“None in the house,” said Columbo. “That is, none of Puss Dogood’s and none of Bum Rapp’s or Kid’s. What evidence places them at the scene?”
Captain Sczciegel lifted himself from his chair, stepped to the window, and looked down on the streets of Los Angeles. “Tell me something, Columbo,” he said. “You kinda like Puss Dogood, don’t you?”
Columbo shook his head. “I’m not old enough to have a daughter her age. But I have a daughter. When I look at Puss, I hafta think about what a crazy world she grew up in and what it made of her. Hey, I’m not one of those guys that thinks the world is responsible for every dumb thing somebody does. But I hafta wonder what my daughter would be if she’d met Charlie Manson.”
“Or if she played with chemicals,” said Sczciegel.
“Yeah, that too.”
“You met the real Manson girls. And Charlie Manson, too. Didn’t you? I didn’t. I was on The Job, but not assigned to that case.”
Columbo took a half-burned cigar from his pocket, stared at it for a moment, decided enough was left to light it again, and began patting his pockets, looking for matches. “Yeah, I’d been out here from New York for ten years or so when the Tate-LaBianca murders happened. Uh… Gotta match? I was already a homicide detective when the Helter Skelter case came along. I met Manson, too. I talked to him. You know what he was, Captain? He was a scuzzball. A nothin’.”
“How’d he ever get so much power over all those young people?” the captain asked.
It was a rhetorical question. He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. Columbo only shook his head.
“Maybe you’d like to look at this,” said Captain Sczciegel, handing a file to Columbo. “That’s the Cathy Murphy file. It finally came down from Fontera. Read the personal statement she gave the prison psychologist.”
Columbo flipped through the pages: the usual stuff, the record of her arrests, her convictions, her sentences; then, the personal statement she had voluntarily given.
* * *
I was born in Lancaster, Ohio. My father was an insurance agent. My parents were very strict. They wouldn ’tlet me date. I had to go to church and Sunday school. I wanted to be a cheerleader or a majorette, but they wouldn’t let me. The majorettes’ skirts were too short, and the cheerleaders’ skirts flipped up when they jumped. Anyway, I’d be showing my legs. I started seeing a boy. It had to be a secret. When they found out, they just went ape!
I left home when I was seventeen years old. My boyfriend helped me, but he wasn’t willing to take off with me. He drove me to Columbus, and I caught a bus there for California. I’d stolen something like four hundred dollars out of the house, so I had enough money to get to California.
I came to L.A. first, but later I went up to San Francisco because I heard it was more fun up there. That’s where I met Charlie. I heard him sing. At first I just thought of him as a wonderful singer who wrote great songs. Then I found out who he is and what he is. Since then, Charlie has been my whole life. I’d do anything for him. I mean, I’d do anything for Charlie.
* * *
“Columbo,” said Captain Sczciegel, “the newspeople saw us recover the choker this morning. They’re gonna say it closes the case. We’ve going to have to charge Puss Dogood with murder. We’re gonna have heat.”
“We’ve had heat before,” said Columbo. “How many cases we have, we don’t get heat?”
3
“Hi-ya, Mike.”
Columbo walked up to the desk of Detective Sergeant Miguel Lopez. Lopez, who was younger than Columbo but had gray hair, stood up to shake hands.
“How’s it goin’, Columbo?”
“Tough,” said Columbo. “Always somethin’ tough. Maybe you can help me out a little.”
“Sure.”
“I got here a tape I’d like you to listen to,” said Columbo. He dug into his raincoat pocket and pulled out a Sony Walkman with the tape cartridge in place. “Tell me if Spanish is that person’s native language.”
Columbo started the tape, and Lopez leaned forward and listened intently. When he heard the words “Strange peoples there. Running around house. Not kind peoples Khourys invite their house,” he began to shake his head.
“That’s not a Spanish accent,” said Lopez.
“That’s not Spanish grammar transplanted to English. That’s an English-speaker faking an accent.”
“Hey, that’s just what 1 figured,” said Columbo. “I appreciate it, Mike.”
Twenty
1
Columbo arrived at the Khoury house about four. He had expected to find Mrs. Takeshi there and Yussef Khoury not yet home, and that was how it was.
She met him in the kitchen and invited him to sit down and have a cup of coffee.
“I have been hoping, Lieutenant, to hear that you have solved the mystery of the murder of Mrs. Khoury. It will be so much easier for Mr. Khoury when the case is closed.”
“I was hopin’ I could say that by now, too, ma’am. The more time goes by, the tougher it gets.”
“Isn’t it clear that the Manson types broke into this house and duplicated the Tate-LaBianca murders?” she asked, innocently and yet a little indignantly.
“Well, that looks clear enough until you try to put together the evidence to prove it,” Columbo said.
“I should have supposed that wouldn’t have been too very difficult.”
Columbo ran his hand through his hair. “So did I,” he said. “I wanted to ask you about that young woman, Melissa Mead. Just how did it happen she came to work here?”
“Mr. Khoury hired her. He told me she needed work and he felt sorry for her. From the day she arrived here, it was plain she would be worthless as a housemaid.”
“A graduate of Radcliffe,” said Columbo. “She’s a graduate of a girls’ prep school, then of Radcliffe. Housemaid work is not exactly what she was educated to do.”
“Oh, indeed? That explains a good deal,” said Mrs. Takeshi. “She simply wasn’t the type of person who does a job of work earnestly. I couldn’t understand her exactly. She said she needed the job, but she obviously wasn’t willing to do it.”
“What did Mrs. Khoury think of her?”
“Mrs. Khoury made some comment about Mr. Khoury hiring misfits to work for him. She told the girl one day that if she ever caught her smoking marijuana on the premises, she’d not only fire her but would call the police.”
Columbo sipped from his cup. In the Khoury household, even the coffee was exceptional. “How do you make good coffee like this, ma’am?”
“As Mr. Khoury prescribes,” she said. “The beans are from Jamaica. I grind them freshly each time I make a pot of coffee. What’s more, the measure must be exact. If I put in a teaspoon too much or too little, Mr. Khoury will taste the difference.”
“Mrs. Khoury?”
Mrs. Takeshi shrugged. “She’d have been content with Maxwell House Instant.”
Columbo smiled. “Mrs. Columbo makes pretty good coffee out of Eight O’Clock,” he said. “I think I’ll suggest she try grinding beans, though. Anyway, when this Mead girl came here to work, did you really need her?”
“No, not at all. Sergio was a good worker. We have a part-time gardener. I—I couldn’t see that we needed additional personnel to run this house.”
“She worked here about two weeks?” Columbo asked.
“That’s right. About that. Then things began to turn up missing.”
“Like what kind of things, ma’am?”
“Money, chiefly,” said Mrs. Takeshi. “Mr. Khoury was careless about leaving money in his bedroom, frankly. I myself once suggested to him that he install a wall safe. He just laughed. He said he never had more than one or two hundred dollars in the house and that he trusted me and Sergio. Then… money began to disappear. Little amounts… but several times.”
“How much money?” Columbo asked.
“Oh, I’d say not more than fifty or sixty dollars. Like… He would leave, say, a hundred fifty
dollars in his bureau drawer, and the next day he’d find a hundred ten or a hundred twenty. That happened twice or three times.”
“What else was stolen?”
“Well—” she said solemnly. “The big item was a sterling silver sugar and creamer on a sterling silver tray. Those disappeared from a glass-front cabinet in the dining room. When I saw they were missing, I called the police. They came. They searched Miss Mead’s car and found the items under the front seat. They arrested her and took her to jail. But Mr. Khoury did not want to press charges, and they were compelled to release her. Of course, she was not allowed to return here after that. Except—”
“Except?”
“I should think it is rather obvious she was here last Tuesday night. She had been in this house long enough to know the arrangement of rooms, the habits of the people who lived here, and how the alarm system worked.”
Columbo nodded. “Makes sense,” he said.
Mrs. Takeshi sighed. “Poor Mr. Khoury! He… authorized me to hire people to clean up the master-bedroom suite. Everything is being changed. The carpet has all been taken up and the drapes taken down. The walls are being repainted. All the furniture has been removed. I’ve bought, with his authority, all new furniture for both rooms.” She shook her head. “And likely as not, it will all have to be done again.”
“Oh? How come?” asked Columbo.
“Let’s not be coy, Lieutenant Columbo. I expect Miss Dana will be moving into the house before very long. I would not be surprised if she becomes the second Mrs. Khoury. I can only hope to keep my job. Mr. Khoury has promised to keep me, even if he sells this house and buys another one. But—You know how it can be.”
Columbo raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Has Miss Dana ever been in the house?” he asked.
Mrs. Takeshi shook her head. “Not to my knowledge. And I very much doubt it. Mr. Khoury has a pronounced sense of propriety.” She paused and lifted her chin. “As Mrs. Khoury didn’t, I’m afraid. As Mrs. Khoury didn’t.”
“Well, ma’am, I won’t take any more of your time. I sure do appreciate the coffee. Jamaican beans… ground each time you make a pot. I’m gonna tell Mrs. Columbo about that.”
Mrs. Takeshi nodded and smiled faintly. “Any time, Lieutenant,” she said.
He rose and walked toward the back door, with the intention of walking around the house as he left. “Thanks again, and—Oh. There is one more little thing I meant to ask. Uh… You know, whoever killed Mrs. Khoury and Mr. Heck and Sergio Flores stole a gold choker set with diamonds and emeralds, that Mr. Khoury paid $48,350 for. Did you think that necklace was worth that much money?”
“Lieutenant Columbo,” said Mrs. Takeshi, “Mr. Khoury has an excellent sense of values. If he paid that much for it, I’m sure it was worth every penny of it.”
“Well, I mean, when you looked at it, could you see that much value in it? Was it obvious it was worth a fortune?”
She shook her head. “I never saw it.”
“You never saw it?”
“There is nothing unusual in that. Mrs. Khoury kept her jewelry inside a special jewelry drawer. She was more careful of her jewelry than Mr. Khoury was of his cash. I never saw any of it.”
“But this piece is supposed to have been snatched off the bureau top, layin’ out in plain sight.”
“I never saw it, Lieutenant. I never saw any of Mrs. Khoury’s jewelry, except what she wore. When she had it on her, I saw it. Otherwise, I never saw it.”
“I see. Well, thank ya again, ma’am. I appreciate the talk and the coffee. I—Uh… Sorry. One more question comes to mind. Is it possible Melissa had a key to the house? And kept it?”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. When the police came, they suggested we change the locks, and I had a locksmith come here to do it the same day.”
2
Melissa Mead sat uncomfortably on a nubby green couch in the parlor of a motel suite. Though she was a thirty-four-year-old woman, she was dressed like a member of the girl’s field-hockey team at a private girls’ school in New England—that is, in a pleated plaid skirt and a white long-sleeved blouse with its collar fastened by a gold safety pin. She was smoking a cigarette, which did not look like something a member of a girl’s field-hockey team would do. She smoked hungrily, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs and blowing it out through her nose.
Her mother, Martha Bonner Mead, sat on the couch, too: a lofty, thin woman with professionally coiffed hair obviously kept blonde by chemicals. Her complexion was completely covered with some kind of makeup that unfortunately was so smooth it was shiny. She wore a lavender cashmere dress. Her back and shoulders were rigidly straight and her lips primly compressed.
Boobs’s father, Lloyd Mead, sat in a chair facing the couch. He was a square-faced man with steel-gray hair, looking something like The Businessman that used to appear in whisky ads.
The attorney, Earl Schob, sat in another chair. He puffed thoughtfully on his pipe.
Columbo sat on the straight chair behind a small table, wearing his raincoat.
Schob had left a message for him at headquarters that the Mead family would like to meet with him if at all possible. They wanted to take their daughter home and they wanted his assurance that he would not have her arrested again and held as a material witness.
“Whatever has given her the notion that she has any relationship whatsoever to Charles Manson is utterly beyond my comprehension,” said Mrs. Mead. “Why, she’s never met the man, never, corresponded with him, never—”
“You don’t have to meet him to love him,” said Boobs defiantly. “You talk about loving Christ. Did you ever meet Him?”
“There is more involved than that,” said Mrs. Mead coldly.
“The question is—” Schob interrupted. “The question is, can Melissa go home to Connecticut?”
“I want to ask her a few more questions,” said Columbo.
“What are my options?” asked Boobs. “Do I just have two: go back to jail or go to Connecticut?”
“Where do you want to go?” asked Mrs.Mead.
“Home,” said Boobs.
“To Connecticut—”
“No. My home. The little place I share with Squatty.”
“Lieutenant—?” asked Schob.
“The girl is obviously deranged,” said Mrs. Mead, not entirely successful in holding back her anger. “Can’t we force her to come home to Connecticut, Mr. Schob?”
“Not with my help, you can’t,” said Schob. “I was retained to be Melissa’s attorney. She’s thirty-four years old. She’s got some odd ideas, but I would resist on her behalf any effort to declare her incompetent. In any event, she’s a resident of the State of California. If she’s found incompetent, she’ll be committed to a California medical facility, for treatment.”
“This is outrageous…” the woman muttered. “It is simply outrageous.”
“The only charge against her is possession of a small amount of marijuana. Isn’t that right, Lieutenant Columbo?” asked Schob.
“That’s right,” said Columbo. “A misdemeanor.”
“And the grand theft charge from June is—”
“Dead,” said Columbo.
Boobs drew a deep breath. “Suppose I plead guilty to the possession, and suppose I can’t pay any fine. How much time will I have to do?”
Columbo shrugged. “What would you guess, Earl?” he asked Schob.
Schob, too, shrugged. “Thirty days, at most,” he said. “Probably not that.”
“Then I won’t owe anybody anything,” said Boobs. She sighed. “I can do it.” She turned to her mother and added, “I’ve been in jail before.”
Lloyd Mead spoke for the first time. “I don’t limit you to two options, Melissa,” he said. “I retained Mr. Schob to get you as light a penalty as possible, and I will pay your fine.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” Boobs whispered.
“I do suggest one thing,” Lloyd Mead went on. “I suggest you answer Lieutenant
Columbo’s questions. Honestly and completely. Then I propose we go to dinner. And if you want to go home, go home, to the place you share with… uh—”
“Squatty,” said Boobs. “Patricia Finch. You remember her. She was at Country Day with me.”
“Your mother and I will talk to you again tomorrow, before we leave,” said Lloyd Mead.
“Obviously I have no influence,” hissed Martha Mead.
“You haven’t for many years,” said Boobs. She turned toward Columbo. “What did you want to ask me?”
“You and Puss Dogood—”
“Puss Dogood!” interjected Martha Mead. “Who—or what—in the world is Puss Dogood?”
“Do you know what Melissa’s nickname is?” asked Schob.
“Do I want to know?”
“I doubt it, ma’am,” said Columbo. “Anyway, you and Puss contradict each other on one point,” he said to Boobs. “You say she got you the job at Khoury’s house. She says she doesn’t know you.”
“She thinks she’s a princess, because she got pregnant by Charlie,” said Boobs. “Kid and Bum think so, too. Charlie answers her letters. That makes her better than anybody else.”
“Is she lying, then?”
Boobs hesitated, then nodded.
“Who interviewed you before you went to work for the Khourys?”
“Nobody. Puss told me I had the job and all I had to do was go up there.”
Martha Mead swelled with indignation and asked, “Do you mean to say you went to work at these people’s house without so much as an interview? Without references?”
Boobs shrugged. “I told Puss I needed money, and she said she’d see if she could get me a job with the Khourys. And she did. Pretty soon she told me it was all set.”
“What day did you go to work?” Columbo asked.
“It was a Tuesday. I think it was probably May twenty-fourth.”
“And you were fired on—?”
“I was arrested on June tenth. That was a Friday.”
“Arrested!”
“And charged with theft,” said Boobs to her mother. “Oh, yes. Taken from the house in handcuffs.”
Columbo: The Helter Skelter Murders Page 18