by Gorman, Ed
Our maestro played on. “Since we know the household was gathered together, then one of our two remaining facts must be wrong. Let us first examine Nina Browley’s statement. She claims that Clarence indicated someone from the house was his killer, but could she be lying? And if so, why? One reason would be self-protection, if it was, in reality, Mrs. Browley herself who had felled her husband.”
“How could you!” Nina leapt to her feet. Her face became a mask of rage, and I thought she might jump the aged Irishman.
Paige was at her side in a heartbeat, embracing her friend like the first time I’d seen them. “How can you even say that, Mr. O’Nelligan? Nina would never — ”
“Never!” Nina echoed. “Why, I’m the one who paid you to come! Why would I do that if — ”
“Madam, madam...” Mr. O’Nelligan reached out and gently placed a hand on Nina’s cheek. The unexpected gesture seemed to calm her. “Please, take ease and allow me to proceed.”
The two women returned to their seats and Mr. O’Nelligan continued. “Mrs. Browley makes a compelling point. If she was the guilty party why then would she bring in investigators? As a courtesy to our client, we shall assume, for the time being, that she’s telling the truth.”
“I would hope so,” Nina mumbled.
“As we journey across the landscape of this case, we must constantly ford rivers of doubt to get from one point of understanding to the next. Sometimes, we find solid bridges — solid information — by which we can progress. Other times we must simply gird our loins and leap for the farther side. Leaps of faith, as the saying goes. We then trek on until such time as our faith seems ill-founded. When that happens, we must turn back, leap again the previous river, and find a new place to cross.”
“Listen, old man,” Captain Sands grumbled. “What the blazes are — ”
“Hear me out, sir!” demanded Mr. O’Nelligan, cutting off any potential complaint about philosophy lectures. “Let us presume, until compelled not to, that Mrs. Browley is without guilt here and that she spoke the truth regarding someone from the house being the assassin. We are now forced to conclude that our remaining fact is the false one. Tom Durker cannot have seen Clarence at the window.”
Durker huffed. “Are you saying I’m lying?”
“Why would one lie about seeing Clarence alive?” Mr. O’Nelligan mused. “Well, perhaps to cover up the fact that he himself was the assailant and had already left Clarence for dead.”
Durker puffed up his chest. “I didn’t fly all the way here to take this kind of bull. I’ve got a barrelful of L.A. lawyers I can sic on you.”
Mr. O’Nelligan held up a hand. “Don’t rush to conclusions, Mr. Durker. The truth is, I believe you were honestly mistaken about seeing Clarence. Yesterday, Mr. Plunkett and I took in one of your Westerns. Sagebrush Ambush, it was called. An admirable piece of film making.”
Pride replaced anger in keeping the actor’s chest swelled. “That’s my latest. I sure raise hell in that one.”
“Unquestionably. I did have a motivation, besides my love of cinema, in wanting to see one of your movies. It was something mentioned by Mrs. Browley and Miss Simmons regarding your eyes.”
“Well, women do say I’ve got commanding eyes.”
“One would argue that at his own peril.” Mr. O’Nelligan stepped over to the window, looked out and gave a gesture of beckoning, apparently to someone near the front of the house. “Ah, Detective Handleman has arrived.”
Nina scrunched up her face. “Handleman? What’s that Neanderthal doing here?”
Mr. O’Nelligan turned away from the window. “Actually, he’s come per my request. So, as I was saying, the women were disagreeing on how best to describe Tom Durker’s eyes. One saw them as steely; the other called them narrow. After seeing you on the screen, the word I would hold out for is squinty. Mr. Durker, are you, by chance, nearsighted?”
The cowboy hero’s face dropped. “Well, I ... I mean...”
“That’s it!” Nina Browley cried out. “I thought there was something about his stare. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it’s obvious now. Do you wear glasses, Tom?”
“Sometimes,” he said quietly. “Look, don’t tell anybody. No one wants a half-blind gunfighter. But, I swear, I did see Clarence outside this window. I saw his face ... his sword ... Even with my lousy eyes, I couldn’t just see someone who wasn’t there.”
Mr. O’Nelligan nodded in agreement. “That’s exactly what I said to myself. With the outside light on and a full moon in the sky, it seemed impossible that even myopic eyes could perceive a nonexistent man. Then, on the ride back from the film, something occurred to me. What if the man Tom Durker saw was not Clarence Browley at all, but someone who generally resembled him? So, I asked Nina to see a photo of her husband.”
Heavy footsteps could now be heard approaching us.
Mr. O’Nelligan did not pause. “The photo revealed a slender, dark-haired man with a thin mustache. I asked myself, does this image bring to mind anyone else involved in the case? Someone who was known to carry not a sword, but an object that could be mistaken for one? Then the answer came to me...”
Handleman stomped into the kitchen, followed by three uniformed officers and, in handcuffs, Jojo Groom.
Eleven
“Jojo?” Nina Browley was on her feet again. “It was Jojo?”
“He does sort of resemble Clarence,” Paige said.
My father’s old buddy and I met eyes for a second or two. He looked quickly away. Nina started towards him, but Mr. O’Nelligan led her gently, yet firmly, back to her seat.
“Okay, Shamrock,” Handleman said. “It’s like you told us. When we ransacked Groom’s place, we found a bunch more of the gems, maybe the complete lot.”
Mr. O’Nelligan met the news matter-of-factly. “Yes, I speculated that Groom might have retained the gems. Presumably, to be cautious, he was waiting for more time to pass before attempting to sell them.”
“Plus, we found these...” Handleman produced a ring of three keys.
Mr. O’Nelligan smiled. “I think you’ll find that those are a copy of the set that Mrs. Browley possesses.”
“They’re the keys to the Roost,” Nina said. “But how did he get them? There was only one set.”
“All shall be explained,” promised the Irishman. “Jojo Groom does, you will admit, bear a basic resemblance to Clarence Browley. Mr. Durker knew that Clarence was outside with a sword, so it’s understandable that he might mistake one man for the other, especially when peering with unreliable eyes through a glass pane. Although only inches separated Durker’s face from Groom’s, for someone with strong myopia, even such proximity may be a problem. What was actually a cane in Groom’s hand, Durker saw as a sword in Browley’s. What Durker perceived as Browley hopping away was, in reality, Groom limping off.
“Once I was aware of the resemblance between the two men, I reviewed a moment of note which occurred yesterday morning when Groom met us at the newsstand. He mentioned that on the day he first heard Buster Plunkett had died, Eisenhower had just secured the presidential nomination.”
“Re-nomination,” Webster Sands had to put in. “We’re going for term number two, remember?”
Mr. O’Nelligan turned to the aviator. “Ah, Captain Sands, as an ardent supporter of the president, please tell me, when was his party’s national convention held?”
“About a month ago, just after Browley’s murder.”
“That’s right. August twentieth to the twenty-second, to be exact. I looked it up. I knew the conventions were generally held in the summer, so something did not sit right with me when Groom said he’d just heard then that Plunkett Sr. had died. Why, you might ask?”
“I know!” I finally had something to add. “Because when Groom called me five days ago with this case, he acted as if he was just that moment learning of my father’s death. Not back in August.” I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this before.
Mr. O’Nelligan looke
d at me with what seemed awfully like paternal fondness. “Behold him, good people! Maimed as he is, Lee Plunkett still contributes to the investigation.” Nice compliment, but I don’t think he fooled anyone in regard to my deductive abilities.
“Hold on now,” Nina said. “Why would Jojo pretend to not know that the older Plunkett was dead? And why would he talk me into getting Plunkett and Son in the first place? I was planning to hire someone else, but he insisted they were the best.”
Suddenly, I understood a lot. Groom had heard that Nina was going to buy the finest private eye her considerable bankroll could afford, someone who might well succeed where the inept Handleman had not. To prevent this, Groom cajoled Nina into hiring someone with virtually no chance of solving the case — namely me. Through the grapevine, he’d no doubt heard that Buster’s kid was definitely no Buster. When he called me last week, had he revealed that he knew Dad was dead, it would have meant that he was seeking the unproven Lee Plunkett for a top-drawer murder case. Would I have really believed that anyone of sound mind would do such a thing? Probably not.
“Well? Why would Jojo bring in Mr. Plunkett?” Nina still wanted an answer. Groom himself was staring at his shoes. He wasn’t going to field any questions.
I met Mr. O’Nelligan’s eyes and saw that he knew what I knew. To spare me embarrassment he simply said, “Groom probably believed that the devil you know beats the devil you don’t.”
“So, it was all just about stealing the shield,” Paige said.
Handleman sniffed. “Hell, that’s what I kept telling — ”
“Please, Detective.” Mr. O’Nelligan let him get no further. “You promised to observe in silence while I concluded my presentation here. Was that not our agreement?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Handleman did not look joyful. “Get on with it then.”
Once more, Mr. O’Nelligan took center stage. “This case has proved to be one of seeming contradictions. Yes, it was a straight robbery, as the police insisted, but, also, it was something more. For a time, the social aspects of Clarence Browley’s life seemed to overtake the investigation. His need to surround himself with adventurous men, his relationship with his wife, his wife’s relationship with others ... these things attracted our attention, but, in the end, did not provide a solution.”
“Thank God,” Nina said sotto voce.
Mr. O’Nelligan went on. “We realized two nights ago that Clarence, from the vantage point of the attic, could have observed someone moving about the Roost with a flashlight. This gave credence to the scenario in which Clarence rushes out to surprise a thief at his game. We are indeed looking at a robbery, and Jojo Groom is the thief, seeking the bejeweled shield. Poor Clarence was bludgeoned before he could apprehend Groom or summon help.”
“But how could it be Jojo?” Nina asked. “I keep telling everyone, Clarence let me know it was someone from the house, but Jojo hadn’t been here for a couple weeks. He can’t be Clarence’s killer.”
“I never said he was,” said Mr. O’Nelligan. “I only said that he was the thief.”
He let that sink in.
“Wow!” This came from Audrey, who was obviously impressed by her friend’s gala performance.
“Here we go, then...” It felt as if Mr. O’Nelligan was ushering us onto a fast-moving carnival ride. “Since we now know the man at the window was Groom, it means that Clarence may have already been dead by then. Thus, the possible timeframe of the attack now expands to include the interval after Clarence left the house up until the window incident. Of course, everything may still point to Groom — he himself could have struck down Clarence when caught in the act of thievery. Except that he wasn’t ‘someone from the house,’ as Mrs. Browley points out, at least not that night.”
“Exactly! Exactly!” Nina cheered him on.
“Yes, Groom committed the robbery — we have the gems to prove this — but did he necessarily commit the murder? We must ask ourselves, why did he tap at the window in the first place? Remember, he could not have known the kitchen would be filled with Mrs. Browley and her guests. In fact, when he saw one of them staring back at him, he fled. So, who would he have expected to see? I’ll tell you. It was someone who I believe orchestrated the theft, and, when it appeared the plan was about to be thwarted, followed Clarence Browley outside and brutally ended his life. Now, who here among us would we naturally expect to find in the kitchen?”
He paused for effect, as, one by one, all heads turned towards the same person. Mrs. Leroy the cook.
Twelve
Standing by the sink, Mrs. Leroy said nothing. For a fleeting moment, she fixed a cold eye on her accuser, then stared away.
He did not let up. “In that period between Clarence exiting the house and Nina finding him, three members of the party were playing cards, while two others were together in the den. We have, in fact, only one person unaccounted for...”
“Mrs. Leroy.” Nina finished for him. “Right, she was alone in the kitchen.”
“Using my method of bridges and leaps, here is how I believe the events played out.” Mr. O’Nelligan took a deep breath to fill his sails, then voyaged on. “Mrs. Leroy had, at some earlier point, procured, by stealth, Mr. Browley’s key ring. A copy was made and the original replaced. Knowing that Browley did not sleep in the Roost when he hosted his glory tables, the cook instructed her confederate, Groom, that such a night would be best for the purpose of stealing the shield. Since the canine would be released at midnight, the robbery needed to be accomplished before that hour.”
I looked over at Mrs. Leroy. She stared blankly ahead, not reacting at all to the unfolding account.
“And so, we arrive at the night of August the eighteenth,” Mr. O’Nelligan said. “Groom has snuck onto the grounds, probably leaving his car below, and uses the copied keys to enter the Roost. He begins to unfasten the shield from the wall. Meanwhile, Clarence Browley, in the attic of the house, notices Groom’s flashlight below and decides to confront the intruder. A minute later, Mrs. Leroy, like the others, sees an agitated, sword-wielding Browley leave the house. She correctly surmises that her employer has seen something in the Roost. Fearing that Groom will be discovered, and her own complicity in the robbery revealed, she grabs something from the kitchen to use as a weapon.”
Mr. O’Nelligan walked over to a rack on the wall and removed the meat pounder. “Although I don’t know for certain, I have a feeling this tool would serve as a sufficient bludgeon. Detective, I believe there are determining tests that might be applied?”
As he handed over the pounder to Handleman, I thought, I’ll never eat chicken cordon bleu again.
“Now, Mrs. Leroy has a room just off the kitchen.” Mr. O’Nelligan pointed to a door near the refrigerator. “Right through there. I took note today that her room possesses its own exit. She can pass to and fro, unnoticed by the rest of the household. And that is what she does on that night, as, meat pounder in hand, she follows Browley down to the Roost. He is standing at the entrance of the building. Perhaps he has already confronted Groom, or is just about to. Mrs. Leroy creeps up behind him and strikes hard to the back of his head. Browley falls to the ground, then rolls over on his back and sees that it is his cook who has assaulted him. Mrs. Leroy then viciously delivers what she believes to be the death blow to the front of his skull.”
Nina let out a low groan.
“Forgive me, madam.” Mr. O’Nelligan allowed a long moment to pass before resuming. “Though appearing dead, Browley will linger more than a half hour, long enough to indicate to his wife that his killer came from the house. The fact that Browley was found facing upwards suggests that, of the two blows, the one from behind was delivered first. This leads me to believe that it was not Groom who waged the attack. He would probably have been confronted face-to-face by Browley and would not have had the opportunity to strike from behind. Am I correct, Mr. Groom?”
Jojo broke his silence. “Yeah! You got it, mister. You got everything right. I’m a thief, sur
e, but I’m not a murderer. I don’t have the ice in my veins for that. But she does!” Here he pointed his handcuffed hands towards Mrs. Leroy. “Believe me, that one’s cold as goddamned Alaska!”
The cook merely smoothed her apron and stared away.
“And so, the crime is done,” Mr. O’Nelligan continued. “In the aftermath, Groom, shaken by the turn of events, remains at the Roost to complete the robbery. Mrs. Leroy, a steadier hand, returns directly to her room, changing any blood-splattered garments, then enters the kitchen. Here, she perhaps even washes her weapon, for when Mrs. Browley and her guests barge in, the cook is observed ‘cleaning up.’ Soon, Groom, expecting only Mrs. Leroy to be attendant, taps on the kitchen window to inform her that his task is complete. The rest we’ve covered...”
“You sure know your racket!” Groom seemed so taken by Mr. O’Nelligan’s account, I thought he might applaud. “Especially the part about me being shaken up. This murder stuff isn’t my line, y’know? But, that one over there, she’s goddamned Alaska. You know who she is, don’t you? Who she used to be?”
“I was getting to that. Earlier today, I made some calls and accessed some pertinent records. I discovered that ‘Dorothy Leroy,’ while legally this woman’s current appellation, is neither her original nor her married name. Born Dorothy Ritz, she became Mrs. George Carroway upon her marriage to a man better known as...”
“King Carroway!” I stole my cohort’s punch line.
“Precisely. The storied bank robber who died in a hail of gunfire some nineteen years ago.” He indicated the unflinching Mrs. Leroy. “Yes, this woman was his wife. Captured shortly after her husband’s death, she turned state’s evidence against several of his associates in exchange for an abolished sentence. Later, to avoid notoriety, she took a name which, while inconspicuous, still cryptically honored Carroway. Having learned of her inclination towards French, I’ve been able to decode her little riddle. The name Leroy is derived from the French le roi, meaning the king. Mrs. Leroy is literally ‘king’s wife.’”
