“What do you mean, retired to his study?”
“Just what I said. When he goes in there he closes both doors. Usually the door into the main part of the house is closed, and the door from the closet into his study is closed.”
“What does he go in there for?”
“To work.”
“I notice he has a dictating machine in there.”
“That’s right.”
“But I can’t find where he dictated anything yesterday.”
“He must have. He was in there all day.…Of course, sometimes he is thinking up the proper approach.”
“He does a lot of dictating?”
“Travel articles. He loves to travel. His whole life is devoted to that.”
“And you paint?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you had that studio down there on the other floor?”
“About six months, I guess.”
“I’m going to want to go down there and look around. Any objection?”
“No, I’ll take you down there.”
“Just give me a key,” Sellers said, “and I’ll look around by myself.”
“I’d rather be with you.”
“Okay, if you want. We’ll go down after a while.”
He turned to Olney. “What do you know about all this?”
“I work rather closely with Mr. Crockett,” Olney said. “I know that he went into his study yesterday, but he came out at about…oh, I don’t know, perhaps four-thirty or five o’clock. He gave me some records which were to be transcribed and asked me to have the secretary, Mr. Denton, be here at nine o’clock in the morning. He also told me he wanted to discuss some matters with me at nine o’clock, so to be sure and be here. Then he did some telephoning and went back to his private study, closing the doors.”
“Know who he telephoned to?”
“No.”
“His secretary came in this morning?”
“That’s right. He’s pounding away on the records.”
“Sounds like a pretty good worker,” Sellers said, cocking an ear to the sound of the typewriter.
“He’s very rapid and exceedingly accurate.”
“Wish I had him to type out my reports,” Sellers said. “My two-finger technique isn’t quite that good. I have what they call a heavy touch.”
“You would,” I told him.
“That’ll do from you, Pint Size,” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came up to discuss a matter with Mr. Crockett.”
“What matter?”
“The matter on which I was employed.”
“A jade Buddha had been stolen,” Olney said. “Mr. Lam told me over the telephone that he had recovered it.”
Sellers raised his eyebrows. I nodded.
“Where is it?” Sellers asked.
“Where I can get it when it’s needed.”
“Where did you find it? Who had it?”
“That may or may not be significant,” I said. And then, as I caught his eye, I slowly winked.
“Okay, Pint Size, okay,” Sellers said. “We’ll get to the Buddha later.”
“The blowgun was also stolen,” Olney said.
Sellers jerked to stiff attention as though the chair had been wired. “Blowgun, eh?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s what killed him, wasn’t it?”
“It would seem that way.”
“All right, what about the blowgun?”
“Mr. Lam recovered that, I believe, yesterday.”
Sellers looked at me. “The hell,” he said.
“And,” Olney went on, “I believe he said he gave it to Mrs. Crockett.”
“Well, what do you know?” Sellers observed, looking at me and then shifting his eyes to Phyllis Crockett. “You got it?”
“It’s in my studio.”
“You mean this place down there?” Sellers asked, pointing his finger.
She nodded.
“What’s it doing down there?”
“Mr. Lam came yesterday to see my…my husband. There was no one here at the time, and so I had left word at the desk that if anyone called I was to be notified in my studio. The phone rang there, and Mr. Lam said that he had the blowgun—or I believe he asked to come up. He wanted to see Mr. Crockett, and I guess it was then that he told me about the blowgun. I don’t remember the sequence of events very clearly.”
“What do you know!” Sellers said, his manner showing his keen interest. “And did he have the blowgun with him?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he do with it?”
“He gave it to me.”
Sellers scratched his head. “Now, Mrs. Crockett, I’m going to ask you something. I don’t want you to get mad about it. I don’t mean to imply anything. I’m just asking questions. Down in that studio apartment of yours there’s a window, a little oblong window that looks as though it might be the window of a bathroom. That window is almost directly opposite that open window in the closet there in your husband’s private study.”
“That’s right.”
“Now then,” Sellers went on, “I want you to think carefully. I want you to answer this question, and I don’t want you to change your answer later on. I want the truth and I want it now. Did you or did you not, at any time after you received that blowgun, open that bathroom window?”
“Why, certainly,” she said.
“Oh, you did?”
“Why, of course. Mr. Lam and I opened it together.”
“Well, well, well,” Sellers said, looking at me. “And what were you doing opening it together?”
“She was trying to get her husband’s attention,” I said. “She had a flashlight, and—”
“Never mind. Pint Size,” Sellers said to me. “I’m doing this. Why did you open the window, Mrs. Crockett?”
“I wanted to attract my husband’s attention. I wanted him to come to the window.”
“And how did you plan on doing that?”
“By using a flashlight.”
“Was it daytime or nighttime?”
“It was daytime, but it was…late in the afternoon.”
“A flashlight wouldn’t shine across there.”
“This was a big flashlight,” I said. “A big five-cell flashlight.”
“Now, you keep out of this, Pint Size,” Sellers said to me. “I’m—huh— What did you say?”
“A five-cell flashlight,” I said.
“Well, what do you know!” Sellers said. “What were you doing with a five-cell flashlight down there, Mrs. Crockett?”
“I have it there,” she said, “because sometimes, when I want to attract my husband’s attention, I can do it by shining a powerful flashlight either in the window of that closet or on the window of his study. If it happens he’s in there and wants to come to the window, he’ll come and open it and I can call a message across to him.”
“So you keep that flashlight down there for the sole purpose of signaling your husband?”
“Yes.”
One of the other officers entered the room. “Inspector Giddings,” Sellers said. It was an explanation, not an introduction.
“How about giving me the keys and letting me go down there and look around?” Sellers asked Mrs. Crockett.
“I think it would be better if Mrs. Crockett went down there with you,” I said.
Sellers looked at me with uncordial eyes. “Well, now, where did you get any call to put in your two bits’ worth, Pint Size? We’re investigating a murder and I’m just pigheaded enough to think I’m going to investigate it my own way.”
I looked at him and said, “Then suppose you find something else down there and put a nice little label on it and bring it into court as evidence, and some smart lawyer gets you on the witness stand on cross-examination and says, ‘How do we know you didn’t plant that stuff down there?’”
“Now you’re telling me how to do my job,” Sellers said.
“T
hat’s right.”
Sellers thought it over for a moment, said, “You could make yourself awfully unpopular shooting off your face, but I’m going to let it pass for the moment. I’ll take Inspector Giddings along with me if you’re sure that meets with your approval. And since you’ve pointed out that some smart lawyer is apt to criticize the way I’m going at things here, I think I’ll take all you folks into the office and we’ll tell this secretary about his boss. And then we’ll leave you with a chaperone to see that you don’t get wandering around anywhere.
“I take it your master-mind won’t find any loopholes there, Mr. Lam.
“Now, Mrs. Crockett, if you wouldn’t mind giving me the key to your studio…”
“You don’t have to, you know,” I said to her. “If he wants to search the place you have a right to—”
Inspector Giddings moved fast for a man of his size. He grabbed me by the back of the neck, putting his middle finger and thumb in at points where they pressed the nerves just under my ears, an old police trick for handling persons who proved difficult in picture shows or behind the steering wheels of automobiles.
“Just about one more crack out of you,” he said, “and I’m going to teach you something.”
I had to squirm with the pain, but I said, “You get your hands off me, or I’ll teach you something.”
Inspector Giddings shook me until I was seeing double. Sellers, watching him, said casually, “I think you’re out of line, Inspector.”
Giddings paused to look at Sellers in surprise. “You mean you’re going to stand for that kind of talk? You’re going to let him pull that stuff and get away with it?”
“Don’t make any mistake about the guy,” Sellers cautioned. “He has brains. Now, just to keep the record straight, Lam, are you employed by Mrs. Crockett?”
I was having trouble getting my centers of speech to work. “He is employed by me,” Mrs. Crockett said.
“To do what?” Sellers asked.
“To try and find out who is responsible for my husband’s death.”
Sellers’ eyes narrowed. “That takes in lots of territory.”
“Very well,” she said, “it takes in lots of territory. I want to cooperate with the officers, but I want to find out who killed my husband.”
“That’s what we’re paid for,” Sellers said.
“I understand that, and so does Mr. Lam. I’m quite certain you’ll continue to draw exactly the same compensation and work with the same efficiency. Now then, if you want my key to the studio, here it is.”
She handed the key to Sellers, who nodded to Inspector Giddings. “All right, Thad,” he said, “let’s go break the news to Denton, then go on down and take a look at this place. You understand, Mrs. Crockett, that you’re perfectly free to come along if you wish to do so.”
“It’s quite all right,” she said, “I have nothing to conceal. I have the utmost confidence in your integrity and ability. Although,” she said, glaring at Inspector Giddings, “I don’t like your brutality!”
Giddings said, “Well, there’s nothing in the law that says some private eye has the right to keep busting in when the police are trying to investigate a murder.”
“On the contrary,” she said. “I think Mr. Lam was entirely within his rights. He was being courteous, respectful and cooperative. And your unprovoked attack was, in my opinion, the act of a bully. It is my own first experience with police brutality and I don’t like it.”
Giddings stood looking at her, his face dark red with anger.
Frank Sellers sighed. “Come on, Thad,” he said, “we’re not getting anywhere here. Let’s go down and look at that studio.”
Chapter Twelve
A third officer herded us into the office where Wilbur Denton was banging away at the typewriter.
The officer tapped Denton on the shoulder, said, “The whistle’s blown.”
Denton looked up in surprise, said, “What do you mean?” The officer took a leather folder from his pocket, showed him the badge and his I.D. card. “We’re taking charge.” Denton looked up at the officer, then looked around at us. His face was a mask of startled surprise.
“Dean Crockett has been murdered,” I explained.
The officer turned to me. “I’m doing the talking here.”
“Go ahead and do it then. What’s the use of dragging the thing out?”
“I want to do it my way.”
I said nothing.
Denton got to his feet. He looked as dazed as though someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in his face. “How’s that?” he asked.
The officer took charge of the situation. “Your boss has been murdered. Now, what are you doing?”
“I’m typing some records that he sent out to be transcribed.”
“All right,” the officer said. “Take it easy for a minute until Sergeant Sellers gets back. He’s in charge. We’re going to want all those records transcribed, and then we’re going to want the original records so we can check the transcription.…What’s on them?”
“Some data about exploration in Borneo.”
“Okay. There may be a clue in that stuff. When did you get the records?”
“This morning.”
“Who gave them to you?”
“Mr. Olney.”
The officer turned to Olney. “Where did you get them?”
“Mr. Crockett gave them to me yesterday afternoon when he came out from his study. He told me to get in touch with Denton and be sure that the material was transcribed today.”
“Then what?”
“Then he went back to his study.”
The officer said, “All right, you folks sit down here. Don’t go anyplace, don’t do anything.”
He walked over to the door and looked through into the study where a photographer was taking pictures of the corpse and the fingerprint man was dusting the place for latent prints.
I could see the intermittent flashes of light reflected from exploding flash bulbs. The officer started out by casually watching what was going on in the other room, then became interested.
Phyllis Crockett swayed close to me, put her hand on my arm. “Mr. Lam, I want you to protect me.”
“From what?” I asked.
“From a false charge of murder.”
Melvin Olney moved over to look past the officer’s shoulder into the interior of the room, trying to see what was going on. Denton seemed still in a daze. He had seated himself and was running the fingers of his right hand through his hair as though trying to convince himself he was awake.
I said, “That’s going to cost you money, Mrs. Crockett.”
“I’ve got money.”
“Do you think they can make out a case against you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been framed.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m beginning to put two and two together now. The whole thing adds up.”
“Who framed you?”
“That,” she said, “is your job. I’ve got the money. That’s all I’m going to furnish. You’re going to have to furnish the brains, the ability, the experience and the energy.”
“Get a lawyer,” I told her. “We’ll work with the lawyer.”
“I don’t want a lawyer. For certain reasons, I can’t afford to get one.”
“Why?”
“It would make me look guilty.”
The officer in the doorway turned to look back over his shoulder, saw Olney trying to get a glimpse at what was going on, and said, “Hey, get back there and sit down.”
“Can’t I look?” Olney asked.
The officer gave it to him straight from the shoulder. “No,” he said, “you can’t look.”
I got Phyllis Crockett off to one side. “Why can’t you go to a lawyer?” I asked in a low voice.
She shook her head.
“Tell me,” I said in a half whisper. “I have to know what I’m up against if I’m going to do you an
y good.”
“It’s a long story,” she said. “Very shortly after our marriage I realized that my husband didn’t think marriage made any difference as far as his playing around was concerned.…I’m impulsive and affectionate and…well, you know that, Donald.”
She looked at me pleadingly.
“All right,” I said, “I know that. So what?”
“Well, I get attracted to people and…well, Dean had some very old-fashioned ideas. He thought it was all right for him to play around but it was terrible if I even looked at anybody.… The last three months of our married life have been simply hell.”
“Why didn’t you divorce the guy?”
“He held the whip hand all the way along the line—do you understand what I mean, Donald? The whip hand.”
“What about his will?” I asked. “Do you profit by his death?”
She shook her head.
“Do you know?”
“Well, I don’t know, but I do know Dean told me that if I ever sued for divorce he could keep me from getting a divorce, he could keep me from getting a dime of alimony, and when he died it wouldn’t do me a bit of good.…Aside from that streak in his character, he wasn’t too bad, but he was…he had that ego and—”
The door opened, and Frank Sellers and Inspector Thad Giddings entered the room.
“All right, folks,” Sellers said, “let’s answer a few questions. Mrs. Crockett, I’m going to begin with you.”
She turned toward him.
“Ever see these before?”
Sellers held out his hand. In a plastic tray in the hand there were three darts.
“Why, I’ve seen—”
I nudged her with my elbow.
“I’ve seen some darts that looked like those,” she said. “But of course I can’t tell one dart from another.”
Sellers glanced at me suspiciously, said, “Just move over there to that chair, Lam. Sit down over there. I’m coming to you in a moment. Right now I’m talking to Mrs. Crockett.”
Inspector Giddings moved forward. “Step this way, Mrs. Crockett,” he said.
Phyllis moved over toward the inspector and Sellers.
“Take a good look at those darts,” Sellers said.
She looked at the darts closely.
“Well?” Sellers asked.
“I’ve told you all I can say,” she said with an air of helplessness. “They look like darts that I’ve seen in my husband’s collection, but I don’t know how you can tell one dart from another.”
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