“And last night, did you hear anything when the insurance agent was knifed on the lawn?”
Laughlin tried to cover his flinch by taking a long drag on his cigarette. He shook his head, wincing again. “Nah. I had the radio going and was dead to the world early on.”
Perhaps thinking the word “dead” inappropriate under the circumstances, he added quickly, “I meant I turned in ‘bout eight or nine. I sleep mighty heavy.”
“Anyone with you?”
At that question, Laughlin stared at him with heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes. “Who’d be with me, Mister?”
Joe stood. Alice hastily followed suit, stuffing her steno pad into her purse. Joe offered his hand to Laughlin, who slowly rose to take it.
“Where’d you serve, sir?” Joe asked.
Alice didn’t understand Joe’s question at first but at his gesture, she saw the small framed box on the coffee table, the only thing in the apartment not covered with crumbs and ash. Inside was a medal with ribbons.
“Argonne Forest, Mr. Finnegan. Damn cold … Sorry, Miss, for swearing. Froze me to the marrow over there. Settled here in California afterward. Don’t ever want to be that cold again.”
He shuffled to the door, and Alice saw what Joe probably noticed from the start. Gordon Laughlin still wore his army boots.
CHAPTER SIX
Officer Reynolds met them at a hamburger stand halfway between the police station and Harbor Inn. While the men wolfed down fat hamburgers dripping with grease, Alice read her notes from the meeting with the Admiral (much edited by Joe) and the two Bixby Knolls’ interviews while her own burger cooled. Then she ate while Reynolds told them what he’d discovered about the insurance agent.
“His wife gave us Walter Silver’s client list. He had several policies written for Bixby Knolls’ folk. Evans was one of them, and the only one that Silver might be in the neighborhood for. Silver’s wife said there was some contention about payment.”
“Oh?” Joe asked.
“Yeah. The wife was the settlement recipient, but she couldn’t collect as she killed him. Next it would go to the sister. It’s being held up in civil court as the housekeeper claims she’s owed a portion of the estate and has a letter from the deceased saying so.”
Wiping her hands, Alice drew the steno pad from her purse and noted the information.
“Curious,” Joe said. “Jeffers said nothing to us about that.”
Reynolds took a swig of Coca-Cola. “If I had any hopes for the human race after twenty years on the force, that woman would squash the last of ‘em. You know what she told me?”
“That she had an affair with Evans?”
Taking another swallow as Joe spoke, he choked. “What?”
Joe grimaced. “That’s what she told us.”
“That woman …” Reynolds sighed deeply. “She told me that she’d been paying rent for her room and doing some light housekeeping for a reduced rate. Although she hadn’t paid any rent since Evans died, she felt she was owed for a deposit and for managing the property for the past seven months.”
Reynolds grunted. “Lady can’t keep her stories straight, that’s what it is. I should slip her name to bunko. She’s probably wanted somewhere for grifting.”
Joe passed the policeman the folder. “Something from the insurance files. The Admiral gave it to me. Includes a letter from Evans authorizing his housekeeper monthly funds for the house should anything happen to him. Probably not to the level of her demands, I’d wager.”
As Reynolds scrutinized the file, Alice itched to see the letter. “Looks like Evans’ handwriting but I’ll have an expert see to it. How did the Admiral …? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“You’ve ruled Jeffers out as the killer?”
Reynolds snorted. “Yeah, right after I ruled out my Grammy. You saw her, right? I wouldn’t wave a fiver within her reach as she’d have it and two of my fingers before you said Jack. And maybe I wouldn’t drink a glass of water round her if she could get a dime for poisoning me. Still I can’t see her knifing a man.”
“Who do you like?”
“The handyman,” Reynolds said. “Al mentioned Laughlin’s inconsistencies and odd reactions. His hesitations about naming the wife the murderer tells me that he knows who really did it. Might be he’s feeling guilty for letting Mrs. Evans take the rap. He’s got some drunk and disorderlies since getting out of the Army. Looks guilty, don’t you agree, Al?”
“Don’t call me Al,” she said.
“You’re convinced that the wife didn’t kill her husband?” Joe tipped the mustard bottle on their table back and forth. His mild tone caught Alice’s attention and she studied him. It seemed obvious to her who did the killings, and it wasn’t the handyman.
“I think one person off’d all of them, and the wife wasn’t around for victims two and three.”
“There are others who were around when the murders occurred,” Joe said.
“True,” Reynolds countered. “But how many of them learned to kill in the war and got convictions long as my arm? I figure Evans got smart and fired the deadbeat. Laughlin got liquored up and stuck Evans with his Army-issued trench knife for which the military trained him to expertly use.”
“Interesting idea,” Joe said. Alice twitched. Whenever Joe said “interesting idea,” in that soft voice, he really meant, “No way in thunder are you correct.”
Reynolds knew that too. He surveyed Joe for a long moment while finishing his French fries.
“Who do you like for it?” He didn’t sound affronted but almost pleased to get another view.
Joe shook his head. “Seems an obvious choice, but I’m still chewing on it.”
“Think you’ll settle on one before he kills again?”
“Hard to predict.” In a metronome manner, Joe continued to tip the mustard bottle back and forth.
“Do ye wish to weigh in with your opinion, Miss Glenn?” Reynolds gave her a roguish smile.
“Don’t call me…”
She frowned. Had he just called her by her proper name? The policeman raised his eyebrows.
She sniffed. “I am Mr. Finnegan’s secretary. My opinion is immaterial.”
She turned to Joe, her voice rising over Reynolds’ aggrieved “I was just asking…”
“What do you suggest we do next?”
Joe returned the mustard bottle to the rest of the condiments.
“We set a trap.”
* * *
In the taxicab on their way to the Harbor Inn, Alice turned to Joe. “It’s the Admiral, right?”
He frowned at her. “I already told you…”
“No, you said it wasn’t Pierce. But it could have been the Admiral. He was military trained the same as Mr. Laughlin. He could have killed Stanley Evans because he didn’t pay for a delivery. Then he had to kill Robbie Tauscher because he knew too much.”
“And the insurance agent?”
Alice’s eyes narrowed. He sounded mildly interested but not impressed with her analysis.
“The Admiral killed him because he also knew too much,” Alice said. “Somehow he found out that Mrs. Evans hadn’t killed her husband. As you well know, insurance companies have their own investigators. Perhaps the company’s investigator discovered that the Admiral killed the bootlegger. So the Admiral killed the agent to silence him.”
“In the Evans’ front yard? Seems easier to off him at the insurance office or Silver’s home.”
Alice tried to think of an answer to that and couldn’t. “I’m sure there is a logical reason why it had to be at the Evans’ house.” She gave him a pointed look. “I’m sure you can figure that out yourself.”
“Why it had to be at the Evans’ house …?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “By Jingle, Alice. I think you’ve hit on the crucial clue. Write that down, please.”
She jotted the note down on her steno pad. She was half-sorry that Officer Reynolds hadn’t heard Joe’s praise of her.
In a less strident
tone, she asked, “Do you still need to set a trap?”
He nodded.
Odd. If he had the crucial clue and since he now seemed to agree that the Admiral did it, why did he still need to set a trap? Probably for reasons of an easier conviction? Caught in the act might work better than a consultant’s theory.
“What do you want me to do to set the trap?” she asked.
“I asked Reynolds to give me a hand while you were buying another orangeade. If you made a couple of phone calls for me, that would be helpful.”
“Of course.” Her hand poised above her steno pad, she waited patiently.
“Would you call Edna Jeffers and ask her to meet us this evening at the house?”
She frowned. “Miss Jeffers?”
“Yes. As you pointed out, the location is the key. She controls access to the house, and we’ll need to get inside.”
“I see.” Although she wasn’t entirely sure she did.
“Contact Evans’ sister. I can’t remember her name. Reynolds said that she’d been in and out of town dealing with her brother’s death. If she’s in town, invite her to the house. If she’s out of town, ask if she has a proxy for her brother’s affairs in Long Beach. If she does, get the name and number and invite the proxy also.”
That made sense to Alice. It started with the murder of Stanley Evans. The sister may know more about why Evans died than what she told the police. Or perhaps she was involved in the deaths herself. Interesting. But since the Admiral killed Evans, it was also immaterial.
“I’ll talk to Reynolds about when to meet, so let me know what Jeffers says.”
“And the Admiral?” Alice asked.
“What about the Admiral?” Joe countered.
“If you’re setting a trap, don’t you want the prime suspect there?”
“The prime suspect will be there. Remember—it was all about the location.”
He hesitated. “Hmm. Location. I’ll contact the Admiral and have him send Pierce over for the meeting. I expect he’s having us watched anyway, but this way we can pick which of the Admiral’s crew we want.”
Slightly confused, Alice jotted down what he said even though, besides calling Jeffers and the sister, no action was required on her part. Joe understood the way organized crime cabals worked better than she did.
The Admiral probably hadn’t killed the three himself. Just as he hadn’t gone to collect Evan’s liquor debt either. One of the rapscallions that worked for him had done the deed. Undoubtedly Pierce, which was why Joe wanted him there.
“And Gordon Laughlin? The handyman?”
Joe’s face darkened. “He’s key to the trap but best not to rouse suspicions ahead of time. All seem agreed that Laughlin was always on hand. We’ll expect that will be so tonight.”
Alice caught her breath. Had Joe included the handyman because Reynolds thought he was the killer? Or did he suspect Laughlin helped the Admiral kill Evans? Maybe to erase his own liquor debt. How convoluted the case had become!
The taxicab turned onto the street and parked at the Harbor Inn. She stole a look at her boss and wanted to ask him a dozen questions. Instead she quietly paid the driver. By Joe’s expression, his mind had wandered to that place where demons grappled for his soul.
As they exited the automobile, she said, “Consider it done, boss. I’ll even call Officer Reynolds for you. After I bring a cup of tea to your room.”
“You’re an angel,” Joe said. His voice sounded tired and he turned away from the beauty of the sun setting on the sapphire sea. Worried, she watched his slow climb up the stairs. Would his demons win this time?
At the landing, he suddenly turned. “By Jove, we forgot the most important person! Kid, forget the tea. You’ve just enough time for a trip to Brea.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hours after the trip to Brea, after re-locating the witness and completing the phone calls, Joe and Alice once more left the inn. A hotel maid turned on the porch lantern which cast a yellow light down the steps and over the walkway. As the taxicab sped down the dark street, Alice glanced back. For all that the inn loomed in the neighborhood, lighted lamps in the windows and potted geraniums on the porch lent the building a welcoming air.
Joe’s eyes were remarkably clear this evening. His fingers drummed pleasantly on the seat between them. The sights that flashed by elicited story after story of things he’d read, cases he’d worked with Reynolds, and places he’d visited on other trips to California.
Alice didn’t interrupt the flow of words knowing that this was how Joe readied himself for what lay ahead of them: unmasking the murderer. She was just grateful his ghosts had withdrawn.
He jumped from the automobile when they arrived at the Bixby Knolls house. At nightfall the shallow hills lay stark and brooding. The trees hid creatures sniffing for blood. She saw a light in the apartment above the garage and a shadow at the window. Laughlin watching them? Reynolds standing ready with the witness they’d fetched from Brea?
The back of her neck prickled when Joe rang the doorbell. This time Miss Jeffers opened the door quickly and widened it when she saw Joe.
Wearing a beaded, white rococo dress—over-the-top for an evening at home, Jeffers swished from the foyer to a spacious living room nearly denuded of furniture. Dark outlines marked the walls where once hung paintings. At the housekeeper’s direction, she and Joe sat on a red satin settee that reminded Alice of the Admiral’s furnishings in the bunker beneath Signal Hill.
When Joe glanced at the walls, Jeffers flashed him another smile that did not soften her eyes. “Stanley’s sister removed a few things.”
She herself sat on stiff armchair that matched the settee. Alice watched with interest wondering how the large woman could unbend herself enough to sit. Her beaded dress might have been stunning on a petite woman but the cap sleeves only emphasized her beefy arms. The chair creaked ominously as she eased into it. Her dress hem slid upwards and revealed dimpled knees.
Joe managed a charming smile. “Thank you for seeing us, Miss Jeffers.”
“I’m happy to help the police.” Something like a footfall sounded from the back of the house. Jeffers shifted. “I hope it won’t take long.”
Joe reacted to the same noise, his gaze sharpening on Jeffers. “We know you’re a busy woman, so I will get right to it. Alice?”
Alice pulled out her steno pad. “A few questions. One: Did you witness acts of violence between Mr. and Mrs. Evans?”
In shorthand, below her question, she had copied out Edna Jeffers’ responses recorded months ago in the police report. About every night, Mrs. Evans would work herself up. I heard her smack the poor man. I saw bruises on him too.
The housekeeper addressed her answer to Joe as if Alice wasn’t there. “Yeah, they hit on each other after getting liquored up. She’d start on him or he’d start on her. You’d think the rich would be more refined, but she’d be yelling as loud as a sailor’s wife.”
Slightly different from the first report but it wasn’t unusual for a witness’s story to change over time.
Alice started to ask the second question when a shadow crossed the hallway from the living room to the rest of the house. Its footsteps fell heavily as they receded into the darkness.
Joe started to rise. “Is someone else in the house, Miss Jeffers?”
She flapped her hands for him to remain sitting. “Just Gordy getting something from the kitchen.”
“So the handyman has access to the house?” Joe asked.
“A man close at hand makes a woman feel safe.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
Alice cringed at the coquettish look that didn’t fit the rest of the woman. She’d met longshoreman and oilfield roustabouts more feminine than Edna Jeffers.
“Being alone makes you nervous, ma’am?”
“We are nearly in the wilds here, Mr. Finnegan. Anything could happen, and who would hear me scream?”
“I’d be nervous, too,” Alice said. “What with the murders and all.
”
Jeffers, her gaze trained on Joe, didn’t respond at first. Was she still ignoring Alice?
“Yes,” Jeffers finally said. “A woman can’t be too careful.”
“Alice,” Joe said. “Ask the next question.”
Waiting for the doorbell to ring, she hastily skimmed the list.
“When did you last see Mr. Evans?” The response on the police report read: I can’t remember the exact date, but I saw him the night before he retired. They fought as usual till early that morning. When Mr. Evans did not show to breakfast, Mrs. Evans told me he’d taken an early train to visit his sister.
“I don’t remember when exactly.” It was an echo from months earlier. “Sometime early winter. I do remember where I last saw him. He left my bed early the morning he took the taxicab for the train station.” She winked at Joe. It didn’t come off as a merry look on her mordant face.
Alert to the change in her story, Joe went off script. “Had he been with you the entire night?”
She shrugged. “I don’t recall. He never stayed long. The married ones usually don’t.”
“Were you also having relations with Gordon Laughlin?”
Alice pursed her lips at this line of inquiry. Hadn’t the handyman said there had been nothing between them?
“Not then …” Jeffers looked slyly at Joe from hooded eyes.
“And now?”
Her fingers twitched as if they wanted to be busy with something. Remembering the cigarettes in Laughlins’ apartment, Alice wondered if Edna Jeffers smoked. Her father smoked and his fingers twitched the same way when it’d been too long between cigs.
“A woman has needs.” Jeffers still sounded coy, but she studied Joe with narrowed eyes. As if she were testing him. Still trying to see if she could shock him? Alice almost smiled at that.
If anything, Joe looked bored. He returned to the questions Alice and he composed earlier.
“When was the last liquor delivery made?”
The back door squeaked open and then quickly clicked shut. Jeffers frowned in the direction of the kitchen and then again at Joe.
“I’ve nothing to do with liquor. Ask Gordy about that.”
The Admiral of Signal Hill Page 4