Gibson Murder Case: Richard Diamond, Private Eye Book 1

by Nick Charles

  “You say that like you know what I’m talking about.”

  “It was common gossip around the hotel.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, Mr. Gibson has been coming to the hotel for many years. He used to eat dinner here three nights a week and then play bridge with some of the hotel regulars. Now, about a month ago, we took on a new waitress.” I leaned in closer. So did the clerk. “Now it was very obvious that Mr. Gibson was quite taken by her. So much so, that he moved into the hotel and ate at her table every night.”

  “And what was her name?”

  “Virginia Pelgram. Quite good-looking. About five feet. Brunette, and very well... Err.”

  “I’d like to see her.”

  “That’s impossible! She left the hotel about a week after Mr. Gibson arrived.”

  “Oh swell. Do you know where she might have moved?”

  “No. But you might check with the flower shop.” The man giggled like he knew a dirty little secret. “Mr. Gibson used to send her flowers every day.”

  Well, I wasn't sure just where I was going, but if Virginia Pelgram was my best lead, then maybe she could tie the Gibson Murder up with a silk ribbon. I talked to the flower clerk and he gave me the address that the flowers had been sent to everyday. It was a nice apartment in the village and the landlady stuck her nose out like she was trying to smell me instead of see who was calling.

  “I hope that door doesn't slam shut sometime,” I said. “You'll have a bloody nose for weeks.”

  As if in shock at my bluntness, the landlady’s nostrils widened. I figured they’d permanently taken the place of her eyeballs. “What do you want?”

  “Roll out an eye with that nose and I'll show you my badge.”

  “Aren't you cops ever polite to anyone?”

  “Well, there's a face that goes with it. I'm looking for a girl. Her name's Pelgram.”

  “Oh her. She lives upstairs.”

  “Is she in now?”

  “No. Went out this morning. Hasn't come back.”

  “And she probably won't. She have many visitors?”

  “Only a couple. Men.”

  “That figures. Ever see an elderly man? About sixty.”

  “Every day!”

  “Who else?”

  “Another man. Young. Greasy. Only came around a few times. He and the old man were there this morning. Had an argument.”

  “Could you hear what they said?”

  “I don’t snoop!”

  “Mind if I take a look at her apartment?”

  “Not without a search warrant, which I highly doubt you have. So, no you can’t!”

  “Thanks, my good lady, you’ve been charming.”

  I left the old bat and headed back to the schoolteacher’s apartment. If I was right, I'd seen set-ups like this before. But there was still the problem of finding out how Gibson was killed and how he got into a locked room. When I pulled up I saw the wagon, complete with corpse and coroner, pulling away from the morgue. As I entered Esther’s apartment, it was Esther who greeted me.

  “Oh, Rick! I was getting lonesome! I’m glad you’ve gotten back so soon.”

  “I had no choice. It seems I’ve misplaced my keys and have no place to stay for the night.”

  Esther just about offered to put me up when Walt caught us. “As soon as you two quit rolling your eyes at each other, maybe you can tell me what you found out, Mr. Diamond?”

  “Certainly. Send Otis down to the station for a search warrant. Then tell ‘em to get over to 9 West 12th Street and see what he can find in a Miss Virginia Pelgram's apartment.”

  “Who's Virginia Pelgram?”

  “The only person who was mixed-up with the murdered man. There was another man who used to see her, but I can’t find out who he was.” Walt sent Otis off like I told him too. “What did you find out, Walt?

  “There were eleven people in the building at the time of the killing. None of them ever saw the guy before. Here's a list of the names. Three people on this floor. Five on the second, and three more on the third.”

  “Did the landlady say she had a key to this apartment?”

  “Sure, but she hasn't used it but once since Miss Blodgett was away at girl's camp.”

  “When did she use it?

  “Three days ago, when she had to let the painters in. And she says that the windows and door were definitely locked because after she let the painters out, she locked them herself.”

  “Painter, huh? Did they paint the whole building?”

  “They finished the second floor today. Oh, and the lab said that lint you spotted on the dead man’s clothes is from the mat that they put on the rugs.”

  I thought about that for a moment. It all seemed to be coming together. I didn’t know who did it, but I had a hunch. “Walt, you were on all the floors. Did one of the apartments have a rug missing?”

  “They’re all missing from the second floor. The tenants took them down to the basement when the painters moved in.”

  “Any off this floor or the third?” I asked. Walt shook his head. “Well, your killers are on the second floor then.” Walt wasn’t following me. “Let's look at what we got. A dead body in a locked room. Blood on body and floor around body, but nowhere else in the room. Carried in.”

  “In a rug!” Walt had hit a bull’s eye.

  Meanwhile, Esther was getting carried away in all this. “This is so exciting!”

  Walt, however, remained skeptic. “But how does a dame named Pelgram figure into it. There ain’t no Pelgram listed in this building.”

  “Well,” I said, “there shouldn't be, if I'm right. The dead man met Virginia Pelgram when she was a waitress working in his hotel. She gave him a pitch and he fell. He put her up in an apartment so he could see her more often.”

  “So what?”

  “I think she was working with another man. A man who was seen around her apartment by the landlady.”

  “Then how did the body get over here?” Walt lit a cigar. His nerves were getting the better of him.

  “The guy the dame was working with probably lives here. My guess is that Gibson was being blackmailed. He followed the girl here. He was probably going to yell "Cop!" so they killed him.”

  “Okay, now what about the locked room? Explain that, Sherlock.”

  “I’ll let the landlady of this building explain it, Walt. Go ask her one question? Who had this apartment before Miss Blodgett?”

  Esther hopped forward. “I can tell you that,” she declared. “Mr. and Mrs. Austin! They moved to a smaller apartment and let me have this one. It’s more rent and they couldn't afford it. I expect this is a better apartment, though, it has very…”

  “Esther,” I cut in. Esther looked at me. She’d gotten carried away again. I pulled back down to Earth. “What apartment did they take?”

  “209.”

  I looked at Walt. “According to this list of people who were on the second floor at the time of the killing, the Austins are the only couple. What did Mrs. Austin look like, Walt?”

  “Oh, about five-foot three. Dark brunette. Very well…”

  “Say no more!” I headed for the door. “C'mon Walt.”

  “May I come?” Esther asker, following me to the door.

  “No, you stay here. I’ll be back later to discuss the better features of your apartment.”

  If Esther shot me with a disapproving look it was in my back because Walt and I rushed toward the stairway without hesitance. The two of us acted like children racing each other to the second floor. It was like old times between me and Walt, when we worked together on every case as brothers in law enforcement.

  The door to Apartment 209 was answered by a man who was both young and greasy, just like Miss Pelgram’s snooty landlady had described.

  Walt was the first to speak. “I want to talk with you again, Mr. Austin.”

  “I told you everything I know,” said the man.

  “Where’s your wife?” For the first time, the
man looked at me. I’m used to getting dirty looks, but this guy knew how to speak in whole sentences with his. With one quick glance he told me to get away from his door, out of his apartment building and, if I knew what was good for me, gone from this city. Walt pushed his way into the apartment. “We’re coming in.”

  We all stood in the front room, facing each other. Mrs. Austin called in from the back of the apartment. “Who izzit, Harve?”

  “Them cops again!”

  Mrs. Austin entered. She fit the description. Around five feet. Dark hair. I took a step toward her. “Hello, Virginia.”

  “Do I know you,” she said.

  “Where’s your rug, Mr. Austin?”

  “Down in the basement.”

  “Miss Pelgram,” I said. “How long have you been married to this man?”

  “About three… Hey, how’d you know…?”

  “Shaddup,” yelled Mr. Austin at his wife.

  “Why did you lie about not knowing Mr. Gibson?”

  “I didn’t!” Mrs. Austin looked at Walt and then back at me. “I never saw him before in my life!”

  Walt approached Mrs. Austin. “I didn’t tell you the dead man’s name was Gibson. How’d you know that?”

  “Don’t answer that,” said Mr. Austin.

  I ignored the man. It was his wife I wanted to hear from. “You and your husband killed Mr. Gibson and carted him downstairs in a rug.”

  “Why would we do that?” It was Mr. Austin again. The man wouldn’t shut his face. So I spoke directly at him. With force.

  “Because the painters were on their way to paint your apartment and you had to get him out without being seen. You dumped him in Miss Blodgett's apartment because you knew she was out of town. And you used to live there so you still had a key.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Austin didn’t say a word. Virginia looked scared. Walt broke the silence.

  “We got enough to hold both of you on. The rug will have bloodstains on it.” With that, Virginia gasped and Harvey bolted for the door. I blocked his path.

  “Get outta my way,” he yelled.

  “I didn’t kill him,” cried Virginia. She was hysterical. “Harvey did! I didn't kill him!”

  “Okay, okay,” said Walt. “You can tell me all about it down at the station.”

  That was my cue to exit. Once Harvey was in handcuffs, I turned to leave.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “It’s six thirty. I got a date.”

  “What about Miss Blodgett? She’s gonna get lonesome again.”

  “She was born that way. I’ve gotta see a girl who’s going to hold a pretty interesting class of her own. Bye.”

  As promised, I arrived at exactly eight o’clock. Helen answered the door looking… “Well, don't you look comfortable? Where's Francois?”

  “I gave him the night off, like you suggested.” Helen pulled me into her house and closed the door behind me. “I’ve got a cool dinner in the library.”

  “You’re cute,” I said because she always is. Then I began to sing:

  “School Days, School Days.”

  “You sound happy,” she said.

  “I was just thinking about a schoolteacher I once knew.”

  Helen led me into the library where our scrumptious meal awaited. “Sing for your supper.”

  “Aw, honey, I'm hungry.”

  “You sing first and then you can eat.” She sat me down at her grand piano. I played a few cords. Helen hummed a love song as I began to sing:

  “Strange dear, but true dear,

  When I’m close to you dear,

  The stars fill the sky!

  So in love with you am I.”

  The phone rang. After some hesitation and constant ringing, Helen went to get it and I continued to sing:

  “Even without you,

  My arms fold about you!

  You know darling why.

  So in love with you, am I.”

  Helen reentered the room. I stopped singing. She stood over me with a look that was hard to discern.

  “That was some girl asking for you,” she said. “I told her there was no one here but the piano tuner.”

  “She leave her name?”

  “Uh-huh. Hepplewhite.”

  I decided to play dumb. No need to bring business into my personal life. “What kind of a name is that?”

  “Who is she?”

  “Nobody.” I stood and rapped my arms around Helen’s waist. “C'mere, baby.”

  “No!” Helen stomped her foot, barely missing mine. “I want to know who she is.”

  Helen tried to break free, but I wasn’t going to let Hepplewhite keep me from her any longer. “I said c’mere!”

  I placed a hand under Helen’s arm. The woman is awfully ticklish. She giggled and we kissed. But even afterwards, Helen persisted. “Ricky, darling. Who’s Hepplewhite?"

  “Just a chair, baby.” I believe in being honest. “A cute blonde chair.”

  The End