girl was a regular depositor at the bank. The account was for the ‘Plateau of Supreme Oneness’, with the girl authorized to make withdrawals as an executive officer of the organization. She had given the name of Ruth Jordan. But before the chief could make his move he had another phone call. From Ventura. The girl had recently rented a safety deposit box under the name of Joyce James. Delmar rushed to the bank in Ventura with a court order to examine the safety deposit box. It contained fifty thousand dollars in crisp new bills. The box had been rented after the death of Mrs. DeVoors. There was no difficulty in identifying the money as that which had been withdrawn by the lawyer, Lewis, to give to Mrs. DeVoors. The bank was very careful about recording serial numbers on large withdrawals. Chief Delmar was jubilant.
Pinkie and Carmichael again drove over to the San Margaret office. They got a quick fill-in, then the chief asked Hodges to pick up Miss Wycliff. ‘Bring her right here’, were his instructions. ‘And stand by to pick up her brother.’
Elinor Wycliff, escorted none too gently into the office by Hodges, was the picture of outraged indignation. She was looking exceptionally well in a light blue suit which set off her blonde hair. Pinkie marvelled at her smooth, dark skin. It had never occurred to him the pigmentation was hereditary.
‘Just what is going on, chief?’ the girl demanded. ‘This gorilla picked me up just as I was coming out of a beauty shop. Never said a word about what you wanted. Are you guys just getting desperate for something to do?’
The chief smiled sweetly.
‘Please sit down, Miss Wycliff.’
‘I’ll stand, thank you. What’s it all about?’
‘I think maybe you’d better sit. We’ve talked to the manager of the Western Bank in Laguna.’
‘Oh’, said the g
irl weakly. ‘I guess you’re right, I will sit down. Not that I haven’t been expecting it.’
‘I think we know about everything there is to know, Miss Wycliff. And most important, we know about the safety deposit box in Ventura. Do you want to tell us about it?’
‘I just want to see a lawyer’, the girl said dully.
‘Miss Wycliff,’ Carmichael broke in, ‘did you kill Mrs. DeVoors?’
‘I did not. I have pulled some bad deals, you probably know all about that, but I’m no killer.’
‘In that case, I advise you to tell us what you know. The serial numbers were registered on the fifty thousand dollars. There’s no way you can get out of that. You’re in a very serious situation.’
‘I want to see my lawyer’, the girl repeated.
Carmichael continued as if he hadn’t heard her.
‘You see, Miss Wycliff, it looks bad, very bad. Now if you did kill Mrs. DeVoors, you’re quite right. It is your constitutional privilege not to make a statement until you’ve conferred with an attorney. Or not at all, even then, if you like. But if you didn’t kill her, I can assure you it would be to your advantage to tell us right now all you know about it.’
The girl looked sharply at the old man. ‘You’re a pretty good talker, Mr. Carmichael’, she said.
‘Common sense always sounds good.’
‘I think you’re right.’
‘Are you willing to make a statement, Miss Wycliff?’ Chief Delmar asked.
‘Yes and no. I’ll tell you what I know about what happened that night. But no statement. No shorthand secretary or tape recorder. That can come later. I’m only doing this as a favour to you. And I expect to get a favour in return.’
‘That I can’t promise,’ the chief said, ‘but it sure ain’t going to do you any harm.’
‘All right.’ The girl took a deep breath.
‘That night—Saturday night—I went to bed early, just like I told you. About midnight—I didn’t know the time then, but I know it now—something woke me up. I didn’t know what it was at first, I just lay there and listened. Then I heard it. Someone was going up those back stairs. They’re right next to my room, you know. I was sort of groggy, not really awake, and I couldn’t figure it out. It never entered my head it was a burglar or anything like that. I just thought it was odd and maybe I’d better check on Mrs. DeVoors. I really don’t know what I was thinking. I got up and put a robe on. I went upstairs and listened at Mrs. DeVoors’s door. I didn’t hear anything. I still didn’t think there was anything really wrong, but I decided to look in. I unlocked her door with my key, and stepped inside, and pulled the door shut behind me. At first I couldn’t see a thing. It was pitch black. Then when I could make out the bed, everything looked all right. I was just turning to go when I saw this … this person come in through the window. It was obvious he wasn’t supposed to be there—coming through the window like that. Now this part you won’t believe. But I swear to God it’s true. I saw this person and I went absolutely stiff with fright. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t do anything.’
Delmar shifted uncomfortably in his over-stuffed chair.
‘Miss Wycliff,’ he said, ‘in view of your, ah, background, it wouldn’t seem like you would be the kind of girl to panic.’
‘I know, I know. But it’s the truth. I guess maybe because before, whenever I was in any tight spot it was more or less of my own making and I had an idea what to expect. But this was out of the blue. And I was still only half awake. It seemed like more of a horrible dream than reality.’
‘I can understand that, Miss Wycliff’, Carmichael said. ‘Please go on.’
‘I … I just stood there. He, that is this person, didn’t see me. I saw this person go up to the bed. I saw Mrs. DeVoors struggle; she made sort of a gurgling noise. It was horrible … horrible. Then the person left. I don’t think the whole thing took over three minutes. And I was just standing there … just standing there. …’ The girl buried her face in her hands.
‘And,’ said Carmichael, ‘then you took the money?’
‘No. I finally got control of myself. I went back to bed. I did take the money, but not until morning. When Mrs. George went out of the room after she showed me the body.’
‘But you didn’t raise the alarm that night, Miss Wycliff?’
‘No, I … I was petrified. All I wanted to do was to get back to my own room and lock the door.’
‘Ah, Miss Wycliff,’ said Carmichael, ‘up to that point I believe you. But I have an idea you went silently back to your room not out of fear, but for another reason. Now, you didn’t see who the killer was? It was too dark, was that it?’
‘Yes. It was too dark.’ The girl spoke in a whisper.
‘But you might have seen a little something, eh, Miss Wycliff, a little something?’
‘I … saw … nothing.’
‘I suggest, Miss Wycliff,’ Carmichael’s voice was pitched low, ‘you did see something. You could make out the assailant was a man, you could see he was a short man, perhaps you got a glimpse of black hair under the moonlight when he left through the window. I suggest, Miss Wycliff, you thought you saw your own brother kill Mrs. DeVoors and you said nothing, thinking to protect him.’
The girl bent her head in uncontrolled sobbing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHIEF DELMAR was not happy about calling in the reporters. ‘After all,’ he argued, ‘they haven’t made it easy for us. Why give them a break?’
Carmichael shrugged. ‘Just figured it might give the boys a little insight into some of our problems. Next time maybe they’ll go a little easier. A slim possibility, I grant you, but …’
The chief gave in without further protest. At that point he probably would have handed over the city gaol to the old man had Carmichael asked for it. With the case solved, the chief felt he could get the first good night’s sleep he’d had in more than a month. It had taken Carmichael just three days to wrap it up after Elinor Wycliff’s interrogation. He had men to help him, of course; but all the men in the world are no good unless there’s someone to tell them what to do.
The press conference was held in the squad-room of the San Margaret police station. One reporter from each of the L.A. papers had been invited, one each from the five news services operating out of the Los Angeles Hall of Records, and a representative from the local daily. Photographers were barred, but a dozen or so lurked about outside the building.
With a showman’s flair for the dramatic, Carmichael had assembled all the principals in the case. He put them in the front row. They made an interesting contrast in personalities, Pinkie thought. The servants, Mrs. George, Lily Rogers and Awlsen, submissive and perplexed; the Count and Countess, putting on an air of amused condescension Sra Kuru, or rather Frank Wycropolis, still decked out in turban and caste mark; beside him, his sister, dark circles under her eyes, with a stout police matron at her side; Augustus Veblen, pale but unperturbed; and slouching in a chair at the end, Dr. Jack Newton, puffing a cigar in obvious irritation. Standing beside Newton, because there were no more chairs in that row, was Lydia Drew. Pinkie saw her hand tremble slightly as it rested on the doctor’s shoulder.
‘Ladies and gentlemen’, Carmichael began. ‘I have assembled you here, or rather Chief Delmar has assembled you,’ Carmichael smiled warmly at the chief, ‘not because of a desire to do you reporters a favour. We don’t think we owe any to most of you. But we do think maybe you might do us some good in the future. Some of you certainly have done us no good in the past. I have here,’ Carmichael held aloft four newspapers, ‘several examples of what I mean. Let’s have a look at what you learned men have been saying about us. …’ He read from the papers, ‘Police Stumbling on DeVoors Case … No Solution in Sight, Investigation of Police Efficiency Asked … Will the DeVoors Case be Added to List of Unsolved Crimes in Area? … I won’t go on, but this is just a random sampling. Well, the case is solved. And it was solved just the way any case is solved, by dog
ged, persistent police investigation, by long hours and thankless work. When we finish here, some of you will say it was a lucky break that we just happened to hit on the right solution. Nothing is further from the truth. I will concede we were lucky in this respect—the first combination we tried was the right one. But even that wasn’t all luck; it is the result of years of training that makes the first solution offered usually the right one. And if it hadn’t been the right one, we would have tried another, and another.’ Carmichael paused. There was no doubt he had everyone’s complete attention. He turned to Pinkie.
‘Get me a glass of water, will you, son?’ Pinkie left the room. The few seconds he was gone passed in silence. Carmichael got his drink, sipped it appreciatively, and then continued.
‘Now I know you gentlemen don’t write the headlines, but the men who do write them get their clues from the way you write the lead paragraph, so I hold you primarily responsible for what I consider unfair treatment. I realize stories about police officers who stay up nights working on a case don’t sell papers, but I believe you have an obligation to society as well as your stockholders.’ The old man grinned. ‘Well, I won’t belabour the point. Instead of scolding you further, I’m going to do you a favour. I’ve been complaining about the leads you’ve been writing. Well, I’m going to give you a surefire lead right now. This one is a dandy. You can start your story out by saying the DeVoors case was solved because of a dead deer, the four-legged variety, that is; and a good day at the plate by a baseball player.’