Riggs looked at the chief’s notes. He could either give the chief an update and accept defeat or he could clear out of the office before anyone realized he’d been there. Just as he stood up the telephone rang.
Riggs braced himself.
If that was the chief, or worse, Cheshire…
Riggs sat back down and lifted the receiver.
“Riggs, this is Bell,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m here with Walter.”
Riggs exhaled.
“We’ve been talking,” she hurried on, “and considering the ramifications of the situation, Walter has agreed to divulge the particulars of the file, provided that you do your best to keep the information as confidential as possible.”
“Good God, Bell, you know I’m not feeding the gossip columns!”
“Of course, Riggs. But I still want your promise that you will do everything that you can, within the bounds of the law, to keep this out of the papers.”
“Done.” Riggs cleared his throat. “Just put him on the line, would you?”
A moment later, Riggs could hear Walter’s calculated voice, “Um, Inspector Riggs—I want it understood that this is strictly confidential.”
Riggs took a deep breath and restated his assurances with far more diplomacy than he’d given Bell.
“Well, I’ll discuss it,” Walter agreed, “but I’d rather not do it over the telephone. And I have to talk to Paul first. Victoria says you’re heading over to my mother’s house later. How about if I meet you there at six o’clock?”
Riggs agreed, and they got off the line. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He would not sit around and wait for the guillotine to drop. Riggs grabbed his hat and his notepad and hurried out of his office. As he headed down the stairs, he encountered Inspector Fisher coming up. The rookie spun around and followed Riggs’ descent. “Hey, boss, chief’s been screaming for you.”
Riggs kept moving. “Well, it’s too bad you haven’t seen me.”
“I’m seeing you right now.”
Riggs shook his head and emphasized his meaning. “Nope. I was already gone before you had a chance to tell me that.”
When he hit the sidewalk, Riggs checked his watch, but it was too early to meet Donna Holt, so he turned south and headed to Pioneer Square. Fisher walked beside him. When the two men reached the cobblestone streets around Occidental Square, Riggs realized that he didn’t even know where he was going. He stopped in Occidental Park and looked up at the grand totem pole towering above them. Its beautifully carved animal faces looked out over Riggs’ head, their bold colors were faded by years of sun and rain. The highest animal on the totem pole wasn’t in over its head. A noble black figure perched sixty feet up in the air; it seemed to be a raven. Riggs had once heard that the local tribes believed that the raven was cunning and clever.
Riggs sighed.
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Pioneer Square & A Decorator’s Eye
Inspector Fisher was still catching his breath. He sat down on a bench beneath the iron pergola and took off his hat. “If I don’t give the chief something, we’ll both be demoted to traffic cops. Come on, Riggs, where do things stand?”
Riggs didn’t look at him. “Nowhere, especially.”
“Well, I got the scoop on Paul and Camille’s cook,” Fisher said, “and she’s as clean as a whistle. Her sister and at least four other ladies can swear that she was quilting blankets for the local orphanage up in Bellingham since Wednesday. And she was seen on the train coming back, so her alibi is watertight.”
“Good work.” Riggs stared over the square.
Fisher took out his notebook and flipped the pages. “Meanwhile, Paul Abbott still doesn’t have an alibi, and he’s a free man. What’s your angle, Riggs?”
Riggs summarized everything he had dug up on Paul Abbott. Fisher mostly listened, but he asked a few questions. Paul had attended a private college before the war, served as an officer, and took over the company when his father died ten years ago. Since then, he’d done a minimum amount of work and a maximum amount of gambling and womanizing, mostly with very lovely women whose morals matched his own. He was up to his chin in debt, probably more than the bank records showed, and a few of his financial dealings were probably illegal. Paul had a trivial police record, but he needed money badly.
“He’s got a record and no alibi,” Fisher concluded, “so why aren’t we arresting him?”
He was right, and any other inspector would have been thrilled, but Riggs didn’t like it. A wrong arrest would buy him a short win, but if it backfired, he’d be left holding the bag. He sat down next to Fisher.
“Paul’s record is a parade of boneheaded stunts and misdemeanors,” Riggs explained as he took out his notepad to read. “He’s been picked up twice for gambling; once for stampeding Pike Place Market in a Chinese dragon costume, intoxicated; once for swimming with a young lady in the fountain in front of city hall, very intoxicated; and once for stealing a friend’s yacht in order to have it painted pink for the first day of boating season.” Riggs closed the notepad. “Apparently, he was entirely sober that time, but since the yacht was recovered before it was painted, his friend dropped the charges.”
“Those are still crimes,” Fisher insisted.
Riggs shook his head. “But I haven’t found a single example of Paul being malicious or physically aggressive in any way. His life is a showcase of stupid, reckless frivolity, but there has never been a threat, an angry fistfight, or even, as far as I can tell, an unhappy woman at his hands. I just can’t connect his behavior to a pair of murders. Besides, both Miss Sutherland and Bell insist that Paul Abbott doesn’t have a violent nature.”
“It’s your neck.” Fisher exhaled and crossed his arms. “And you don’t want to arrest Paul Abbott yet. Okay, so what can I tell the chief about the others?”
“Donna Holt looks clean too,” Riggs said. “Her shop is doing well, and her customers like her. Before moving to Seattle, she’d worked for four years for a designer named Lillie Augustine in an upscale decorating boutique in New York. Mrs. Peabody, the cook, is clean. Her background checks out, and she’s worked there forever.”
Fisher made a note. “What about the son-in-law?”
“Marcus Shrubb is a respected executive of a local timber company. During the War, he volunteered and was trained as a medic. He served for several months in Hawaii before a broken leg sent him home. Nothing there.
“Freddy Abbott also volunteered for service, but he was younger, so the war ended while he was still in basic training. He finished up college and decided to open his own bookshop instead of joining his brothers in the family business.”
“Were there any bad feelings about that?” Fisher asked.
“His father leased the store space to him, but Mrs. Abbott never liked the arrangement. As soon as the father died, she began pressuring Freddy to give it up. By all accounts, Freddy has spent the last ten years avoiding her as much as possible.” Riggs took off his hat. “Let me see, Mrs. Shrubb. Julia married Marcus when she was nineteen. The Shrubbs socialize with Seattle’s respectable upper-class. Julia is a member of the Seattle Horticultural Society, the March of Dimes, the Northwest Rose Foundation, and she’s on the gardening committee at her country club. Marcus is a self-made man and seems to be devoted to his wife. They have one son, who likes to read and has a vivid imagination, but I don’t think he’s capable of murder either.”
“They can’t all be above board,” Fisher objected. “One of them is a double-murderer.”
“We still have Walter Abbott,” Riggs said. “As a boy, he struggled to speak, especially around strangers. There were specialized doctors and tutors, and he more or less got over it. He joined the family business and managed the money side of things. During the war, he served as an officer in the Army. He saw combat in France and was decorated, but he had some sort of relapse. He spent some time in the army hospital, but after the war, he was able to go back to the family business. He lives in a modest house in Ballar
d by Salmon Bay, he bowls with a few old friends, and he restores old cars in his garage. He led a quiet life until last year when he met and married one Victoria Bell.”
“So Paul’s a worthless playboy, and Walter’s a nut job,” Fisher said as he stood up. “That’ll work. I’ll argue that they’re both just as likely, and you need a little more time to make sure you nab the right one.”
* * *
Paul Abbott needed a shave and a fresh jacket. The police wouldn’t let him back into his apartment, and he sat in the Five Spot with a cup of cold coffee for nearly three hours. He telephoned Marcus and Julia’s house five or six times, but the operator kept saying that their telephone was out of order.
By mid-afternoon, Paul headed back to his sailboat. The plainclothes policeman tailing him since he left the police station followed him. Paul had thought about talking to him, but he wasn’t in the mood. The marina clubhouse had an easy view of Paul’s boat, and the police officer could keep an eye on him. Paul ordered a soda water for himself and a cold beer to be sent over to the cop. Then Paul took his soda water down to the sailboat. He could have a shower anyway, and he might even collect his thoughts.
And that’s where Walter and Victoria found him.
Paul had just finished his shower. And he’d already decided, so there wasn’t much left for his brother and sister-in-law to say. Within a few minutes, the three went up to the marina’s lounge, and Paul made the telephone calls. Six o’clock at Mrs. Abbott’s house. With every call, he refused to elaborate. It was too late, but before it was all over, Paul wanted to see the family, and he had to tell them the truth. They all agreed to meet him.
* * *
Inspector Riggs led Donna Holt into Paul’s apartment. She glanced around the space until her gaze settled on the empty table where the lamp had stood yesterday. She took a deep breath and removed her gloves. As Donna slipped them into her handbag, her gaze fell to the floor where the imprint of Camille’s body was still pressed into the luxurious carpet. “So that’s where…”
Riggs nodded.
Donna pointed to the sofa. “Miss Sinclair liked to sit there. She insisted that this end table have a drawer, so she had somewhere to keep the manuscripts she was reading.” Donna looked around the familiar space. “The room hasn’t changed, but it will never feel the same.”
There was a commotion behind them and then raised voices. Donna and Riggs listened as the officer, who was guarding the door, argued with a determined reporter who wanted to take photographs of the crime scene. In a few minutes, the distraction passed and everything was quiet.
“Are they always that pushy?” Donna asked.
“When it’s a big story.” Riggs smiled reassuringly. “Now, Miss Holt, what can you tell me about the drapes?”
Donna’s attention went to the long drapes on each side of the main window.
“Someone has moved them,” she said. “It wasn’t like this yesterday. Do you see how this part is all bunched together? The creases are all irregular, and the lines don’t match.” She stepped closer. “May I move them?”
Riggs nodded, and Donna reached out and straightened them to illustrate her point. “Do you see what I mean? They should look like this,” she explained as she worked. “Oh, but the rest of it is still done properly…”
She stepped back into the room so she could study them again. “It looks to me as though they were pulled closed, but only partially, you see?” She pointed at the drapes. “This area is still done properly. Miss Sinclair must have done that herself. But then someone else closed them partially, only to here, and then reopened them again.”
She closed the drapes just enough to block the view of the neighboring apartment building, and then she reset the pleats as she opened them back up again.
Riggs didn’t think that the folding method made a huge difference, but there was a certain neatness to the whole thing when Donna was finished. She smiled with satisfaction at the improvement.
“And you’re sure that these drapes were folded properly when you were here yesterday?”
“Oh, definitely.” She nodded. “They were perfect when I was here. But after that, someone closed the drapes about halfway.” She inspected the fold lines along the carpet. Then she stood up and turned to Riggs. “Inspector, I can’t tell you who closed these drapes, but I can tell you whoever opened them was not Camille Sinclair.”
Chapter Forty: A Shocking Confession
“Since when?” Marcus demanded.
The Abbott family and Rosemary were all gathered in Mrs. Abbott’s living room. It was six o’clock. Riggs hadn’t arrived yet, and Paul had just come clean.
“About two years ago,” Paul said miserably. “At first, it was five thousand dollars. I promised myself it was just a loan; to tide me over. I meant to pay it all back. Then it was thirteen thousand. And last October, I took nearly twenty thousand dollars to stop some debts before they went to court. Every time I told myself that it was just an emergency loan, and I would return the cash before it was missed. But I never did. I’m sorry.”
Freddy straightened his glasses and turned to Walter. “You were covering for him, weren’t you? That was what was in the file.”
“I figured it out,” Walter admitted quietly. “I thought Mother might somehow be able to straighten…” His words died away although his mouth was still moving. Finally, Walter stopped. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor.
“Did you kill her?” Alex demanded. His face was red, and his eyes were wet with tears. He was looking at Paul.
“Never!” Paul insisted desperately. “I swear to God, I never hurt anyone!”
“And what about Camille?” Freddy said. “Did you kill her to keep her quiet?”
Paul held out his hands. “I am a thief, a gambler, and a liar, but I swear I’m not a murderer.”
No one spoke.
“Please believe me, please,” Paul pleaded. He looked around at their faces and shook his head. “No, it wasn’t me. I swear I didn’t murder anyone!”
Alex wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Rosemary cried, and Victoria handed her a handkerchief.
The doorbell rang.
Rosemary jumped up and ran from the room, but no one else moved. And no one spoke.
A moment later, they heard Donna and Inspector Riggs’ voices in the hallway, and Julia went to join them. As Rosemary led Donna into the dining room to examine the French door, Julia blocked Riggs.
“You have to find the murderer,” Julia said. Her voice was quiet, but there was a hardness Riggs hadn’t heard before. “I don’t care if it ruins my family name and destroys the company. I don’t care who’s guilty. I don’t care if it’s one of us and the newspapers expose it all. We can overcome a tragedy, but we can’t go on never trusting each other again.”
Raised voices came from the living room.
Riggs looked at Julia Shrubbs’ face. Marcus had described Julia’s frail nerves, but there was nothing frail about the woman standing in front of him. There was no sign of weakness or of doubt, just a willful determination to end her family’s suffering.
Riggs patted her arm. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Shrubb. We’ll get there.” In his own mind, Riggs marveled at how any man could be so oblivious to his wife’s strength.
When Riggs returned, the argument stopped. The living room was still except for the heavy and strained breathing. Some had flushed cheeks, others had wet eyes or tense shoulders, but they all were worried.
Rosemary came in without speaking or looking at anyone.
Marcus was pacing nervously, a large vein on his neck throbbing visibly. Paul was standing in the corner, his tie askew and still needing a shave. Julia sat down next to Alex and gently put her arm around him.
Riggs addressed Walter. “About that file, Mr. Abbott…”
Walter’s hands tightened into fists, and he swayed slightly. Instead of looking at Riggs, he glanced at Victoria.
“The file contained conf
idential company financial records,” Victoria explained. “Which documented three thefts amounting to nearly thirty-eight thousand dollars.”
Riggs glanced at Paul, but Victoria continued, “On three separate occasions, funds were shifted between departments and accounts, multiple times over until the funds all eventually disappeared. It was an inside job, and the records Walter had compiled showed that there was only one person who could have managed it. Walter’s hope was that his mother might be able to resolve the problem discreetly.”
“I see.” The inspector turned to Paul. “And you knew that Walter was on to you?”
“Walter is a crackerjack with money,” Paul said, “so I always knew it was only a matter of time until he figured it out. When I found out he’d been asking certain managers questions, I knew he was getting close. Then, his secretary told me Walter had taken a file to my mother, and I realized what it was.”
Riggs took a deep breath. “So Camille used the office key from the bureau to sneak into your mother’s office. And while she was there, she unlatched the window so you could come back later?”
“It was you?” Rosemary asked.
Freddy looked at his brother. “But you have your own house key,”
“I misplaced my keys a few weeks ago,” Paul explained. “I was going to unlock the window myself, but Camille offered to do it. She said if anyone caught me, it would look more suspicious, but she could simply claim that she was looking for the powder room. It was easy enough, Camille unlatched the window, and that night when everyone left, I drove around the block, parked the car on the street, and Camille waited in the car while I walked back to the house with a flashlight. It didn’t even occur to me until later that Rosemary or Mrs. Peabody could have seen me.”
The Charlatan Murders Page 21
