by Ben Benson
“I don’t care. Nobody is going to let you sit in on a game wearing dark glasses or an eyeshade, or a ring shiner, or any of that crude crap. After a game I usually run through a deck to see if there’s been any crimping or pinholes. I never found any.” He opened the deck in his hand and fanned the cards out on the table. “Look at them yourself. These cards are perfect—back and front.”
Gahagan picked up one of the cards and examined it under the light. “Unless somebody has come up with a sharp dodge that even you don’t know.”
“Baloney,” Raynham said. “I know them all. More than you do. He’d have to be real sharp. He’d have to work it on the shuffle, cut and deal. And he’d have to be somebody unknown. Because me and Bellanca know every pro in the business. They don’t come to the Mount Puritan.”
Gahagan said, “I understand there was a big game at the hotel last weekend.”
Raynham smoked his cigar without answering.
Gahagan said, “I heard over ten grand was lost in that game.”
“Huh,” Raynham said derisively. “If you knew so much why didn’t you or Dondera do something about it? You know why you didn’t? You’re just on a fishing expedition. Or you’re listening to rumors. If you paid less attention to rumors and did some work, you might solve a few cases, Sam.”
“I can always come to you for help, Chet,” Gahagan said evenly. “Now what about that big poker game?”
“I hadn’t heard about it, Sam. You’ve got better connections in my hotel than I have.”
“I don’t hear you denying it, Chet.”
“I don’t admit or deny anything,” Raynham said. “If those people were playing cards privately and could afford that kind of stakes, I say good luck to them.”
“We’d like a list of your big card players,” Gahagan said.
“You’ll get no list from me,” Raynham said. “I don’t have such a list. I don’t know who plays cards for money. I don’t ask. And it’s not my job to have my guests bothered by cops asking questions. I respect the privacy of my guests.”
“You talk like you’ve got some kind of holy mission,” Gahagan said. “I’ve taken a lot of lip from you because I was hoping you’d come up with a few answers. But it gets kind of sickening to hear you after a while.”
Raynham’s face flushed. “I know my rights, Sam. I don’t have to give you any names. You’ve got a murder and you’re going nowhere with it. That’s tough. I feel bad. I don’t even know the kid. But I feel bad for his mother. I got a mother, too. But my hotel’s got nothing to do with this kid’s murder.”
“You don’t know that, Chet.”
“Oh, I know.”
“He hung around your hotel.”
“Once or twice. He hung around a lot of places. Why don’t you bother those other people?”
“We did.”
“I ain’t going to argue with you, Sam. But you don’t reach me. I got nothing more to say without advice of counsel.” And that was the end of the interview.
During this time the corridors of the Barnstable courthouse were crowded with reporters, news photographers and curiosity seekers. Television and radio had picked up the case feverishly. It had a goodly amount of human interest. Their story was that the young police trainee had apparently come upon some important crime. Without the knowledge of his superiors he had attempted to expose it and had been brutally murdered. A statement from the Commissioner of Public Safety said that Kirk Chanslor as a recruit had no authority to conduct any such criminal investigation. Kirk Chanslor was aware of this because the rules were very exact on that point. If the victim had discovered a crime it had been his duty to report such knowledge to the proper authorities. It would be assumed from Chanslor’s fine record that he would have reported such knowledge unless he had been prevented by death.
The newspapers also saw good copy in me. They intimated that I had been a personal friend of the victim and I had come down to conduct my own investigation and to avenge him. It was useless to try to deny. GHQ ordered me not to make any statements to the press and to avoid having my picture taken. Such exposure, I was told, would not be an asset in the investigation. It would impair my usefulness, especially if they should need me in the surveillance work.
Chapter 15
It was late that evening, almost midnight, when I drove back to Sachem. When I came up to the Chanslor house it glowed with lights from every window. In front was a row of parked cars. I pulled up ahead of them and got out.
When I came into the house Mrs. Rita Chanslor was sitting in a chair by the fireplace. She looked haggard, pale and dehydrated. With her were some friends and neighbors. As I came toward her and bent to talk to her, she seized me fiercely and held me to her breast. She released me and cried for a moment with dry, hacking heaves.
Then she said to the others, “This is Ralph. He’s Millie Lindsey’s boy. Ralph is a trooper and he was a very close friend of my Kirk. At the Academy he looked after my boy like he was his own brother.”
Someone made room for me in a chair beside her and I sat down. She asked about my father and mother. I said they were both well. Then she turned to the others and told them in detail how my father had been shot in the back when he was a trooper and had been paralyzed now for almost twenty years. And that my mother had just telephoned her from Cambridge and would be there the first thing in the morning. I realized as Mrs. Chanslor talked that the garrulity was necessary to keep her from thinking of her own dead son, and the stark fact that she was now alone in the world.
At midnight the visitors began leaving in small groups. Mrs. Chanslor kept asking about her married aunt who was driving up from Camden, New Jersey, and who had not yet arrived. She was fearful of an accident.
At 12:30 A.M. the aunt arrived. Now the remainder of the guests went. Mrs. Chanslor and the aunt cried for a moment. Then the aunt went into the kitchen to brew some tea. I was the only one left.
“Kirk was such a good boy,” Mrs. Chanslor said to me. “A mother couldn’t ask for a better son. Did you know you were a great idol of his?”
“No, Mrs. Chanslor,” I said.
“You were. He spoke of you all the time. I’ll bet you had some grand times together at the Academy, even though he told me you weren’t supposed to fraternize. Probably after sundown you went out for ice cream together.”
“Yes,” I said. “We had some good times.” If it was of any solace to her I went along with it. There was no leisure time for the recruits at the Academy. Their training day started at 5:50 A.M. and ran until 9:00 P.M. From nine until ten was their study period. Even there they could not relax. They studied either monastically, facing the walls of the classroom, or in group seminar fashion. At ten they showered and prepared for bed. Lights-out was at 10:30 P.M. In the time I was at the Academy I had spoken directly to Chanslor only five or six times.
She closed her eyes and opened them. “I feel much better,” she said. “Much better now.” Her eyes seemed glazed with fatigue.
I said, “Would you like to get some sleep?”
“Not yet,” she said. She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Sit closer, dear. I have to talk to you.”
I moved my chair closer. She said, “Didn’t Kirk tell you he was working on a case?”
“No. Apparently he told nobody but you, Mrs. Chanslor.”
Her mouth twisted painfully. “I also know that the man who owns that fancy Mount Puritan is an evil person. His name is Chester Raynham and he’s a former racketeer. Everybody knows that.”
“Yes. Did you know if Kirk himself was doing any gambling.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m sure he wasn’t.”
“Did he try to borrow any money from you?”
“No. Why would he borrow money? He was paid during training.”
“Maybe he owed some debts.”
“No. He owed nothing.”
The aunt came in then with a tea tray. I rose and helped her set it on the low table in front of Mrs. Chanslor.<
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Mrs. Chanslor said, “Please sit down and stay a little while more, Ralph.”
“Sure,” I said. “As long as you like.”
I sat down. We drank our tea and ate our buttered toast in silence. The aunt looked over at me from time to time as she sipped the hot, steaming brew. She was a tall, heavy, grayhaired woman who had a take-charge, no-nonsense air about her.
When the tea was consumed, the aunt said firmly, “Rita, it’s time we all got some sleep around here.”
I stood up again. Mrs. Chanslor started to rise.
“No,” I said. “I can find my way out.”
I said good night to them and went toward the front door. As I reached it, I heard Mrs. Chanslor call out, “Ralph, wait, please.”
I turned. She had risen from her chair and was coming toward me. She said, “Remember I told you that Kirk said something about somebody being able to change the color of their eyes?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Did you look into it?”
“I’ve been thinking of it,” I said. “By itself it doesn’t seem to make much sense. Wasn’t there anything else he said with it?”
“I can’t remember anything else.”
“Well, we’ll check on it,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, without much hope. “Good night, Ralph.”
I said good night again and went outside. The door closed behind me. I walked down the short walk to my car. There was only one other car on the street now. It was parked across the street with its parking lights on. Somebody was sitting in the driver’s seat. For a moment I thought it was some reporter lying in wait.
Then a voice came softly from it. “Ralph.”
I crossed over, recognizing the car now as the old Hancock family sedan. Sitting behind the wheel was Iva.
She said, “How’s Mrs. Chanslor?”
“Bearing up fine,” I said. “She’s showing a lot of courage.”
“She happens to be a wonderful woman, Ralph.”
“Yes,” I said. “What are you doing out so late?”
“I was in to see Mrs. Chanslor earlier in the evening and I went home. Then I didn’t know what to do with myself. Sleep was out of the question. I wanted to get away from people. So I took the car out and drove around. Just anywhere. Driving. It gave me something to do. A few moments ago I came by here and saw your car. I thought I’d wait.”
“I’m glad you did,” I said.
“Are you? Then buy me a cup of coffee down at the 151 Diner. I’ll drive you.”
“Fair enough,” I said. I went around and got in beside her.
She started the car. I said, “It takes time to adjust.”
“Kirk is dead,” she said simply. “I’ll never get used to the idea. I had a very deep feeling toward Kirk. Not like toward you, of course. Not that almost animal feeling I had with you. But I did have a very deep feeling for Kirk. We loved each other. We were going to get married. Didn’t he tell you that?”
“He never confided in me, Iva.”
“You still have no idea why he was killed?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m awfully tired of thinking,” she said despairingly. “I’ve thought of every possible reason why anyone would want to harm him. First I thought of Larry Pierce, Lord forgive me. But even Larry wouldn’t do such a thing, would he?”
“Not logically. What made you think of Larry?”
“It was stupid. Just because they had that fight once. Of course, it’s not logical. Larry would have no reason.”
“Did you see Kirk with Larry Friday night?”
“No, but Lucy Perry did. It was about a quarter to eight. Do you know Lucy?”
“The pretty, dark-haired girl who works at Marion’s Tots and Togs?”
“Yes. She lives on Obed’s Lane. Lieutenant Gahagan was talking to her.”
“I saw her name on the report,” I said. “Well, we already knew that Kirk was with Larry Pierce at a quarter to eight.”
“They weren’t quarreling, were they?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Were you expecting to see Kirk Friday night?”
“No. Not until Saturday night. I didn’t know he was getting an extra day off. Lucy Perry phoned me about eight. She said Kirk was home and she had seen him down in the square fifteen minutes before. I waited for him to come to the house. When he hadn’t shown by eight-thirty I went out looking for him. He wasn’t any place in town.”
“Did you drive down and look for him around the Mount Puritan?”
“No,” she said. “I couldn’t think of any reason why he’d be there.” She tossed her head. “I have to know why it happened. Why would anyone think of harming him? He never bothered anybody. He wasn’t even the type who attracted much attention.”
It was for just that reason that Kirk would have made a good investigator, I thought. He merged with the surroundings and took them on as protective coloring. In civilian clothes he was an average citizen.
We were silent the remainder of the way. We came to the diner and parked in the side lot. With the exception of a single truck driver the diner was empty. We sat down on the stools and ordered coffee. The counterman knew Iva and me. We had been in there before. He spoke to Iva, offering his condolences about Kirk Chanslor. Then he chatted with me, asking where I had been.
After the coffee, we left and she drove me back to town and to my car. She was very quiet now, speaking only in monosyllables. We said good night.
She said, “Call me, Ralph. Please.”
I told her I would as soon as I could. She drove off and I walked across the street to my car. The street was empty. In the sky millions of stars twinkled. There was a fresh salt breeze from Buzzards Bay. In the Chanslor house lights were still on. Through the open windows I could hear a woman crying. So whatever the aunt’s intentions, she had not been able to get Mrs. Chanslor to sleep.
I drove off, going through Sachem and out onto Route 28. I crossed the canal bridge toward Middleboro. There was almost no traffic. As I rode I thought of the way I had first met Iva Hancock.
When I had first arrived at the D Troop substation in Yarmouth on Cape Cod I had been out on a patrol on Route 151. It had been a Sunday morning in early September, just after Labor Day. I got a radio call to make an investigation at Willow Lake.
Willow Lake was in Cornwall. I remembered driving down a narrow tar road to a cluster of cottages. The one I wanted was a gray one, the last on the left. It had its own tiny stretch of sandy beach and a warped little rickety pier that extended out into the water. Most of the cottages were unoccupied now that the season was over. This one showed signs of habitation.
As I drove up in the patrol cruiser a slim, shapely girl came out of the cottage. She was wearing a brief white bathing suit and Japanese-type sandals. Her jet-black hair was held back by a white band. She was very pretty.
She took me over to the pier and said, “This is where the rowboat was tied up. Now it’s missing.”
“When was it tied up?” I asked.
“Last night. This morning it was gone.”
“Who tied it?”
“I tied it myself.”
I bent down on the pier and looked at the stanchion. “It could have become loosened.”
“Not the way I tie them,” she said. “I used a double hitch.”
I looked around. The lake was very blue and the sunlight glistened on it. I’d like to have gotten into bathing trunks and gone for a swim.
She knew what I was thinking. “There’s an extra pair of trunks in the cottage,” she said.
“I wish I could. But I have a sergeant who knows just where I am and just what I should be doing and just what I’m thinking.” I took out my notebook. “Your name?”
“My name’s Iva Hancock. But the boat isn’t mine. It belongs to the Joselyns.”
“Who are the Joselyns?”
“This is their cottage. I’m down here for the weekend with my friend, Alice Joselyn.”
; “And where is Miss Joselyn?”
“She went into town to tell her folks about the boat. I was delegated to call the police.”
“What did the boat look like?”
“It was a gray rowboat about ten feet long and it had a white trim around the top. We really would like to get it back because the Joselyns have sold the cottage and the boat goes along with the sale.”
I wrote. “Was there a name painted on the boat?”
“Yes. On the stern. Blue Dolly.”
“Blue Dolly? On a gray boat?”
“It was named after Alice’s parakeet. The parakeet died.”
That was reasonable enough. “What was the boat worth, Miss Hancock?”
“Her folks bought it for fifteen dollars ten years ago.”
“It must have been second-hand.”
“Yes. But now, with inflation and all, the boat must be worth at least fifty dollars.”
“It’s an old second-hand boat,” I said. “Did you figure that with deterioration and depreciation the boat might now be worth only five dollars?”
“Don’t be absurd,” she said. “How could that be? Everything is worth three and four times what it was in those days.” She tossed her black hair. “Now, listen. I think I know just how it happened. Somebody drove down here with a car and trailer during the night.”
“Oh, did you hear them?”
“No. I happen to be a very sound sleeper.”
“Did Miss Joselyn hear anybody?”
“No,” she said impatiently. “But here are the marks along the grass.” She tugged at my sleeve. “There. See where the grass is broken?”
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t go over to where she pointed. Instead I picked up a tuft of grass, threw it in the wind and watched idly as it fell to the ground.
I said, “Coming down here with a car and trailer would make a lot of noise. Wouldn’t it be too much trouble for such an old boat?”
“It was a very good boat,” she said insistently. “It hardly leaked.”
“It did leak a little?”
“Just a little.”
I went onto the pier again and looked down into the clear water. She was right behind me.
