by Kip Chase
‘Jeanie’, Pat breathed softly.
‘Yes, Jeanie. But it was a secret affair, because Jeanie had a paying boy friend, Jack Christie. If Jack got wind of it, he might cut off the presents.’
Pat shook her head decisively. ‘You’re wrong there, Carmichael. Jeanie didn’t give a damn for Christie; she would have been glad to be rid of him. More likely, it was Tony who wanted to keep the thing quiet. There’s a small-town atmosphere around here, and if the word got back to Jennifer, she might not have taken too kindly to the idea.’
Carmichael stroked his chin reflectively. ‘Hmmm, you may be right, at that. Anyway, while Tony is sleeping it off the next morning, the girl – snooping around as girls will – finds the note. She doesn’t understand it, of course, because news of the murder isn’t out yet, but she naturally figures it might be worth something, so she sticks it in her purse. When she does hear of the killing, she probably still didn’t grasp the significance of the note, but her hours are numbered anyway. Tony finds the note missing, figures Jeanie is the only person who could have it. He meets her after work, they take a little walk, and Jeanie does an assisted swan-dive off the Hermosa pier.’ The old man expelled a long sigh. There was a moment of silence, broken by Pat’s thoughtful voice.
‘Now, just a minute, Carmichael. You say Tony’s original plan was to make it appear Goodall had committed suicide and nobody had been in the room, right?’
‘Right.’
‘But what about the holes in the safe? When the guard discovered the body later on, he couldn’t help but notice them.’
‘Ah, yes, the holes in the safe. Now, there are several ways to open a locked safe. All involve getting at the lock, naturally, since this is the weakest part of the structure. There are several things you can do to a lock: blow it apart with explosives, or if it’s an old-fashioned lock a real professional can spin the dial and get the combination by listening to the tumblers fall. I recall to mind a gentleman who used a doctor’s stethoscope for this purpose. Then there’s the simplest way – drill holes all the way through the safe around the lock, then punch the lock out. Tony used a modification of this system. Except, because he was working from the inside, it wasn’t necessary to drill all the way around. He could see where the lock was supported against the inside of the safe door and he could just drill out the supports, which only took two holes. And with the supports gone, it wasn’t necessary to remove the lock completely; all he had to do was to turn the lock so that the bar holding the safe door was disengaged and the door would open. On a modern safe there are multiple bars holding the door all the way around. But this one was old and simple. Which gave him another advantage he needed. Working it the way he did, it was possible to turn the lock back to its original position and everything would be normal, except, of course, for the holes. And if one could plug up the holes with something, the safe would give the appearance of complete normality. You know that work bench along one side of the office? There were two items that weren’t on the storage shelves but were on the bench – a tin of plastic wood and a tin of black enamel. I don’t think it was coincidence they were available. Tony planned to fill up the holes with the plastic wood, then paint over the wood with the quick-drying enamel. There would be no strength to the safe lock supports, of course, but it would look all right. Someone might notice the fresh paint and discover the holes, but it was just another chance to take. He figured the suicide would be so obvious there wouldn’t be much of an investigation. He could have the lock repaired later at his convenience.’ Carmichael drained the last of his water. ‘Well, George, what do you think of the story?’
‘I think it’s fantastic’, George said.
‘Yes, that’s the word for it’, Carmichael agreed promptly. ‘But do you believe it?’
George answered slowly, speculatively, ‘Yes, I do. Everything fits. All the facts, and the character of the man. Damn it, it’s a rotten mess. What happens now, Carmichael?’
‘That’s why I’m here. I think I’m right, Horowitz thinks I’m right, and you think I’m right, but let’s take a look at the hard, cold evidence. The theory I’ve given you is just that – a theory. True, it’s supported by the bits and pieces of facts. And we got on the right track – we’re collecting more bits and pieces. We had Jennifer down to the station – worked her over pretty hard, I’m afraid – but she finally confirmed what we suspected – that she and Tony were secretly engaged. Also, we got some of the lab men up early this morning. They disconnected the drain pipe going out from the office at the Gallery. Then they flushed out the drain through a fine filter, analysed the sediment in the filter, and found bits of coffee mixed with sodium amytal. So, it’s all shaping up. We’ll probably turn up the chemist that sold Tony the drug, and I’m sure we can prove Jeanie was his girl friend – they couldn’t have been that careful. But it isn’t a case. I don’t think so and what’s more important, the D.A. doesn’t think so. That’s where you come in, George.’
George stared coldly at the old man. ‘You want me to talk him into turning himself in’, he said.
‘That’s right. Well?’
‘That’s a hell of a thing to ask.’
Horowitz, silent all through Carmichael’s explanation, now broke in explosively, ‘Damn it, man, Ortega is a killer. Two innocent people have died. There could be more. Are you going to let him run loose?’
George glared back at the detective. ‘Lieutenant, do you have any idea what it means to owe your life to somebody?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Horowitz shot back, ‘and I can tell you . . .’
‘Now, Carl,’ Carmichael broke in soothingly, ‘let’s keep this discussion reasonable.’ The old man turned to George. ‘We realize how you feel, George, but when you come right down to it, Carl is right. The ugly, brutal fact is the man is a killer with no conscience. He cold-bloodedly, and with premeditation took the lives of those people. Will your conscience allow you to let that man live in society?’
‘I don’t know’, George answered slowly. ‘I don’t know . . . Exactly what do you want me to do?’
Carmichael hunched forward. ‘Talk to Tony. Tell him we have been to see you and we know he did it. Explain it to him just the way I have to you. Then tell him we’ll get him eventually anyway, but if he gives himself up now the District Attorney will absolutely guarantee he won’t go to the gas chamber.’
‘How can he do that? Let him plead to a lesser charge?’
‘No, it’ll have to be first-degree, but the D.A. won’t ask for the death sentence.’
George looked puzzled. ‘But I thought the jury determined the penalty.’
‘If he gives himself up and signs a confession, then waives a jury trial, he’ll be sentenced by the judge. The judge will go along with the prosecutor’s recommendation.’
‘But what you want me to tell him isn’t true. You want me to say you’ll get him eventually anyway, and you said yourself you had no case.’
Carmichael shrugged. ‘Well, let’s say it’s half true. We might get him anyway on Jeanie’s murder. Could be a witness will turn up, or additional evidence. How about it, George?’
For a long moment, George stared blankly at the floor. Pat reached across the couch and put her hand on her husband’s arm. ‘George,’ she said, ‘do you really have any choice?’
George stood up slowly; his face was pale and both his hands were clenched in tight fists. ‘I don’t think he’ll go for it. I think I know him that well. But I guess I have to try. Where do you want me to tell him to go?’
Horowitz answered quickly, ‘Sheriff’s Sub-station on Torrance Boulevard. We’ll be waiting.’
George nodded grimly and walked out on the porch, closing the screen door gently behind him.
As she watched her husband leave, Pat’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He’ll never get over it,’ she said, her voice husky, ‘never’.
Horowitz shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Suddenly the girl’s eyes widened in fright. ‘You don’t think
,’ she gasped, ‘that Tony would ...’
‘No’, Carmichael said quickly. ‘If Tony knows the police are on to him, that’s the last thing he’d do. I’m sorry, Pat, very sorry. For Tony and for George. Well, Carl, let’s go.’
Slowly, Carmichael wheeled himself towards the door.
Seventeen
FOR ONCE, the city editors told themselves with satisfaction, the evening TV newscasters hadn’t scooped them. The story had broken about two A.M., after the stations had shut down. The morning dailies got the sixty point black headlines and plenty of details.
It was noon, long after Tony’s body had been carted off to the county morgue, tagged and shelved, when the phone rang in Carmichael’s home. The old man beat his daughter to the phone by a good two feet.
‘George Craig here, Carmichael. Pat and I are holed up in a motel in Malibu. We thought we’d try and get some sleep tonight, then head north for a week or so until this thing dies down. We couldn’t take the reporters so we lit out.’
‘You’ll have to face them sooner or later, son. It might as well be now’, Carmichael advised.
‘I think I’d rather make it later.’ Despite the distortions of the phone, George’s voice sounded fatigued and strained. ‘Anyway, I thought I better let you know where we were. Is there any reason I have to stick around? For the inquest, or to sign anything?’
‘Nope. Oh, wait a minute. I guess maybe we ought to have your testimony for the police inquiry. We always have to have one when somebody gets killed, though in this case it’s just a formality. Should have your statement, though, just to be safe.’
‘Oh Christ, can’t it wait, Carmichael?’
‘Might better get it out of the way, George. Then you can leave. No reason for you to come into town, though. We can take the deposition at the Malibu station. I’ll call and make the arrangements. You know where it is, on 101?’
‘Yeah, I know. What time?’
‘Oh, say an hour from now. One o’clock.’
‘Okay,’ George said with resignation, ‘I’ll be there.’
When Carmichael turned off into the driveway of the Malibu Sheriff’s Station he noted George’s metallic-blue Volkswagen already parked in the lot. Inside the building, Carmichael identified himself and was directed to a small room down the hall. George, a secretary with shorthand pad in hand, and a bored-looking deputy were crowded into the room. Carmichael nodded his greetings to the group and squeezed his chair between a wall and the typist’s chair.
‘Ready, miss?’ he asked genially. The girl nodded. The old man turned to George. ‘All right, George, let’s begin when you arrived at Tony’s place. What time was it?’
‘I went straight there after talking to you at my house. I must have arrived there about midnight.’
‘Go on, just tell everything that happened.’
George swallowed hard. ‘Well, Tony let me in. Before I had a chance to say much of anything he asked me if I wanted a drink. I said yes, and I wasn’t kidding, I really did. He mixed a couple of drinks and we sat down. He looked so relaxed and cheerful . . .’ George stopped talking, licked his lips and continued, ‘Well, I just told him the whole story. Do I have to go through that again, Carmichael?’
Carmichael shook his head. ‘That isn’t necessary. You told him the police knew he killed Goodall and the girl and you wanted him to turn himself in, is that right?’
‘That’s it. With the details. Well, it was funny. At first he didn’t say anything. He just sat there with this odd look on his face, sloshing the ice around in his glass. Finally, he said, “What do you think, George?” I don’t know what I answered, just mumbled something; but I knew he could tell what I thought. Finally he reached over and put his shoes on – he’d been wearing slippers – I asked him what he was doing. He didn’t say anything. Then he went into the bedroom. When he came out he was pulling on a jacket – and he had a gun in his hand. I asked him again what he was going to do. He still didn’t say anything, just kept looking at me with that funny look. He started out of the door, then he turned and he said, “Well, it was a hell of a good idea.” Then he just left. I started to go after him, then I stopped. I knew there wasn’t anything I could do. Then I looked out of the window. I saw a man leaning in a doorway. He was wearing a sportshirt and I didn’t think much of it. Then when Tony came out of the building, I saw the man straighten up and pull a gun out. The window was open and I yelled, “Look out, Tony.” Tony pulled the gun out and whirled around. The man shouted, “We’re policemen. Drop the gun, Ortega.” Tony threw himself down flat on the sidewalk and started firing. Another man I hadn’t seen started firing from another doorway. I saw Tony’s body jerk when one of the bullets hit him. Then I saw it jerk again. Then the shooting stopped. By the time I got down there the two men were kneeling over him. Tony was dead.’