Questionable Results

by R A Wallace

  “Miss Markham.” Nessie stood from her desk chair after ending her telephone call. “Are you here to see me?”

  Delia stepped closer to Nessie’s desk so she wouldn’t have to raise her voice.

  “I have an odd request.” Delia reordered some thoughts in her head. “Or two.”

  Nessie turned to look at the men working behind her then leaned closer to Delia. “Is this about the death at the game preserve?”

  “Yes.” Delia held up one finger. “But first, I need to see today’s newspaper.” She watched Nessie’s brows go up. “Specifically, the mention of the break-in at a woman’s house.”

  “It’s in the back.” Nessie lifted a copy from her desk and began flipping pages. “I felt really sorry for her, being pregnant and all.”

  “You spoke with her?” Delia reached for the paper Nessie held out to her.

  “It was a minor story,” Nessie said as she made a face. “And the men don’t like dealing with hysterical women.”

  “I can imagine she was upset,” Delia said as she skimmed the article. She tapped the page when she was done. “She mentioned a man being recently killed.”

  “The man at the game preserve.” Nessie’s eyes were bright with interest. “I wanted to question her more but she was too upset at the time. I thought about going back to her place after I give the abattoir another go.”

  “You’re still following the story about the abattoir at the south of town?”

  “There’s a story there, I know it.” Nessie’s jaw set stubbornly.

  “I believe you.” Delia saw a flash of surprise in Nessie’s face. “I’m going to need directions to the pregnant woman’s house.” Her eyes went back to the article. “Sylvia Chrisman.” She looked back at Nessie with a question in her eyes.

  Nessie leaned close again. “They weren’t married.”

  Delia made a noise of understanding. “And after you give me the directions to Sylvia’s house, I need a favor.”

  “If I help, does it guarantee I’ll get a story?”

  Delia nodded her agreement. “I need you to ensure that certain information is made public.”

  Nessie grinned. “I am in the newspaper business.”

  After concluding her discussion with Nessie, Delia left the newspaper office. She was about to retrace her steps to the trolley stop when she ran into Otis. From what she could tell, the man was not happy.

  “Is something the matter?” Delia watched Otis glance at the shop window behind her.

  “See the flyer there? That’s the problem.”

  She turned to read it. “The Liberty Loan parade?”

  “Mrs. Gray has it in her head to attend.” His scowl made it obvious he didn’t agree.

  “You’re worried about security?” she guessed.

  “Of course I’m worried.” He gave an apologetic grimace for raising his voice. “There’s no way to protect her in a crowd.”

  Delia checked the flyer again. “Isn’t the parade around the same time as the gathering on campus?” She watched his brows pull together. “The meet and greet that the captain has arranged for the new military officers.”

  “Virginia helped plan that,” Otis said mostly to himself. He began nodding. “They nearly overlap.”

  “I would think the official opening of a military school in the area would be a press-worthy event,” Delia said. “No doubt there will even be photographs.” She was fairly certain Nessie would be happy to accommodate. “I imagine it’s possible that other newspapers would wish to pick up on the story.”

  “Good for business.” Otis began to smile.

  “Might increase enrollment,” Delia agreed.

  “I just met one of the new officers,” Otis said. “Pierce Byers. He was asking Arch about the game preserve.”

  “What about it?”

  Otis gave a half shrug, his mind on convincing Virginia to forego the parade for the party. “He was asking Arch about hunting prospects.”

  “You’re certain?” Delia’s sharp question caused Otis to snap to attention.

  “Very. Why?”

  “He was one of the officers I thought I saw out last night,” she said. “I was also told that Pierce asked Arch about the hunting prospects at the preserve before Marcus Sidehill was killed. Why would he be doing it now?”

  “To cover his tracks?” Otis guessed. “Hoping that if anyone mentioned it to Arch in passing, he would agree it happened.” His eyes returned to the flyer in the window.

  Delia turned to look at it but her eyes went to the dress on display in the same window. It was the dress she’d discussed with Virginia Gray a few days before.

  “Lovely color, that.” Otis spoke softly. “I’ve only ever seen it once before. The most beautiful dress you could imagine.”

  Delia thought of Virginia’s trousseau dress. “Was it here in the states that you saw it?”

  “Hm?” Otis shifted his focus to Delia. “Uh, no.” Otis backed up. “I must be going if I’m to have any success with your idea for changing Mrs. Gray’s plans.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sylvia Chrisman’s house was more like a cabin. Though technically in town, it was situated near the outer edge and bordered a heavily wooded area. Delia imagined that someday the growth of the town might push the limits beyond the woods. It would mean clearing most of the trees in the process but it was part of the natural progression of advancement.

  It didn’t surprise her to see an officer positioned outside of Sylvia’s cabin. She paused long enough to greet him, provide her name, and state the reason for her visit. In that, she was creative. Though she planned to speak with Judson, she required more information first. She believed that only Sylvia Chrisman, the victim’s lover, would be able to supply it.

  Her tapping at the door was unanswered for several moments. She was about to try for the third time when the curtain on the window nearest the door shifted. Before it had a chance to swing back into place, the front door opened.

  The woman on the other side was showing signs of a midterm pregnancy. Her long, straight hair was neatly coiled at the nape of her neck. Her reddened eyes were full of distrust. Sylvia held a towel in her hands. The apron over her loose-fitting house dress was splotched with wetness.

  “What do you want?” Sylvia’s eyes shifted to the police officer behind Delia then back again.

  Delia introduced herself through the screen door. “I know this is a difficult time for you, but it is very important that we speak.”

  Sylvia’s head shook indicating she had different ideas as she took a step back. Her hand began pushing the door closed.

  “Sylvia, I know about the code Marcus was working on.” Delia opened the screen door without invitation.

  Sylvia’s lips were pressed together tightly. She slanted one more look at the police officer before giving a single nod of agreement.

  Delia followed the other woman into the kitchen. It was a small room with few modern conveniences. Sylvia returned to her washtub without speaking. Delia surveyed the room then looked through the kitchen window facing the rear of the property. An outhouse was situated closer to the house than the trees. No doubt a necessity to avoid the many tree roots when digging a hole.

  She turned back toward Sylvia. The woman’s hands were plunged into the washtub as she bent to her task of scrubbing a man’s shirt.

  “Marcus lived here with you?”

  Sylvia’s face contorted into anguish but she made no noise as she applied a hard bar of soap to the collar before scrubbing the fabric against the corrugated washboard.

  “He must have been very fond of the woods,” Delia guessed. “To want to live among the trees like this.”

  Sylvia’s movements slowed. “He was always happiest in the woods.”

  “Tell me about him,” Delia asked.

  It took Sylvia a moment to get her emotions under control enough to respond. “He loved it here. He said it was the perfect place to write.”

  “A writer?”
Delia thought about the code. “And a mathematician.”

  Sylvia’s hands noticeably shook as she continued to scrub the shirt against the washboard. “He was very smart that way. Always talking about wireless telegraphy and sending voice over radio waves.”

  “The ability to communicate for long-distances over the air,” Delia said.

  “I should have known it would be the death of him.” Her words were choked as tears began to stream down her face. Her hands stopped scrubbing as her knees began to buckle.

  Delia moved quickly to support Sylvia to a nearby chair. After helping the grieving woman into it, she crossed over to the sink. She found a teacup that had been rinsed and set to drain. She filled it from the hand pump at the sink and brought it back to Sylvia.

  “Here. Drink.” Delia pressed the cup into Sylvia’s trembling hands.

  It took several moments for Sylvia to calm herself. Her eyes returned to the washtub. “The laundry.”

  Delia doubted that Marcus would require his shirts cleaned now but she began rolling up her sleeves. After picking up the hard bar of soap, she bent to her task. “Marcus developed a code.”

  Sylvia made a noise of agreement as she took another sip of water.

  “The police officer outside. Why is he here?” Delia watched Sylvia’s eyes fill with fear before she turned her face toward the front of the house.

  “They’re going to come after me.” It was barely a whisper.

  “Who?” Delia’s hopes that Sylvia might have some idea of the actual killer were soon dashed.

  “I don’t know.” Sylvia’s head shook back and forth. “I don’t know. My baby.”

  “Is why you must calm yourself now,” Delia said gently.

  Sylvia wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock back and forth in her chair.

  “Sylvia, I need to know about the code.” Delia began to wring the shirt enough to shift it over to the rinse water without making a mess.

  Sylvia lifted her apron to dab at her face. “What about it?”

  Delia plunged the shirt into the rinse water. “Where is it now?”

  Sylvia held the apron against her lips as her eyes widened above her hands. She shook her head.

  Delia lifted the shirt to wring it thoroughly. “Sylvia, this is extremely important.”

  Sylvia lowered the apron. “He had it with him. He always carried it about his person. Always.”

  Delia straightened. “What was he planning to do with it?”

  Sylvia’s eyes filled with confusion. “Why, he was going to sell it, of course.”

  Delia left several minutes later and made her way back to the main part of town. When she reached the police station, Judson was standing next to Rufus’s desk watching the man use the typewriter. He didn’t appear surprised to see Delia. Rufus had a hopeful look on his face.

  Her eyes went down to the typewriter. “Problems?”

  “The ink is fading.” Rufus pointed at a document next to his typewriter. “You can hardly read the print.”

  “I told him he needs to replace the ribbon.” Judson’s eyes were full of laughter. “You would think I’d threatened to horsewhip him.”

  “I’d rather take the whip,” Rufus muttered as he eyed the typewriter. Such a difficult task was known to strike fear in the hearts of many brave men.

  “The ribbon is still in decent shape,” Delia said. “You could just re-ink it.”

  “That sounds more like it.” Rufus’s face split into a grin as he straightened in his seat. “How do I do that?”

  “Well.” Delia thought of the different activities she’d watched Rufus perform. “Your stamping pad, for example. You could use the ink for that.”

  “By golly, I should have thought of that one.” Rufus pulled a drawer open and began rummaging around. “Where is that ink hiding?”

  “If your boss approves a purchase, you could also use one of these.” Delia dug into her purse and pulled out something resembling a pen. “It’s designed to re-ink ribbons. You just rub the felt wick against the used ribbon.”

  “You don’t say?” Rufus took it from Delia’s outstretched hand. “Well, now. That’ll fix me right up.” He shot a triumphant look at his boss.

  “You came to see me?” Judson began moving toward his office.

  “I have a few things to share.” She followed him through the hallway being careful not to look into any of the rooms they passed. Though most of the police officers no longer scowled at her presence, she had no desire to see any prisoners.

  “You’ve heard about the victim’s lover?” Judson settled into his chair.

  “Indeed. I just left her.” Delia perched on the edge of the chair across from his desk.

  “Were you able to get anything out of her?” Judson propped his elbows on the arms of his chair. “She’s been rather hysterical, as you might imagine. My men have been very concerned about her state of mind given her condition.”

  “She is understandably concerned about the welfare of her unborn child,” Delia agreed. “But mostly because she fears she’s a target for anyone looking for the code.”

  “Rightfully so,” Judson said emphatically. “I don’t have to tell you the significance.” He waved one hand vaguely in the air. “Enabling some form of secure communication is desirable under normal circumstances, but in the midst of a war.” He let the sentence hang.

  “Sylvia is of the impression that Marcus Sidehill’s code would allow a secure wireless transmission,” Delia said.

  His brows lifted. “Speaking of which, might I assume you are the reason I received a telephone call from a rather high-ranking official?”

  “There are government men on their way to Glennon even as we speak,” Delia said. “Naval Intelligence has concerns.”

  “As well they should,” he said as he studied her with unreadable eyes.

  “It is my understanding from comments I’ve heard that Marcus had no preference as to his buyer,” she said.

  His chin came up as anger flared in his eyes. “Our government will want to ensure it doesn’t make it to the hands of our enemies.”

  “Unfortunately, Sylvia claims he kept his notes with him at all times for safe keeping.” She looked at him pointedly.

  “And she chose not to share that information with the police?” Judson gave a quick shake of his head. “My men found no such notes on his person.”

  “I was afraid of that,” she murmured as she juggled thoughts in her head. “She’s worried that she might be considered a suspect.”

  “She is,” he said bluntly. “That code is worth a lot of money. Many have killed for far less.”

  “There may be others you would wish to consider as well.” She described her conversations with the poachers, Gary Weir and Bud Martin. “I doubt either are in possession of the code but they both described seeing a short plug of a man wearing work boots. They said the boots were the kind worn for factory work.” She motioned to her head. “And a judge style hat with the inside turned down to cover his ears.”

  “And hide his face.” Judson reached for his notepad. “My men spoke with both of the poachers after you shared their names with me. Oddly enough, neither man was as forthcoming with my officers as they were with you.”

  “I’m sure they were worried about being arrested.” She fixed her eyes on Judson.

  “They were not,” he said as he met her gaze. “Anyone else?”

  “If there is the possibility that Marcus was willing to sell his code to the highest bidder, any number of governments would want it.” Her eyes shifted away from him.

  “What?” he asked quickly.

  She gave the barest shake of her head. “The normal school has begun the military training. There are two new officers that have come to instruct the recruits. Your men spoke with them.”

  “Arlie Gibson and Pierce Byers? They were in the woods when our victim was killed.” His eyes narrowed. “What about them?”

  “They didn’t seem particularly k
een on informing the police about the body in the woods for one thing.” She made a face. “Let’s just say I have some questions about them. According to Arlie, Pierce asked Arch about hunting prospects out at the preserve before Marcus Sidehill was killed. But Otis heard him asking after. In addition, I may have seen them moving about campus late at night which makes no sense since I believe they’ve taken housing in town.” She took a deep breath. “And one other thing.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  “It is my understanding that Alexander Boardman’s family has recently lost money in an investment.” She locked eyes with him. “With a foreign nation. One with which we are currently at war.”

  She listened to Judson swear for several moments and wondered what she was going to tell Mena about her arborist. “I’m sorry.”

  “It is not your fault.” He sounded tired. “As much as I do not desire to cause distress for Miss Bergman, you should know that I’ve been looking into him anyway. It seems a friend of his, a presumed dissenter of the war, was also in the woods that day. Nothing concrete, of course. I cannot prove his disloyalty to our country. Yet.”

  She felt her heart clench at the pain Mena might suffer. “You have a name?”

  “Humphrey Leeson.” He was scowling as he spoke. “My men are on their way to question him as we speak.”

  “The only thing worse than having no suspects,” she said quietly.

  “Is having entirely too many.” He leaned back in his seat with a sigh.

  “I have an idea,” she said. “It might help to draw out our killer.”

  His eyes filled with suspicion. “Does it involve placing you in harm’s way?”

  She smiled then began to outline her idea.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The trolley seemed to move at the pace of a snail. Delia knew she was running out of time. She needed to get back to the campus but she had one more stop to make before she did. To know that Alexander might cause Mena such pain spurred her into action. She had to know if there might be any way he was involved in the death of Marcus Sidehill. Not just directly, but possibly through his connections.