EQMM, May 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "And that is what Dr. Tenumbra, her treating physician, knew and tried to tell us. He no doubt saw that Elise was bleeding during the attack and in his dying moments he grabbed those two volumes and drew on the cover of one the universal medical symbol for ‘woman.’ Literally, he was telling us that while the second blood type we would find in the apartment was that of a man—with both X and Y chromosomes—the murderer was, in fact, a woman. And a woman with X and Y chromosomes. Like most dying messages, this one had some obscurity to it. But Tenumbra ensured that that obscurity would be unraveled by also grasping my note in his dying grip. He knew that dying messages have always been a specialty of mine."

  "But then why did Quinn take his own life?” Nikki asked.

  "Quinn took his life in sorrow over the breakup of his engagement,” Ellery answered. “But what we did not realize earlier was that Quinn's suicide must have preceded Dr. Tenumbra's murder."

  "How can you say that when the coroner could only establish that the two men were killed during the same two-hour period?” Harry Burke asked, and Ellery noted that he was now holding Elise's quivering hand.

  "Harry, we know it, again, because of the blood. We assumed from the beginning that the clock on the floor of Tenumbra's study, the one frozen at eight-thirty, likely resulted from Tenumbra tripping on the clock's electrical cord. But now, as Mr. Santos has so conclusively demonstrated, we know that is not possible. No one in Tenumbra's condition could have reached the clock without leaving a blood trail. And yet we know now that all of the blood found on that side of the desk was in fact that of the murderer. So it was the murderer who unplugged the clock. And we also know,” Ellery continued, “that this was a deliberate, not an accidental act."

  Ellery glanced around the room and again was met only by stares.

  "We know this,” he sighed, “because the murderer obviously had the time to arrange the other aspects of the room. If there was time to take the Barnaby Ross volumes, and to sweep the rest of the Queen volumes to the floor, there was also time to right the clock—that is, unless the murderer wanted us to find the clock on the floor, to misdirect us as to the time of the killing.

  "I imagine,” and Ellery looked toward Elise, “it went something like this: You stabbed Tenumbra. Perhaps as he lay mortally wounded you even taunted him a bit, explaining that you were free to kill him without fear, that you would never be caught since the blood evidence you were leaving behind would, upon analysis, identify your brother as the killer. Assuming Tenumbra was dead or dying, you left the room, probably to clean up. When you returned you found Tenumbra, now dead, sprawled on his desk. But, no doubt to your horror, you also saw that he had those two Barnaby Ross volumes grasped in his bloody hand. Worse yet, he had managed to scrawl yet another clue, the universal medical sign for ‘woman,’ on the front of one volume.

  "You are your father's child. You grasped immediately that this clue, if deciphered, would identify you as the murderer. So what did you do? You pulled from the bookcase the other books I wrote under the pseudonym Barnaby Ross—The Tragedy of Z and Drury Lane's Last Case—and set them aside, to remove from the apartment along with the books in Tenumbra's grasp. Then you swept the remaining Queen volumes to the floor in order to obscure what was missing from the collection. Finally, you pulled the cord of the clock from the wall and set the dial back, probably by an hour—thus indicating that Tenumbra's death occurred earlier than it in fact did. What you didn't find was my note to Tenumbra, clasped almost invisibly in his other hand.

  "But even if that is not precisely how it happened, we know that Quinn's death had to have preceded Tenumbra's. Elise, it was obvious that your brother meant everything to you. You've told us as much in your words as in your actions. You would never have framed him with his own blood, with the blood that he donated to you to save your own life, had he not already been dead. In fact, you killed Tenumbra only because your brother was dead, a fact that you discovered yourself when, unable to reach Quinn by phone, you went to his apartment, used the same key you used the next day to let us in, and found his body.

  "And then, I suppose, the rest just fell into place. You took Quinn's scalpel and his entry card for Tenumbra's apartment and proceeded to exact revenge. Afterwards you returned Quinn's entry card to his apartment, and then simply waited for the police to discover the two bodies, the latter one with your own assistance, and accompanied by, I should add, a most convincing scream.

  "You were shocked to see me outside Quinn's apartment. But that shock did not result simply from the fact that we had not seen each other in years. It also, I am sure, was a reaction of fear. You and your family knew my work even better than Tenumbra did. You knew that my life has been dedicated to unraveling perplexities, and particularly dying messages. You knew, in short, that I might prevail where the police would not. That even with the Barnaby Ross books removed, I might still figure out what that pile of books was all about. In fact, that's why you suggested early on that Tenumbra wanted to acquire, in your words, every book that had my name on the spine.

  "That statement was an attempted misdirection, and something we knew was not true as soon as the books were reshelved."

  Still clasping Harry Burke's hand, Elise Djuna looked up. “You're right, Ellery. And you are also right that, when I saw you standing in the lobby of Quinn's apartment, I feared you would eventually piece this together."

  She turned to Harry and tears began to form in her eyes. “Harry, I'm so sorry to involve you in this. I had hoped against hope that I could pull this off. It didn't matter so much before. Then it was only me. I could have faced the future—not easily, but satisfied that what I did was completely justified. It's completely different now that I've found you. I'm just so sorry."

  Elise brushed a tear from her cheek, and looked across the room at Ellery. “I knew it would come to this, and I'm resigned. That's why I brought along the books. I was willing to play the game of logic with you, Ellery, but I'm not about to continue fighting after checkmate."

  Ellery continued to stare across the room. “There is one thing that I am still curious about. I know that you had Quinn's entry card, but how did you manage to approach Tenumbra in his own apartment?"

  "That was easy,” Elise replied. “I called Jason after I discovered Quinn's body and told him I was finally willing to part with some books from my own collection. He asked me to drop by around nine. He actually invited me back to the library.” From her purse Elise pulled three more volumes: The Detective Short Story; Queen's Quorum: A History of the Detective-Crime Short Story; and In the Queen's Parlor. "When Jason thought I was willing to sell those books he greeted me with open arms."

  Ellery shook his head in amazement. “Of course. The same books he tried to acquire from me."

  Elise squared her shoulders and looked directly into Ellery's eyes. “I guess it's time for you to call the police."

  Ellery took a deep breath and squared his own ageing shoulders. “As I told Harry yesterday,” he finally said, “I needed to think this matter through for a while. I stewed over it all day.

  "In my earlier years I observed often that though I might have solved a crime, it was not for me to judge whether punishment was deserved. Issues of justice, I always thought, were for the criminal justice system, not the detective. But I am older now. Maybe not wiser, but most certainly older."

  Ellery rose shakily. “Thank you for coming tonight, Elise. I'm sorry for what you've been through.” Ellery reached across the table for her other hand. “I always greatly admired your father."

  Then he turned to Burke. “As for you, Harry, you're a member of the NYPD and you can do as you wish, but personally I remain retired. I'm not calling anyone."

  "It's funny you should put it that way, Ellery,” Harry replied. “I took early retirement only this morning."

  Ellery eased back into his chair, stretched ancient joints, and smiled. “You know, Nikki, I think we should cap off this evening with some single malt on the rocks.
And, perhaps...” Ellery's eyes glanced across the room toward the humidor, “perhaps I'll even have a nice evening pipe."

  "I think,” responded Nikki, “that we can do the single malt, but after that you're going to bed."

  Ellery Queen's ancient gray eyes narrowed in mock anger. “You know, Ms. Porter, you are the latest in what is now a long line of hard-nosed and obstinate women. This all started with your grandmother—first she invented her own name, then she refused to give it up, and then she passed it along to two more generations of self-assured, stubborn redheads. Who do you think you are to deny me a well-deserved evening pipe?"

  "I know precisely who I am,” Nikki responded. “And as I said, after that drink it will be time for bed, Grandfather."

  Copyright © 2007 Dale C. Andrews & Kurt Secru

  Ellery Queen characters © 2007 by Frederic Dannay and Manfred B. Lee

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  THEY NEVER LISTEN by Michael Z. Lewin

  Art by Mark Evan Walker

  * * * *

  We have a pair of stories by Michael Z. Lewin this month, and though each could stand on its own, they are much better read together as leading up to and following the same criminal undertaking. Mr. Lewin is a longtime EQMM contributor and the author of the acclaimed Albert Samson mysteries. For the latest book in that series see Eye Opener (Five Star).

  "A Butcombe for you,” Garth said as he set two pints down on the pub table, “and a Butcombe for me.” He slid into his seat and settled himself.

  Annette lifted her beer. “Cheers, m'dear."

  "Cheers.” They clinked glasses and drank. “Ooh, that's good,” Garth said.

  "Couldn't agree more.” Annette put her glass down and placed a pack of cards in front of him. “Mugs away,” she said.

  Garth shuffled the cards a few times and offered the pack for Annette to cut. “You have a good memory."

  "You mean that I won the last one? Remembering that for two whole days ... So impressive."

  He dealt. “A good memory considering your age."

  "Charming."

  They picked up their hands, discarded to Garth's crib, and played as they talked and drank. “So,” Annette asked, “have you checked how your girl's doing?"

  Garth sucked on a corner of his mouth. “I talked to her last night.” He played a card and pegged two points.

  "From your tone it doesn't sound like there's been much progress. Or do I have it wrong?"

  "You have it right. I made sure to time it so that we could have a decent talk. I waited till she had the twins in bed and till he had gone out. I even called the pizza place and had them deliver on my credit card, so she wouldn't have the cooking and cleaning-up.” Garth put down a jack. “Twenty-nine."

  "Go. You can do that with pizza even if you don't live in the same city?” Annette asked.

  "Even if you live in a different country, I expect.” Garth pegged a point. “As long as you give them your credit card, Bob's your uncle."

  "And pizza's your pleasure.” She played a seven.

  He smiled. Then paired her seven and pegged two more points. “Come on, girl. Make an effort."

  Annette said nothing as she put a third seven down. That scored her six points and put her in the lead. “You were saying?"

  "I was saying you're getting crafty in your old age."

  "Charming."

  "Anyroad, Tracey and I went through it all again. There are plenty of places she could get help. At a support group they have over there. Or I could bring her and the kids back here. I expect you'd help her, though I didn't say it. But she still won't leave him. Because of the twins, she says."

  "You think there's really some spark left in it for her?"

  "To tell you the truth, I don't.” They scored their hands and Garth's crib and then Annette took the cards to shuffle for the next hand. “To tell you the truth, I think she's so worn down by it all that she just parrots back the ‘I know he loves me, I believe him when he says he'll never do it again’ crap because she's too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to say anything else. Not because she really believes it anymore."

  "I don't suppose you could give her a holiday, to get her away from him for a while?” Annette said. Garth cut and she began to deal.

  "He'd take the holiday from her before she got to use it."

  "He'd go away?” Annette was surprised. “That would give her the same break, wouldn't it?"

  "You want me to send him on holiday? Where to? The Maldives?"

  "Slough? Or on safari where he might get eaten by a lion?"

  "What I meant was that he'd take the tickets or whatever from her and cash them in."

  "And—"

  "Exactly. And then take it out on her when that money was gone because there wasn't any more. It really is hopeless. A bit like this hand.” Garth discarded to Annette's crib.

  "Don't think you can flannel me like that,” she said. “As soon as you start complaining about your hand, I look out for fives."

  "Am I so transparent?"

  "And coy now. You're not as green as you're compost-looking.” She revealed the turn-up card, a six.

  "Such sweet things you say to me.” He put down a four. “And what about your boy?"

  "I never even get to talk to him.” She played a seven, making the total twenty-two. “At least not when she—"

  "The Beast?” Garth put down a five.

  Annette raised her eyebrows at the five. “I predicted you'd have a five, didn't I? Go. At least not when she isn't standing by his shoulder."

  Garth played yet another four, making the total thirty-one, and pegged two more.

  "She, or rather It, controls everything he does. It answers the phone and won't leave him alone to talk when she does put him on. Or It says he isn't there when I know she's lying. And It tells him they can't have an answering machine. I expect It even opens his post.” Annette put down her last cards, a pair of eights, taking two for the pair and one for the last card of the hand.

  "A total-control thing.” Garth peered at her cards. “Wow. That's a hand and a half you have there.” Annette's hand was an exceptional twenty-four points.

  "Just as well, given the ‘hopeless’ hand you have."

  Garth's three fours, a five, combined with the turn-up six, scored him twenty-one points. Also exceptional, when an average cribbage hand scores about eight. “But I was only holding six before the turn-up. I wasn't flannelling you. As if I would do such a thing. Shame."

  "The turn-up helped us both.” Annette frowned. “I don't remember the last time we had twenty-plus facing twenty-plus."

  "Nor I,” Garth said.

  "And aren't they pretty?"

  "This is such an odd, fascinating game. Like life. And yours are the nicer because they're all red."

  "It's good when all the cards in a hand matter. When a hand doesn't increase the amount of entropy in the world."

  "One for the notebook,” Garth said.

  Annette turned over her crib, which contained four more points, while Garth wrote the scores and the date down in a notebook he carried. “Memorable."

  "Or would be if we could remember it without having it written down."

  "When did you begin to trust your memory less, Nettie?"

  "I doubt it really set in when I turned sixty, but it felt that way."

  "As late as that? You're lucky, then."

  "There's something about landmark birthdays."

  "They're markers, aren't they? To make you review where you are."

  "And remind you that there's a time-limit on where you're going."

  "That there's a time-limit to everything," Garth said.

  "But it's more than a control thing,” Annette said as he gathered the cards.

  "What is?"

  "The Beast's keeping Darren from talking to me, from having contact with me. She's not only controlling his present, she's trying to rebuild his personality, from the ground up. So what he is suits her, no matter what sui
ts him."

  "Did you manage to talk with him at all?"

  "Yes, but only for a few minutes, and she was in the room. Even to get that much I had to say it was important."

  "It is. It was.” Garth paused before offering the pack for a cut.

  "Yes,” Annette said.

  "And?"

  "When I began to go through what's been happening to him, he stopped me. He just blanks out that she's breaking down his personality, and using tools on him that are like they do in cults. I bet, just bet, that she'll have a baby and nail him to the home to look after it."

  "You want to be a grandmother, though, don't you?"

  "But not of something with fins and webbed feet and horns and red, glowing eyes."

  Garth smiled.

  "With all Darren's qualifications it's crazy. He should be building a career."

  "I am sorry, Nettie. You know that."

  "Why don't they listen, Gar? Why don't they? Is it that they think we're so flaming clueless?"

  Garth shrugged. “Who knows what they think?"

  "Or that we have some ulterior motive? For crying out loud, we're not stupid. Plus, we've learned things over the years. We know how the world works. Better than we bloody did at their ages."

  "Better than they do, at their ages."

  "That's for sure."

  Garth offered the cards. Annette cut them. He dealt.

  "I'd do anything for that boy,” Annette said.

  "I know."

  "As you would for your Tracey."

  "As we're about to prove,” Garth said. He offered the pack for the second cut. “I take it that's what we're talking about now."

  Annette made the cut but rested her hands on the cards before her without turning them over. “We did say."