by Ed Lacy
“No. We tourists rarely get to know anybody but the storekeepers. You think this Indian woman killed him?”
“She had more reason than Jerry. Not to mention the doc's wife, who's been having the affair flung in her face all these years. But this explains Chief Roberts' attitude —from the go he knew darn well it was murder but all he can think of is the Harbor doesn't want a scandal. In a small town everybody is close friends—especially Mrs. Barnes and Roberts. He's even willing to call it an accident and let it go at that. Then enter the clown—me—who has to shoot off his big mouth. Now the Harbor has to call it murder but they find a custom-made patsy—the doc was known to have visited Jerry, the village bogeyman.”
“But to put Jerry on trial for his life, Lord, how can they be so heartless!”
“Honey, that's the angle, the reasons Roberts doesn't give a fat damn his evidence is weak and circumstantial— he knows Jerry won't be found guilty. So what? The mess is over, hushed without any scandal. I told you I was the joker in the deck, well, honey, I'm going to knock over their can of peas, bust this wide open!”
“Matt, I knew you would!”
“You didn't know a mumbling thing, and neither did L Frankly, I only went to Riverside this morning to go through the motions. But that's all changed now—I know he's being railroaded. Being an ordinary patrolman, a harness bull, I've never looked upon 'police work' as anything but a job. But like everybody else I sometimes thought, had daydreams, about being a real detective. So in my old age I'm frankly going to give it a try.”
The odd thing was I said this rah-rah pitch cold sober, actually meant every word. Listening to Jerry I'd decided to goose End Harbor wide open, expose all the petty scheming and hatreds, a kind of concentrated form of big city vice. If I was doing it for Jerry, I was also doing it for my own ego. And all the time I knew I was showboating; a four-flusher—for the case was a set-up and I would knock it over with the speed of a fiction private eye.
Bessie wanted to know what I had in mind but I merely puffed on my pipe with great self-importance, told her I couldn't discuss it at the moment, but I would need the car.
She said I could have it and even managed not to talk all the way back to the cottage. I gave Matty his lunch in three seconds flat and with Bessie watching with admiring eyes I dashed off—the great detective about to run himself ragged.
Roberts was out but the boy-cop was holding down the desk. He told me Roberts was working. I asked, “Did you know the doc was deaf?”
“Yeah. Everybody knew that, he had one of them transparent hearing buttons stuck in his ear.”
“You know why Jerry was loud-talking him, why the doc was shouting back? The hearing device wasn't working that night.”
“That so? There wasn't enough left to say if it was working or not Who told you all this?”
“Jerry. Didn't you fellows question him at all? He claims Barnes had another call to make—which means Jerry wasn't the last person to see the doc alive.”
Junior fooled with his red tie, almost yawned in my face. “Guess that would change things—if you can prove it. We grilled old Jerry, but who can understand the way he talks? After a couple questions he wouldn't say a damn word. To my way of thinking, this proves Jerry guilty— for he'd sure as hell make up a story about the doc having another call. Mrs. Barnes says he only had to see Jerry.”
“She might say anything. Jerry says the doc told him he was on his way to see the 'old goat.' Any idea who that would be?”
He showed a mouthful of teeth in a big grin. “Offhand that could be anybody over the age of thirty. There's a summer population of around 2800, not to mention the 1468 actual residents of the Harbor, and at least half of them are over thirty—you plan to question about 3000 people, mister?”
“I might, to save a man's life,” I snapped, knowing I was wasting time: the End Harbor police weren't interested in finding the killer. “Where does Jane Endin live?”
“Out on Bay Street, couple houses past the entrance to Tide Beach. So you know about her?”
“I sure do,” I said, starting for the door.
“All this rushing about will tire you out, man your age.”
I spun around. “Don't let that pansy uniform go to your head, sonny. I've put in more years as a cop than you have weeks!”
“Take it easy, mister. I'm only trying to save you work. She ain't home. We been trying to locate her since yesterday.”
I almost swallowed my tongue: a possible suspect leaves town and they sit on their butts! “Know where she works in Hampton?”
“Sure, at the watch factory. We phoned there, she wasn't to work yesterday or today. What you want to see her for?”
“To ask who she thinks will win the pennant!” I said, walking out.
He called after me, “Hell, I can tell you that—the Giants.”
Outside I sat in the car and got my pipe going—watching the people on the main drag—trying to figure my next step. I knew what I had to do but I didn't want to rush it, act like a jerk—the way I'd just done with the uniform-happy boy. One thing was for sure; I couldn't shake this village loose by myself.
I made a list of all the names I'd heard since coming to the Harbor—Jerry's, Doc and Mrs. Barnes, Chief Roberts, Jane Endin, Mrs. Bond, Larry Anderson, Pops (but what was his name?), even copied the names from the store windows on Main Street—obviously the big apples in the village. Getting a handful of change I put in a long distance call, which would also take it away from the ears of the local operators, to Nat Reed in New York. Nat and I shared a post for a brace of years before he quit to go into private work, ended up in a cushy spot with a credit agency. Credit outfits have become the largest snoop agencies in the country outside the government. They have complete files on millions of people. I gave Nat a fast rundown on what I was doing, the list of names.
As I expected, he said, “Matt, you know I can't give out info like that. It's only for our subscribers.”
“I know—that's why I'm wasting dough on a long distance call.”
Nat sputtered a little before he said, “Okay, I'll send you whatever we have, get it out today.”
“Put it in a plain envelope. Seal it good.”
“Things that bad?”
“I'm playing it safe, wind blows a lot of ways out here.”
“I'll mail it special delivery.” He laughed. “Going in for police work as a hobby in your old age?”
“Isn't it about time? And if I'm in my old age, where does that put you, you old belch? Thanks, Nat. Say hello to the wife for me.”
I drove along Main Street until I reached the picture-window white house set back on a neat lawn with Doc Barnes' shingle hanging from a post made to look like an old whaling ship's mast. I rang the doorbell and a stout woman with a healthy face and heavy gray hair in a big bun topping her head opened the door. A plain worn short red dress showed off arms and legs that belonged on a football team.
“Mrs. Barnes?”
“No, no, I'm only staying with Priscilla in her hour of need. I'm Mrs. Jenks.”
“Can Mrs. Barnes see people? It's important.”
The bright eyes in the large face turned suspicious. “You're new in the Harbor, ain'tcha?”
“Yes. My name is Matt Lund. I'd like to speak to Mrs. Barnes.”
“Well, you certainly don't look like a reporter. They've been ringing our phone like.... Well, I keep telling them all this excitement is bad for shock. My son is a doctor, too, you know. Practicing in Brooklyn. Edward urged him to come home and share his practice but Don thought there wouldn't be enough for two doctors to.... Say! You're that city police inspector!”
Gossip was promoting me fast. “Your son going to take over Doctor Barnes' practice now?”
“I should hope so. After all, Edward would have wanted it that way—he practically insisted Don go to med school. This is what I've been dreaming about—Don back in the Harbor, where he belongs and.... But this is no time to talk about such things.”
“Maybe not. Will you ask Mrs. Barnes if she'll Bee me for a few minutes?”
“Priscilla is piddling around in the kitchen. This morning she was busy with the funeral arrangements. You'll only upset her and she needs her rest.”
There was a moment of silence while we stared at each other. I suppose I should have gone away but I stood there, waiting. Finally she snorted, “Hmmm! I'll ask Priscilla,” and shut the door in my face.
A frail little woman with an unhealthy waxen skin and thin white hair opened the door a moment later. Her delicate features and mild eyes added up to a washed-out look, and the mouth was merely a faint pink line. She was wearing a white apron over a black dress. The apron was even starched. But the more I looked at her I realized she wasn't exactly frail—more on the wiry side. She had been a pretty woman at one time, in fact still had a kind of beauty—if you go for the fragile type of looks—which I don't. Her voice was a shock; it was far from delicate—it was hard, almost brittle, as she said, “I'm Mrs. Barnes. What do you wish to speak to me about?”
“May I come in?”
She seemed to wince and shake, as if I'd hit her. She closed her eyes for a moment and I had this feeling the very last thing she wanted was to talk to me—or even see me. Then she opened her eyes, stared at me boldly, and that strong, harsh voice said, “Of course. Excuse my manners.
I followed her into a spotlessly neat living room: a mixture of old-fashioned heavy furniture, a big new TV, and two modern plywood chairs. Everything was neat-as-a-pin-so. She was a real Dutch housewife, as they used to say in my day. She pointed toward a stuffed leather chair and I sat down while she perched on the edge of a plain maple stool. Maybe she wasn't as old as I figured—her legs were pretty good, hardly a vein showing. I fooled with my cap as I said, “I realize the strain you're under, Mrs. Barnes, and I wouldn't be here... if a man's life wasn't at stake.”
“I understand, it's your job.”
“Yes, it is, if you believe it's every citizen's job to uphold the law.”
“I respect the law, I always have. But you might as well know this: I do not—I cannot—believe Edward was murdered.”
“Then all the more reason to aid a man under arrest for his murder. I'll be blunt, Mrs. Barnes, do you really want to find the murderer of your husband? The rest of End Harbor doesn't seem....”
“I can't stand the sound of that word—murder!” Her hard voice rose in a wail; brought the picture of an icicle to my mind. I noticed the swinging door that led to the kitchen move slightly—where Mrs. Jenks was at her listening post. “Ed—Doctor Barnes—devoted his life to the health and welfare of people. Who would want to kill a saint? Why, why?”
“Do you think Jerry killed your husband?”
“No. I refuse to believe he was killed by... anybody! It was an accident.”
“Mrs. Barnes, did you act as a secretary for your husband, keep track of his calls?”
“Naturally, if the phone rang and Edward was out, or busy, I took it.”
“I understand Jerry phoned the doctor at nine P.M. Did you take the call?”
“Yes. That is, we both answered. Edward had this stranger in his office, but as I picked up the extension, Edward answered, so I hung up. But I knew it was Jerry.”
“What stranger?”
“Why, some elderly man, a Mr. Nelson, drove up to ask if Edward knew about a man he was looking for, an old army friend, a Mr. Hudon... or some name like that.”
“Why did he think your husband would know him?”
“I don't know exactly, I didn't pay much attention to it. Mr. Nelson was driving along the Island and his friend was supposed to be living in the Harbor, at least he sent Mr. Nelson a card from here a few years ago. Since Mr. Hudon suffered from gallstones, Mr. Nelson thought Edward might have treated his friend. It's all rather complicated and of no importance.”
“It may be of great importance. Did you say Mr. Nelson was an elderly man?”
“Oh, yes. But very tall and well preserved for his age. Edward had never heard of the other man, so Mr. Nelson left.”
“Does Chief Roberts know about Mr. Nelson?”
“Yes, I mentioned it to Artie.”
“Did Nelson say where he was staying in the Harbor?”
“No.”
“Are you certain Doctor Barnes had never seen Nelson before? Did he act excited, or upset after Nelson left?”
“Edward never put eyes on the man before. I gathered that Mr. Nelson was merely passing through the Harbor. Really, Mr. Lund, I don't see the point of all this.”
“Jerry claims the doctor told him he was on his way to make another call, that he had to see the 'old goat.' That might have been this Nelson.”
“That's ridiculous, Nelson wasn't a patient.”
“Have you any idea as to who the 'old goat' might be?”
“No.” She suddenly batted her ear nervously with a finger. “And Edward had no other calls except Jerry's.”
“How do you know, Mrs. Barnes?”
“Sir, are you doubting my word?”
“No, ma'am, merely checking. I don't have to tell you that if I can prove Doctor Barnes had another stop to make after he left Jerry, it might set Jerry free. Are you positive there wasn't another phone call after Jerry's?”
“Edward never said a word about it and he always told me where he was going, in case of an emergency. I was sitting here watching TV and after Mr. Nelson took his leave, as the programs were changing, Edward came out of his office and was rather angry. He hated night calls. He said there was nothing wrong with Jerry if he'd watch his diet.”
“How do you know he wasn't angry over something this Nelson said?”
“I know. I mean he wasn't really angry. Lands, Mr. Lund, this Mr. Nelson merely dropped in to ask some information. Only reason Edward took him into his office was to check his files for the other man's name. As Edward left, a few minutes later, Mrs. Jenks came over to watch TV. She stayed when I became nervous, that is, when it neared midnight and Edward didn't return.”
“What did you do, when he didn't return?” It was neat, the way she set up an alibi without my even asking.
“What could I do? I thought he'd been detained but I was surprised he hadn't phoned me. Around midnight I took a sedative and went to my bed.”
“And Mrs. Jenks went home?”
“Of course, where else would she go at that hour?”
“Let me get this straight; while Nelson was with your husband, Jerry phoned. Then Nelson left, and Doctor Barnes left, cursing Jerry.
“Indeed not! Edward never uttered a harsh word in his life.
“Excuse me. Did Nelson and Doctor Barnes leave together?”
“No, no. Really, Mr. Lund, I find this very tiring, going over and over the same thing. Some minutes after Mr. Nelson left Edward put on his hat and coat, then went back to his office—for his bag, I imagine. A few minutes later he walked through this room, looked at the TV show for a moment, kissed me, said he wouldn't be late.”
“You were listening to TV—suppose the phone had rung in those few minutes, are you certain you would have heard it? Was the TV on loudly?”
She poked her ear again, hesitated. “I did have the set on fairly loud. I'm a trifle deaf in one ear.”
“Then you can't be certain the phone didn't ring again?” I said, feeling excited.
“Well... no.”
“You haven't even the smallest idea who the doctor meant by the 'old goat'?”
“Indeed not. Edward would never refer to a patient like that!”
I stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Barnes, you've been most helpful. One more thing—was your husband's hearing aid working that night?”
“Of course. He had several and would have worn another if anything had been wrong.” She got to her feet. “Mr. Lund, you're new to the Harbor, never knew Edward. He was a tender and loving man. I've been sickly all my life, couldn't give him children. Yet he was always considerate of me, nev
er complained, although he dearly wanted a child. Everybody spoke well of him, he was a man in a million, without an enemy in the world. He gave unceasingly of his time and money. Why, he even loaned Mrs. Jenks the money for her son's schooling, for example. I'm telling you this because there's absolutely no reason for a man like that to have been murdered, it's... it's... just impossible!” She worked her ear over for a moment. “I'll do everything in my power to help poor Jerry.”
“That's most commendable, Mrs. Barnes. Did you tell that to Chief Roberts?”
“I did. Landsakes, everybody knows Jerry Sparelous is a bit touched, but he barks, doesn't bite. I've never known him to harm a soul.”