Leopold's Way

by Edward D. Hoch

  “Let me do the talking for a minute. Where’ve you been?”

  “Following a lead. Do you know that old Mrs. Peachtree had a male visitor out there almost every Sunday? And do you know who that male visitor was?”

  Leopold couldn’t resist a smile. “Mayor Carter?”

  Fletcher was thunderstruck. “How in hell did you know that?”

  “The phone’s been ringing.”

  “You mean that fag, Bingham? Has he been calling here?”

  “I think he’s after your scalp, Fletcher. Sit down and cool off. Now, who told you about Mayor Carter?”

  “The nurse who found the body, Naomi Morgan.”

  “First names already? What will Mrs. Fletcher say?”

  “Nuts, Captain! Be serious for a minute. I’m burned about this. Nurse Morgan identified the weekly visitor as Mayor Carter, and that certainly seemed like reason enough to ask him a few questions.”

  Leopold scowled and said nothing for a moment. He wanted to back Fletcher, but he had to admit that the sergeant might be overstepping his authority. Finally, reluctantly, he asked, “You can’t really think Carter’s involved, can you? Do you imagine he sneaked out there in the dead of night, got into the building without being seen, found the knife in the kitchen, and went up to her room and killed her like that?”

  Fletcher shifted his feet. “If he’s so innocent, why won’t he answer a few questions?”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Leopold said with a sigh. “You just cool off.”

  He hadn’t liked the case from the beginning, and he was liking it less all the time.

  It was the following morning before Leopold managed to get an appointment with Mayor Carter. During the night, a number of routine events had taken place. The murder weapon had been definitely traced to the kitchen of the Athanasia League building, which seemed to indicate that the killing was an inside job. Balancing this, however, was evidence that a door in the rear of the building had a broken pane of glass near the knob. Someone could have entered from outside—or a clever murderer within the building might have wanted it to look that way.

  Also on Leopold’s desk that morning was the autopsy report, the pages of technically-worded jargon that marked the end of a life in the most impersonal terms. A single wound, straight to the heart, had killed Helen Peachtree, and the knife had been left in the wound. She’d died somewhere around four in the morning, as nearly as could be determined, and there were no signs of a struggle, none of the scratches or bruises one often found on the skin of murder victims. He’d simply entered the room (if indeed it was a “he”) and killed her. Perhaps she’d awakened in the final moments, since her body was on top of the covers, but she’d offered no resistance.

  Leopold took it all with him to Mayor Carter’s office, mulling the facts in his mind, but before he could see the mayor he had to confront Jim Bingham, executive assistant and general hatchet man.

  Bingham was tall and smirking, just enough of a dandy in his way to bring forth the epithet “fag” from the usually easygoing Fletcher. He’d been Carter’s assistant for two years, and made few friends around City Hall in that period. Leopold hardly knew the man, but couldn’t really say he liked him. “You’re Leopold,” Bingham said now by way of greeting, glancing up from his desk with only moderate interest.

  “That’s right. I called for an appointment with Mayor Carter.”

  Bingham put on his favorite smirk. “I’m glad to see the Homicide Squad has acquired some manners since yesterday.”

  “Sergeant Fletcher was doing his job.”

  Bingham blinked and took his time about answering, searching out just the right words. “I was on the phone to the police commissioner this morning, Captain. Fletcher is one of two men in line for that lieutenancy.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s not going to get it like this.”

  Leopold, angered, tried to keep his voice under control. “You’d penalize a man for doing his job and promote someone like Gibson?”

  “It’s the commissioner’s decision,” Bingham answered with a shrug. “We occasionally give him suggestions, though.”

  “I want to see Carter,” Leopold said. He could feel the angry flush on his face.

  “And so you will. This way.”

  Jim Bingham led the way into Mayor Carter’s office, an ornate but businesslike room that looked down on the city’s Civic Center Plaza. The mayor was in his chair, a man of sixty-odd years who seemed extremely vulnerable at that moment. He was a good speaker and probably an honest man, but Leopold had never voted for him.

  “Have a seat, Captain,” he said. “I’m sorry about yesterday’s misunderstanding with Sergeant Fletcher.”

  Leopold sat down, and noticed that Bingham did likewise. The mayor was not to be left alone with his inquisitor. “I understand, sir, that you were acquainted with Mrs. Peachtree, the murdered woman.”

  Mayor Carter leaned back in his swivel chair. “Oh my, yes! I knew her late husband, of course, and I advised her on some financial matters following his death.”

  “Did you advise her about joining the Athanasia League?”

  The mayor sighed. “I frankly believe that Raymond Libby is nothing but a con man, prying money out of aging people afraid to face the prospect of death. We’ve investigated him, and we’ll continue to investigate him. However, his literature on the League is worded in such a way that it’s difficult to prove fraud. He doesn’t actually promise eternal life, only—as he puts it—the pursuit of a deathless condition.” The mayor sighed. “Unfortunately, for women like Helen, that is enough.”

  “There must be some way for the law to close him down.”

  “His treatment is only part of the League’s function. At times it takes on many of the aspects of a religious cult, and that’s where we’re on dangerous ground trying to close him. Besides, it’s difficult to shut him down when two dozen League members sing his praises. I think our best bet is to catch him practicing medicine without a license. He gives treatments, therapy, occasional blood transfusions. That may be his weak point.”

  Leopold nodded. The interview was going smoother than he’d expected, but now he reached the crucial part. “What about the dead woman? I understand you visited her there every Sunday.”

  Mayor Carter smiled. “I may have missed a few. But I was the only one she had in the world. I felt I owed it to her, and to her late husband.”

  “If it’s as simple as all that, why did you refuse to see Fletcher yesterday?”

  “Because he approached Jim as if I were a suspect of some sort, as if I might have killed her. Good heavens, man, you can’t believe that! Only some sort of monster would want to kill a woman as kind and gentle as Helen!”

  “Is there anything in the past, Mayor, that might have produced a motive for her murder? Some long-forgotten political scandal?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “And she never indicated to you any fear for her life?”

  “Captain, she joined the Athanasia League because she feared for her life. But it wasn’t violence she feared, only old age.”

  “All right,” Leopold said, rising from his chair. “I may want to talk with you again.”

  “Any time, Captain.”

  Jim Bingham showed him out, all smiles and handshakes. Leopold couldn’t help feeling that he’d been conned by a smooth-talking politician.

  He drove back to the Athanasia League to talk with Nurse Morgan, who’d found the body. She was still as slim and pink-cheeked as when Leopold had first seen her, but now, knowing she answered to the somewhat exotic name of Naomi, he viewed her in a new light.

  “You have a nice first name,” he said, trying to ease her obvious nervousness.

  “Naomi was the mother-in-law of Ruth, in the Bible. My mother gave us all biblical names.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it in the biblical sense.”

  “No one ever does,” she said, brushing the wisps of blonde hair from her eyes.

&
nbsp; “You found the body. Tell me about it.”

  “I told it all yesterday. She didn’t come to breakfast and I went to check on her. I found her like that. I called Dr. Libby at once.”

  “Does Dr. Libby give medical treatment here?”

  “Not really. Nothing that’s against the law. The prospectus for the League explains that he’s not a medical doctor.”

  “He thinks of everything, doesn’t he?”

  She shot him a look of mild contempt. “Dr. Libby is performing a great work here. He’s giving these people hope.”

  “An empty hope.”

  “But it is hope, nevertheless.”

  “What about Mrs. Peachtree? Was she happy here? Or, perhaps, did she threaten to leave?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Did Libby kill her to keep her from leaving?”

  “Dr. Libby wouldn’t hurt a fly! He’s keeping these people alive, not killing them! Mrs. Peachtree was happy here, just like everyone else. There was no thought of leaving.”

  “What about David Riley? She was friendly with him. Might he have killed her?”

  “Your friends don’t kill you,” Nurse Morgan answered firmly.

  “Unfortunately, they often do.”

  “That’s a cynical view of the world.”

  “Cops are often cynics,” he admitted. “She had a visitor every Sunday. You know about that?”

  “Yes. It was the mayor. I told Sergeant Fletcher.”

  “David Riley told me he didn’t know the visitor.”

  “Maybe he didn’t. I knew him. I saw his picture enough at election time.”

  “Did you ever see them fight or argue about anything?”

  “Certainly not! Mrs. Peachtree was a gentle old lady. She never raised her voice.”

  “Who would have killed someone like that?”

  Naomi Morgan raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Nobody. Mrs. Peachtree didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

  Dr. Libby entered the room where they were talking. His beard was neatly trimmed and his eyes were as sharp as ever, but there was a certain unsteadiness about him. Leopold wondered if he’d been drinking. “Captain, there’s a phone call for you. They said it was urgent.”

  “All right,” Leopold said with a sigh. “Thank you, Miss Morgan. I may want to continue this later.” He rose and followed Libby down the hall to his office. “How are the other patients taking it?” he asked the bearded man.

  “As well as I could expect. We’re all convinced it was an outsider, a burglar.”

  “But nothing was taken.”

  “Perhaps the act of killing frightened him away.”

  They turned into Libby’s office. “What will you do with Mrs. Peach-tree’s money? I understand she left no relatives.”

  “It will be given to charity, as she suggested. I believe she has a will to that effect. You must realize, Captain, that I want no personal financial gain from the League.”

  “Sure. It’s like a religion to you,” Leopold said sarcastically.

  “Exactly. And I wish you wouldn’t use that cynical tone of voice.”

  Leopold grunted and picked up the phone. Fletcher’s voice came to him, bleak and agitated. “I’m afraid there’s trouble, Captain. I thought you’d want to hear it first from me.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I dug out some old information on a scandal back in Mayor Peachtree’s day, something which might have implicated his wife and Carter. I went to Carter’s office about it and had a little scuffle with Bingham.”

  “How bad a scuffle?”

  “He pushed me and I pushed back. He fell down.”

  “Stay in my office. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  When Leopold arrived, Tommy Gibson was lounging near the door to Leopold’s office, casually smoking a cigarette while he glanced over some reports. “I hear your boy’s in big trouble this time, Captain. Guess I’ll be moving over here when the promotions come through.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Leopold growled.

  He slammed his office door and faced Sergeant Fletcher. “Now tell me what in hell you did.”

  Fletcher shifted uneasily in his chair. “It happened about eighteen years ago, when Peachtree was mayor. You said yesterday you thought you remembered some old scandal.”

  “What was it?”

  “Helen Peachtree had a brother in the trucking business. His partner was the present Mayor Carter. They were one of the first truck-leasing firms in the east, and they leased trucks to the city for garbage pickup, extra ones for when the city trucks needed repairs.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, there was some scandal about it. The city was paying more than they should have, and they were paying for trucks they never even saw. Just about that time, Helen Peachtree’s brother died of cancer, and the blame got put on him. Carter stayed in the clear.”

  “You think the old lady decided to tell the truth now, and Carter killed her? We’re back to him sneaking around at night with a knife, and somehow I don’t buy that.”

  “How about Bingham, then?” Fletcher suggested. “He does all the mayor’s other dirty work.”

  Leopold shook his head. “I’d like it for your sake, Fletcher. It would get you off the hook. But I still don’t buy it. Why would she decide to talk now, after all these years?”

  “She was getting old, thinking about dying.”

  “Not in a place like the Athanasia League, she wasn’t.”

  The telephone rang, and Leopold knew before he answered that it would be trouble. “Yes?”

  “This is Mayor Carter, Captain.”

  “Oh, yes, Mayor.”

  “In the event you haven’t heard the news, your Sergeant Fletcher assaulted Jim Bingham in my office this afternoon, only a few hours after you offered me your assurances that—”

  “I offered you no assurances, Mayor, except perhaps that I’d solve this case.”

  “Are you going to bring departmental charges against Fletcher?”

  “I understand it was only a shoving match, and that Bingham shoved first. You have my personal apologies, Mayor, but there will be no charges against Fletcher.”

  The line was silent for the space of several heartbeats. Then Carter said, “He’s up for promotion, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can tell him to forget about that.”

  “A civil service test, Mayor? If his score is higher than Tommy Gibson’s—”

  “Personal conduct affects the choice, as you well know, Captain.”

  Leopold stared bleakly across the desk at Fletcher. Somehow he couldn’t imagine feeling the same close companionship toward Gibson and his two-bit chiseling. “What about the trucking scandal, Mayor?”

  “That’s old hat. Helen’s brother was fully responsible. I was only a silent partner and had no management responsibilities. Someone tried to bring it up when I ran for mayor the first time, and he was laughed out of the newspapers. My hands are clean, Captain.”

  “Still, you wouldn’t want the talk revived.”

  “Why should it be revived?”

  “Look,” Leopold said, dropping his voice a notch, “keep Bingham under control and give me another twenty-four hours on the case. If I crack it, and everyone’s happy, then we’ll talk about Fletcher’s promotion.”

  Carter hesitated, then answered, “Fair enough—but keep him the hell away from here or I’ll have him back pounding a beat!”

  Leopold hung up and faced Fletcher. “I’ve got you off the hook for the moment at any rate.”

  “Thanks, Captain.”

  “Now, all I have to do is find Helen Peachtree’s killer by tomorrow.”

  Leopold went back to the Athanasia League in the morning, strolling along the sunlit walks among the residents and the nurses. He had to admit there was a hopefulness here, a sense of joy he’d never seen in a rest home or the county hospital. Perhaps they really did think they�
��d live forever. If so, Dr. Libby had accomplished something after all.

  Leopold paused beside the bench where David Riley sat reading the morning newspaper. “May I join you?”

  The old eyes came up to meet his. “Certainly, Captain. Good to see you again. How’s the investigation progressing?”

  “I’m wrapping it up today.”

  “You know who killed Helen?”

  Leopold didn’t answer at once. He let the gentle morning breeze play across his face. It was almost enough to make any man feel young again, feel the terrible longings of immortality. “It was the motive that had me stumped, and it still has me stumped to some extent. But I got to thinking about a story I read once, along time ago. It was called The Suicide Club, and it was written by Robert Louis Stevenson. Have you ever read it?”

  David Riley smiled, brushing back his thin white hair. “You think we came here to commit suicide? You think we meet by midnight and draw straws, or have a lottery like in that Shirley Jackson story? Helen Peachtree lost, so she was the first to die?”

  Stated in the cold light of morning, the idea was foolish, and Leopold looked away. “We have to consider everything,” he said.

  “There is no suicide club, Captain, nor any midnight lottery of old people. The Athanasia League was founded for life, not death. I told you the other day that I thought Libby was a quack, but he’s a sincere quack. He lives off the interest from the money people bring, and in return we get a little joy, a little hope. I like it here. I hope you won’t try to change it.”

  “Mr. Riley, I asked you a question the other day. I’ll ask it again. Who killed Helen Peachtree?”

  A shadow crossed the old man’s face. Some of the vigor seemed to drain from his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he answered finally. “But I miss her.”

  Leopold walked along a bit further, until he found Nurse Morgan playing chess with an elderly man. She saw him coming and excused herself to join him. “I thought you might have more questions,” she said.

  “Only one, really.”

  She eyed him shyly. “What’s that?”

  “When we arrived the other day, your uniform was spotless, yet the room was covered with blood. There was blood everywhere. Why wasn’t there any on your uniform?”