Case Pending llm-2

by Dell Shannon

  "Don't ridicule the law," said Mendoza severely. "If you ask me some of those ought to be looked up and enforced. There's another one that says it's a misdemeanor for a female to wear male clothing in public, and if you've ever walked down Broadway and seen all the fat women in pants-"

  Agnes stared at them a little wildly and asked weren't they going to arrest her?

  "Agnes honey," said Joe, as if the sense of it had just penetrated, "you mean that's why you'd never go out with me, always acted so- Well, I'll be damned!" He leaned on Mendoza's desk and laughed. "You want to know something, I-I been in kind of a sweat about it because I figured it was on account I'm Catholic and you wouldn't have nothing to do-"'

  "Why, Joe! However could you think such a thing of me, I'd never-why, that's unamerican, go judging people by what church-"

  "Yes, I think there's a law about that too," agreed Hackett thoughtfully.

  "Honey, one-eighth isn't so awful black, you know. Matter o' fact, you're a lot lighter-complected than me, and far as I know I got nothing but Italian both sides back to Adam. Though I guess at that a lot of us'd get some surprises if we knew everything was in our family trees like they say. You stop crying now, Agnes, it's all right, you see it's all right-"

  "But-you mean you don't care-and they aren't going to arrest-"

  "Well, I tell you, Miss Browne," said Mendoza, "the court calendars are pretty full, and we don't want to overburden the judges. I think we'll just forget it, but maybe Mr. Carpaccio here-it is Mr. Carpacdo? -would care to take the-er-probationary responsibility for your future good conduct, in which case-"

  "That's a dgmn good idea," said Joe. "Come on now, Agnes, stop crying and come with me, you see they're not going to do noffng to you, it's nobody's business but yours… Don't I care? Listen, honey, you're the nicest girl I ever knew and the prettiest one too, and I couldn't care less if you're all colors of the rainbow. And no, Rita won't care either, I'd like to see her try- Besides, I read some place about a thing called Mendelian law, it sa-"

  "Take her away and explain that one thoroughly," advised Mendoza, shooing them out to the anteroom. "Yes, yes, Miss Browne, you're very welcome, thank you for coming in…. Morgan, good morning, what kept you? Come in here, I've got a job for you."

  Morgan wasn't enthusiastic about the job, took it on somewhat grudgingly, while taking Mendoza's point of view. "I've got no real reason to ask questions about this boy, and the school people would undoubtedly raise an uproar, want to know all about it if a Homicide man walked in wanting to know all about one of their seventh-graders. There may be nothing in it anyway, and in any case not much to find out at the school, but it's obviously the first place to go for information about him. They may be a little surprised at your office wanting to know, but they won't be alarmed about it, and everybody's so used these days to being asked irrelevant questions by busybody government agencies, ten to one they won't think twice about it. Try to see his teacher-or all his teachers, if there are more than one-and his school records. I've jotted down some questions you might ask."

  All right." Morgan took the memo ungraciously. "I'll get what I can for you, but I do have a job of my own, you know things I've got to do today."

  "I realize that." Mendoza also realized that some of the reluctance was due to the fact that Morgan didn't like him much personally; that was just one of those things. Morgan being a reasonably intelligent man, Mendoza didn't put it down to any irrational prejudice, though he wasn't much concerned with the reason if there was one. Probably not, just a matter of personal chemistries; and he never wasted time trying to ingratiate himself with people who felt that way. He'd had the same reasonless reaction himself often enough to know that it was a waste of time. He merely thanked Morgan politely, saw him out, and deciding he could not decently call down to Prints, to see if they'd found anything interesting, before eleven, sat down to look over the latest reports on his other current cases.

  Before he had read the first three lines of what Sergeant Brice had to tell him, another disturbance commenced outside his door. He said resignedly to himself, "?Me doy por vencido! " and went to investigate.

  As he might have expected, it was a delegation representing the family Ramirez, consisting of Papa, Teresa, and Father Monaghan. Ramirez was being impassioned in Spanish, and Hackett was patting his shoulder and repeating, " No se sofoque Usted, amigo-es O.K., comprende? "

  "Lieutenant," Teresa clutched at his arm. "Please, you got to believe none of us knew what my uncle was up to-"

  "Never, never, never!" Ramirez whirled to state his case to higher authority. "This villain, this bandit, to bring such disgrace on the family- I swear before God to you, never would I have him in my house if I knew what he is guilty of! And now you're thinking bad things for all of us, that we're all criminals-I swear to you-"

  "Calm yourself, my son, I've told you the police will judge fairly, you must not sorry. Lieutenant, I do hope there'll be no misunderstanding, I'm quite certain these people had nothing to do-"

  "Yes, yes, yes," said Mendoza. "Ramirez-quiet! You've been in this country long enough to know that we're not ogres! Listen now. Your brother has broken the law and he will go to prison, but his crime isn't in my jurisdiction, understand? He was arrested by my friend Lieutenant Callaghan, and I have spoken with the lieutenant, who agrees with me that you people very likely knew nothing of the crime, although naturally he must investigate that. You understand that there must be investigation when a crime is committed. But if you've done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear from the police."

  "You see, Papa, I kept telling you it was all right, they'll find out we didn't have nothing to do with it, and Uncle will say too, he's not that bad, try to pull us into it! Thanks, Lieutenant, that was real nice of you, say that to this other cop-now don't take on so, Papa-"

  They got Ramirez calmed down a little. Mendoza, suddenly struck with a not very hopeful idea, but you never knew and no harm to try, took Teresa down to Prints to look at the doll.

  "No, I never seen nothing like that before… Why? Is it something to do with-? But how could it be?"

  "Now there you've asked me something," he sighed. "Yes, it is something to do with it-that I can tell you now, at least I'm ninety-eight percent sure. But what, that's another question."

  "It's- I don't like it," said Teresa, shuddering. "All pulled apart like that."

  "Yes… I suppose you haven't got anything for me yet," he said to Carter.

  "We've got a lot of dandy prints, Lieutenant-whether they'll tell us anything-" and Carter shrugged. "Let's see, you gave us the names of five of our own men handled it, well, I've got a couple of the boys checking records now, to eliminate those. At a guess, we've got two or three different people besides-I think. Tell you more when I know which to eliminate. We'll see if the strangers match anything in the other records, and have a look at the psychos on file first, way you suggested. You can have her back any time, by the way-we've finished with her."

  "Thanks very much." Mendoza folded the paper round the doll and carried it back upstairs with him. He spent another five minutes on additional reassurances to Ramirez and the priest, got rid of them, unwrapped the doll on his desk, and said, "Now we'll just see if we can match up that little clue you were so superior about."

  "What? Oh, that," as Mendoza tenderly slid the dainty strip of pink lace from its envelope. "Today's great thought, I'd forgotten-my God," said Hackett suddenly, "look at the time, I'll be late for that damned inquest, and it's old Curly too, he'll give me hell-have fun, amigo," and he snatched up his hat and ran.

  ***

  The two women looked at it in silence for a minute and came out with twin reactions.

  "Well!" said Mrs. Demarest. "What kind of a mother would go and let a child treat an expensive doll that way! Breaking things up just out of mischief, it's a thing I always saw my children got a good spanking for-just leads to trouble later on."

  "A sinful waste-wicked," agreed Mrs. Breen, loo
king horrified. "A downright destructive youngster, must be, whoever's had it. I never saw anythin' like-"

  "I've begun to think that might be an understatement-about who's had it," said Mendoza. "But is it the doll Carol bought?"

  "Yes, suh, it is," said Mrs. Breen promptly, "or one just like it, because if I got to swear, well, of course I couldn't do no such thing. I just had the one in stock, not figurin' I could sell more'n that, you know, an' I couldn't guess how many of 'em the factory might of made, an' they'd be all just alike, except some was dressed in blue and some in pink like this here. But it's just exactly like the one Carol bought-or 'twas when it was new."

  "Would there be some kind of a serial number on it, I wonder?" suggested Mrs. Demarest. "The factory maybe could tell what store they'd sold it to. Little cheap things, there wouldn't be, but a thing that was going to sell for twenty doll-"

  "Yes, it's possible. I haven't looked, the thing's in such a state I don't want to handle it more than necessary, and if there is a number the factory'll know where to look for it. That we'll find out. Now look at this."

  He brought out the three-inch strip of lace. "I'll swear to you this came off some part of the clothes, but it's not possible to fit it on anywhere."

  They bent over it, over the doll, looking. "It's just like the lace on the underwear," agreed Mrs. Breen. "Same exact color. I reckon the factory could tell you for sure, 'bout that-but there's not an awful lot o' the lace left on, an' if it got torn off different times, well, there wouldn't be no fitting this piece where it was."

  "I can't get over the way it's been-" Mrs. Demarest raised troubled eyes to him. "Can you tell us about it, Lieutenant, how you came to find it?"

  Mendoza leaned back and lit a cigarette. "I'll tell you what I know-you tell me what it means! Carol bought this thing the night she was killed. That morning, a Mrs. Marion Lindstrom tried to persuade you," stabbing the cigarette at Mrs. Breen, "to sell it to her, and, when you refused, was insistent that you find out whether you could get her one like it, and left her name and addresss-"

  "Real uppity she was," nodded Mrs. Breen, "as if I could, if I wanted."

  "So. Carol was killed and the doll stolen. No evidence either way, as to whether the killer or someone else took it. Now, Mrs. Lindstrom lived just two blocks up from here, across Hunter Avenue-and the next day, though it lacked a week to the end of the month and her rent was paid to then, she moved-unexpectedly and hurriedly. We can conjecture it was pure chance she ended up where she did, in a place called Graham Court, down the wrong side of Main. She'd have to take what was available right that day, if she was anxious to move at once and what was available, of course, within the limits of what she could pay. All right. Time goes on, and last Friday night another girl is lulled, within two blocks of this Graham Court. Killed the same way, and as was the case with Carol, there is absolutely nothing in her private life which gave anyone reason to kill her. She wasn't as bright a girl as Carol, she had very bad taste and not too much education, but she was an honest girl and well enough liked-and I don't suppose she wanted to die, you know."

  "Ah, poor thing," said Mrs. Demarest.

  "She was on her way home from a roller-skating rink, alone because her boy friend's father, who disapproved of her, had come and hauled the boy home with him. Fortunately they're out of it on evidence. This time the handbag was taken, found a couple of blocks away, but as far as we can tell nothing was stolen. Now, take a look at me," said Mendoza, sitting up. "I'm visited by a hunch-it's the same killer-and I've got no evidence whatever, that means anything, to back me up- Not until you told me about this doll. Then I've got Mrs. Lindstrom's name, and then I find out she's living in the same neighborhood this time too, and where that does get me? If I checked back on all the people living around there, I might find half a dozen others who'd moved there from this general neighborhood in the last six months. One of those things… But, where d'you think I found this little piece of lace? On the floor of that skating rink. There's some vague evidence about a boy or a young man who's been in the habit of sneaking into the rink by an unused door, and who-so the dead girl complained to several people-stared at her in a 'funny way.' I think he's the one, but that's mostly another hunch and I know nothing else about him, I've got no line on him at all. Except that maybe he dropped this little strip there one time-and that doesn't say it came from the don. I say to myself, I'm woolgathering, all this doesn't mean one damned thing. And then this morning somebody leaves that doll carefully propped against the door of the precinct station down there-three blocks away from Graham Court."

  "Well, that is queer," said Mrs. Demarest interestedly. "But this Mrs. Lindstrom, she wouldn't be the on-"

  "There's not much to go on there either-yet. Her husband deserted her about a month before Carol was killed. There's a thirteen-year-old boy. All I know about him right now is that he's a big, strong boy-shot up early-big as a man, and probably strong enough to have done-what was done. I don't know if he did, or why he might have. I'm getting what I can about him, but-he shrugged-"you can see I've got no real evidence to warrant a full-scale investigation."

  "I don't know 'bout your rules for that kind o' thing," said Mrs. Breen, "but it shorely is queer, all that. Don't seem hardly possible, though, that a boy thirteen-and why'd she want a doll so bad, her with only a boy?"

  Mendoza sighed and stood up. "I haven't even got an excuse to go and ask her that-and she'd only tell me it was for her favorite niece back east, anyway. I'm hoping the factory can identify this definitely, and in that case I'll want you both to make formal statements about it…. Thanks very much, I'll let you know as soon as I can."

  THIRTEEN

  The phone call had come through, Sue said when she eventually got Morgan at the office after lunch, about eleven o'clock. It was the woman again, again sounding as if she were reading the message, refusing to answer questions, say anything else.

  "I tried to- I thought if I could appeal to her, remind her of what she said before, what we-but she just gave a little gasp and said, 'Oh, I couldn't, Mis' Morgan,' and hung up. Dick-"

  "Yes," he said, making meaningless scribbles on the note pad in front of him. Henry was there at his desk across the room, Stack right alongside under the other window; Morgan couldn't say much directly.

  "Go on."

  And what it came to was-right back to Graham Court. Seven o'clock, Smith's message said, at Graham Court, the address and apartment number carefully read out. Morgan might as well come to him, ran the message (insolently phrased, sounding the opposite in the woman's soft voice), and he needn't think account of things going haywire last night he'd stopped meaning anything he'd said. He'd be waiting alone for Morgan at seven, and this had better be the pay-off, or else.

  "All right," said Morgan steadily, "I've got that. Seven, that's early. I'd better not try to make it home first. Mean?-just more bluster, is all-don't worry, hon. You'd better expect me when you see me, O.K.?"

  He put down the phone and went back to his open case book there on the desk, pretending to check notes, add a word here and there, but not really seeing anything on the page.

  Two things said themselves over in his mind. The apartment. And, Alone. (Smith, of course, unknowing that he bad any prior knowledge of the apartment, any other reason to be there.) It added up-for Morgan, and also to a couple of things that were no concern of Morgan's but interesting: that alone suggested that Smith had seen to it that neither the woman nor the boy had any idea how much money he was expecting, and that and the revealing of his home address suggested that very likely he was planning to decamp with the money, maybe at once. What it added up to for Morgan the murderer was safety-maybe.

  Depending on where Mendoza's men were. He thought he might get some information on that point when he saw Mendoza an hour from now, with this stuff from the school.

  From the time on Saturday night when the cold fact had penetrated his mind that the only real lasting safety was Smith dead, circumstances
had been forcing on Morgan certain changes of his original plan he didn't much like. He looked at this one from all the angles; it was better than the street holdup in a way, and it would, of course, have to do. You were always seeing something like that in the paper. A man shot himself, hanged himself, slashed his wrists in the bathtub: no known reason, no prior threat.

  The tricky factor was the timing. If Mendoza's men were inside, it couldn't be done at all: they'd be too close, and not unlikely in a position to know at which floor Morgan stopped. But if they were outside, then-which way, before or after the Lindstroms? Before, he thought. Quick and quiet up to the third floor, and no backchat with Smith: as soon as the door was shut behind him in Smith's place, and Smith away from it. And no fooling around with any attempt to muffle the shot, a suicide wouldn't bother and there wouldn't be time. Gun in his hand: prints. Thirty seconds? There had to be a good chance he'd have time to be outside the door again, at least, before anyone else got there. There was a narrower chance that he could get halfway down the stairs before that. People exclaimed, talked a little, wondered, before they went to see. The ideal thing would be Morgan standing in the secondfloor hall, just ready to knock on the Lindstroms' door, when doors opened and people came out saying, "Was that a shot?"

  But Morgan halfway down (which was also halfway up) would do. I'd just got to the Lindstroms' door when- I knew it was a shot up here, I started up to see That was all he needed to say; none of his business, nothing to link him to an unexplained suicide.

  Sue, of course no question here of passing it off as accident. It couldn't be helped. He'd got past worrying about the side effects; he was feeling now the way she'd said, Let's for God's sake get it done and over, any way at all.

  Because, if he'd be honest with himself, he wasn't sure he could do it-that all this would come to any action in the end.