Leopold's Way

by Edward D. Hoch

“Oh?” Dr. Ranger made his cut on the other side of the case and started to pry it apart. “Not that university professor I read about? Jones?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Any leads on who killed him?” The cast came off and Leopold stared down at his thick, scaly wrist. “Don’t move it,” Ranger cautioned. “This is only an inspection. We have to X-ray it.”

  “No leads,” Leopold said, flexing his fingers.

  Ranger carried the two parts of the discarded cast to the next room. “I’ll just take you in for X rays now.” He positioned Leopold under the machine, cautioning him again not to move his wrist. “You know, I knew Jones slightly. Hadn’t seen him for years, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Gray-haired fellow with glasses and a wart on his nose?”

  “That’s the fellow,” Leopold agreed.

  “I thought so. Met him once at a convention. That’s why I was interested in your progress on the case.” The machine hummed as the X rays were taken.

  “Couldn’t you just look at it through a fluoroscope?”

  “The pictures are a good record, and besides, you’re exposed to less radiation this way.” Ranger came out in a moment with the X rays. “You think it was a bandit that killed Jones?”

  “Probably. How does the arm look? Is the break healing OK?”

  The doctor clipped the film sheets to a lighted cabinet. “The fracture is still very much in evidence, but all this is new bone growth. I think we can put you in a plaster splint for a few weeks. It’ll be a lot easier on you than the cast.”

  Leopold followed him back to the examining room. “You mean it’s still not healed?”

  “Not yet, but I don’t think you can lose position. A splint to keep the wrist in place should be enough.” He produced a flat piece of fabric-covered plaster material and soaked it in hot water until it was malleable. “We’ll shape this against the bottom of the wrist for support. It’ll harden as it cools.” He began to wrap it with an elastic bandage.

  When he’d finished, Leopold got to his feet and stepped into the next room before Dr. Ranger could speak. “I’ll be wanting this cast you took off,” he said, reaching for the two pieces. “Just for a souvenir.”

  Dr. Ranger kept smiling. “Oh, I’m afraid that will be impossible,” he said, and stepped around Leopold and quickly yanked open a drawer of the supply cabinet.

  Leopold caught the glint of the pistol from the corner of his eye, and he swung the heavy cast as he turned, bringing it down hard on Ranger’s hand. The doctor gasped in pain and dropped the gun.

  “Hope I didn’t break it, Doctor,” he said, putting down the cast and drawing his own pistol. “Now, let’s talk about the murder of Dexter Jones.”

  Lieutenant Fletcher brought coffee, and placed it carefully on Leopold’s desk. “Do you want to explain it to me, Captain? Just how in hell did you know Doctor Ranger killed Jones?”

  “I suppose I didn’t know for sure until he tried to pull that gun. Murderers don’t seem to throw weapons in the river like they once did, Fletcher. But then I suppose he felt he was safe enough.”

  “But why did he kill Jones?”

  “You told me yourself that Ranger was paying alimony to two wives. The prospect of thirty or forty thousand looked awfully good to him, and when Jones threatened to blow the whistle about the stamp, Ranger had to kill him.”

  “The stamp? You mean the two-cent Hawaiian?” Leopold nodded. “But where was it?”

  Leopold held up half of his heavy plaster cast and pulled back the cotton lining a bit. “Right here, Fletcher. I’ve been carrying it around with me for four weeks without even knowing it.”

  “Inside the cast!” He stared at the old, crudely-printed stamp.

  “Remember how muddy my wrist was the night I fell and broke it? And remember how they found the loose stamps from Duke’s torn pocket on the ground? When I fell, this stamp in its little protective envelope just stuck to the mud on the underside of my broken wrist. I couldn’t feel it there through the pain and tightness, and I couldn’t turn my wrist to see it there. In the darkness, you never noticed it either. Dr. Ranger found it when he was wiping the mud away before setting the bones. As luck would have it, that one stamp was the most valuable of them all, but of course Ranger couldn’t know that then. I remember at the time he was sure the robbery was at Bailey’s, though I only said it was in the next block. He was so sure because he saw the postage stamp clinging to my arm.”

  “But why did he put it inside your cast?”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, of course. He saw that the stamp was a two-cent Hawaiian, and saw its design and color, but he couldn’t know it was so valuable. It might have been worth no more than five dollars. He didn’t want to keep it himself, to commit himself to the act of stealing it, until he knew more. But in case it was valuable, he certainly didn’t want just to give it to me. So he tucked it under the cotton lining for protection and poured the plaster cast over it. He knew I’d have to come back to him to get the cast removed, and by that time he’d know more. He could either keep the stamp then or destroy it or even pretend to ‘find’ it when he removed the cast.”

  “What about Jones?”

  “He called Jones to learn the stamp’s value, either because he remembered meeting him once or because the library referred him there. He could hardly call Bailey, after all. But Jones saw in the newspaper about the missing stamp, and he guessed the good doctor wasn’t asking a hypothetical question. At first he planned to help Ranger sell the stamp, but two things changed his mind. I came calling about the Jersey Devil stamp, which worried him, and then Corflu advised him to tell the police everything. When he told Ranger he was going to do that, the doctor saw his forty grand going out the window. Once we knew Ranger was involved, we’d suspect that I somehow brought the stamp to him with my broken wrist. So he went out to the university and killed Dexter Jones.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Just like that. I didn’t really start suspecting him, though, until this morning in his office. He said he’d known Jones years ago and he described him. He said Jones had a wart on his nose. It probably looked that way in the darkness of the parking lot, but it was really a burn he’d gotten the day I visited him. So I knew Ranger had seen him just before his death, and that he was lying about it for some reason. Then I remembered how he’d guessed the robbery was at Bailey’s that first night, and how he’d been quick to get the cast out of my sight after he removed it. I took a chance and asked to keep it. That’s when he really lost his cool and went for the gun.”

  “All that for a postage stamp,” Fletcher mused. “Well, at least the case is wrapped up, and you’ve got the cast off your arm, Captain.”

  Leopold reached out to touch it on the desk. “You know, I think I’ll miss it. There were times when it came in handy.”

  (1971)

  The Leopold Locked Room

  CAPTAIN LEOPOLD HAD NEVER spoken to anyone about his divorce, and it was a distinct surprise to Lieutenant Fletcher when he suddenly said, “Did I ever tell you about my wife, Fletcher?”

  They were just coming up from the police pistol range in the basement of headquarters after their monthly target practice, and it hardly seemed a likely time to be discussing past marital troubles. Fletcher glanced at him sideways and answered, “No, I guess you never did, Captain.”

  They had reached the top of the stairs and Leopold turned in to the little room where the coffee, sandwich, and soft-drink machines were kept. They called it the lunchroom, but only by the boldest stretch of the imagination could the little collection of tables and chairs qualify as such. Rather it was a place where off-duty cops could sit and chat, which was what Leopold and Fletcher were doing now.

  Fletcher bought the coffee and put the steaming paper cups on the table between them. He had never seen Leopold quite this open and personal before, anxious to talk about a life that had existed far beyond the limits of Fletcher’s friendship. “Sh
e’s coming back,” Leopold said simply, and it took Fletcher an instant to grasp the meaning of his words.

  “Your wife is coming back?”

  “My ex-wife.”

  “Here? What for?”

  Leopold sighed and played with the little bag of sugar that Fletcher had given him with his coffee. “Her niece is getting married. Our niece.”

  “I never knew you had one.”

  “She’s been away at college. Her name is Vicki Nelson, and she’s marrying a young lawyer named Moore. And Monica is coming back east for the wedding.”

  “I never even knew her name,” Fletcher observed, taking a sip of his coffee. “Haven’t you seen her since the divorce?”

  Leopold shook his head. “Not for fifteen years. It was a funny thing. She wanted to be a movie star, and I guess fifteen years ago lots of girls still thought about being movie stars. Monica was intelligent and very pretty—but probably no prettier than hundreds of other girls who used to turn up in Hollywood every year back in those days. I was just starting on the police force then, and the future looked pretty bright for me here. It would have been foolish of me to toss up everything just to chase her wild dream out to California. Well, pretty soon it got to be an obsession with her, really bad. She’d spend her afternoons in movie theaters and her evenings watching old films on television. Finally, when I still refused to go west with her, she just left me.”

  “Just walked out?”

  Leopold nodded. “It was a blessing, really, that we didn’t have children. I heard she got a few minor jobs out there—as an extra, and some technical stuff behind the scenes. Then apparently she had a nervous breakdown. About a year later I received the official word that she’d divorced me. I heard that she recovered and was back working, and I think she had another marriage that didn’t work out.”

  “Why would she come back for the wedding?”

  “Vicki is her niece and also her godchild. We were just married when Vicki was born, and I suppose Monica might consider her the child we never had. In any event, I know she still hates me, and blames me for everything that’s gone wrong with her life. She told a friend once a few years ago she wished I were dead.”

  “Do you have to go to this wedding, too, Captain?”

  “Of course. If I stayed away it would be only because of her. At least I have to drop by the reception for a few minutes.” Leopold smiled ruefully. “I guess that’s why I’m telling you all this, Fletcher. I want a favor from you.”

  “Anything, Captain. You know that.”

  “I know it seems like a childish thing to do, but I’d like you to come out there with me. I’ll tell them I’m working, and that I can only stay for a few minutes. You can wait outside in the car if you want. At least they’ll see you there and believe my excuse.”

  Fletcher could see the importance of it to Leopold, and the effort that had gone into the asking. “Sure,” he said. “Be glad to. When is it?”

  “This Saturday. The reception’s in the afternoon, at Sunset Farms.”

  Leopold had been to Sunset Farms only once before, at the wedding of a patrolman whom he’d especially liked. It was a low rambling place at the end of a paved driveway, overlooking a wooded valley and a gently flowing creek. If it had ever been a farm, that day was long past; but for wedding receptions and retirement parties it was the ideal place. The interior of the main building was, in reality, one huge square room, divided by accordion doors to make up to four smaller square rooms.

  For the wedding of Vicki Nelson and Ted Moore three-quarters of the large room was in use, with only the last set of accordion doors pulled shut its entire width and locked. The wedding party occupied a head table along one wall, with smaller tables scattered around the room for the families and friends. When Leopold entered the place at five minutes of two on Saturday afternoon, the hired combo was just beginning to play music for dancing.

  He watched for a moment while Vicki stood, radiant, and allowed her new husband to escort her to the center of the floor. Ted Moore was a bit older than Leopold had expected, but as the pair glided slowly across the floor, he could find no visible fault with the match. He helped himself to a glass of champagne punch and stood ready to intercept them as they left the dance floor.

  “It’s Captain Leopold, isn’t it?” someone asked. A face from his past loomed up, a tired man with a gold tooth in the front of his smile. “I’m Immy Fontaine, Monica’s stepbrother.”

  “Sure,” Leopold said, as if he’d remembered the man all along. Monica had rarely mentioned Immy, and Leopold recalled meeting him once or twice at family gatherings. But the sight of him now, gold tooth and all, reminded Leopold that Monica was somewhere nearby, that he might confront her at any moment.

  “We’re so glad you could come,” someone else said, and he turned to greet the bride and groom as they came off the dance floor. Up close, Vicki was a truly beautiful girl, clinging to her new husband’s arm like a proper bride.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” he said.

  “This is Ted,” she said, making the introductions. Leopold shook his hand, silently approving the firm grip and friendly eyes.

  “I understand you’re a lawyer,” Leopold said, making conversation.

  “That’s right, sir. Mostly civil cases, though. I don’t tangle much with criminals.”

  They chatted for a few more seconds before the pressure of guests broke them apart. The luncheon was about to be served, and the more hungry ones were already lining up at the buffet tables. Vicki and Ted went over to start the line, and Leopold took another glass of champagne punch.

  “I see the car waiting outside,” Immy Fontaine said, moving in again. “You got to go on duty?”

  Leopold nodded. “Just this glass and I have to leave.”

  “Monica’s in from the west coast.”

  “So I heard.”

  A slim man with a mustache jostled against him in the crush of the crowd and hastily apologized. Fontaine seized the man by the arm and introduced him to Leopold. “This here’s Dr. Felix Thursby. He came east with Monica. Doc, I want you to meet Captain Leopold, her ex-husband.”

  Leopold shook hands awkwardly, embarrassed for the man and for himself. “A fine wedding,” he mumbled. “Your first trip east?”

  Thursby shook his head. “I’m from New York. Long ago.”

  “I was on the police force there once,” Leopold remarked.

  They chatted for a few more minutes before Leopold managed to edge away through the crowd.

  “Leaving so soon?” a harsh unforgettable voice asked.

  “Hello, Monica. It’s been a long time.”

  He stared down at the handsome, middle-aged woman who now blocked his path to the door. She had gained a little weight, especially in the bosom, and her hair was graying. Only the eyes startled him, and frightened him just a bit. They had the intense wild look he’d seen before on the faces of deranged criminals.

  “I didn’t think you’d come. I thought you’d be afraid of me,” she said.

  “That’s foolish. Why should I be afraid of you?”

  The music had started again, and the line from the buffet tables was beginning to snake lazily about the room. But for Leopold and Monica they might have been alone in the middle of a desert.

  “Come in here,” she said, “where we can talk.” She motioned toward the end of the room that had been cut off by the accordion doors. Leopold followed her, helpless to do anything else. She unlocked the doors and pulled them apart, just wide enough for them to enter the unused quarter of the large room. Then she closed and locked the doors behind them, and stood facing him. They were two people, alone in a bare unfurnished room.

  They were in an area about thirty feet square, with the windows at the far end and the locked accordion doors at Leopold’s back. He could see the afternoon sun cutting through the trees outside, and the gentle hum of the air conditioner came through above the subdued murmur of the wedding guests.

&n
bsp; “Remember the day we got married?” she asked.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  She walked to the middle window, running her fingers along the frame, perhaps looking for the latch to open it. But it stayed closed as she faced him again. “Our marriage was as drab and barren as this room. Lifeless, unused!”

  “Heaven knows I always wanted children, Monica.”

  “You wanted nothing but your damned police work!” she shot back, eyes flashing as her anger built.

  “Look, I have to go. I have a man waiting in the car.”

  “Go! That’s what you did before, wasn’t it? Go, go! Go out to your damned job and leave me to struggle for myself. Leave me to—”

  “You walked out on me, Monica. Remember?” he reminded her softly. She was so defenseless, without even a purse to swing at him.

  “Sure I did! Because I had a career waiting for me! I had all the world waiting for me! And you know what happened because you wouldn’t come along? You know what happened to me out there? They took my money and my self-respect and what virtue I had left. They made me into a tramp, and when they were done they locked me up in a mental hospital for three years. Three years!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Every day while I was there I thought about you. I thought about how it would be when I got out. Oh, I thought. And planned. And schemed. You’re a big detective now. Sometimes your cases even get reported in the California papers.” She was pacing back and forth, caged, dangerous. “Big detective. But I can still destroy you just as you destroyed me!”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the locked accordion doors, seeking a way out. It was a thousand times worse than he’d imagined it would be. She was mad—mad and vengeful and terribly dangerous. “You should see a doctor, Monica.”

  Her eyes closed to mere slits. “I’ve seen doctors.” Now she paused before the middle window, facing him. “I came all the way east for this day, because I thought you’d be here. It’s so much better than your apartment, or your office, or a city street. There are one hundred and fifty witnesses on the other side of those doors.”