"That's a good sign."
"Got a bit of a headache too.” I gingerly touched my skull and found it to be bandaged.
"You're lucky to be alive, Lee, after being hit so hard. When Mr. O'Nelligan called me, well, I don't want to think about it."
"Thanks for coming."
"What? You think I'd stay home and twiddle my thumbs while my fiancé's lying unconscious?"
"No, I guess not.” I made a mental note to finally marry this girl.
* * * *
That night's gathering commenced in the Browley kitchen where Mr. O'Nelligan had asked us to convene. Audrey and I sat at the table with Nina and Paige Simmons (who couldn't seem to look me in the eye). Webster Sands leaned against a counter, puffing on a thick cigar, while Mrs. Leroy passed among us offering snacks. Most surprisingly, over near the window, stood a man I recognized as Tom Durker.
Like a maestro stepping before his orchestra, Mr. O'Nelligan entered the room and started things off. “Thank you all for your indulgence. I especially wish to acknowledge Mr. Durker for flying all the way from California on such short notice. A long trek, to be sure."
"A very long one,” Durker concurred.
"And it goes without saying that everyone is pleased to see Mr. Lee Plunkett here safely among us after his encounter last evening."
All eyes turned to me, and I did feel a little like a revived corpse.
Mr. O'Nelligan continued. “As Lee has been hindered by his injuries, I will, with his permission, speak on behalf of our investigation.” He looked to me for confirmation; I gave a little nod. “Very well then. I'll try to present the facts of the case as delicately as possible, but with the understanding that the search for truth must be unflinching."
The man's time upon the stage had obviously served him well. He proceeded with poise and flourish. “Presently, I've been enjoying a rereading of Moby-Dick and have found parallels between that superb tome and our investigation. In Melville's novel, as Ahab pursues the white whale, the narrative offers many side trips—forays into biology, philosophy, etymology, et cetera—before arriving at the climax. But all these diversions ultimately serve the narrative. Likewise, as we sought the truth of Clarence Browley's murder, we've had to take various side trips, which, while not directly leading to the resolution, nonetheless helped us see the grander picture."
Captain Sands discharged a hefty smoke ring. “We didn't come for a literature lecture. Can't we keep this brief?"
Nonplussed, Mr. O'Nelligan pressed on. “In Ahab's tale, it is his nemesis who finally prevails. Hopefully, our outcome here will turn out differently. Now, the kitchen in which we presently congregate is, in many ways, the heart of our story. It is here that Clarence Browley was viewed at the window, an event of great significance to our case. Let us lay out three assumed facts. Fact one: Tom Durker saw Clarence at the window at roughly five minutes after midnight."
Durker spoke up. “Saw him and heard him. He was tapping with that sword of his, and then scooted off when he caught sight of me."
"Yes, that has always been your testimony,” said Mr. O'Nelligan. “Fact two: When Mrs. Browley discovered her dying husband at twelve twenty, he indicated to her that someone in the house was his assailant. These first two facts combine to limit the possible attack time to a fifteen minute interval. And fact three: During those fifteen minutes, everyone who'd been at the house that night was assembled here in the kitchen. Everyone, that is, except for three people—two being the Daley sisters, who left by eleven thirty in a car filled with relations—and one other, who had arrived five minutes late to the kitchen. The same man who last night struck down Lee Plunkett."
Paige Simmons let out a pitiful groan. “David can't have done these things. It's just not in him."
"I disagree,” Mr. O'Nelligan said. “And, yet, I also agree."
I now threw in my two cents. “It was Pobenski! No question it was Pobenski who hit me."
"That part is undeniably true,” my cohort conceded. “But it was the action not of a murderer returning to the scene of his crime, but rather of a fugitive, desperate and falsely accused, who was startled in the darkness."
Paige nearly jumped out of her seat. “Yes! You believe he's innocent."
"I do not believe,” Mr. O'Nelligan said. “I know. Pobenski is innocent. Innocent, but foolish, for had he simply remained in custody, the probings of Plunkett and Son would have inevitably freed him. Am I wrong in surmising, Miss Simmons, that you know young Polecat's present whereabouts?"
Paige lowered her eyes. “I ... I do. He left a note in my car."
"I'm not shocked to learn that. No doubt, he came here last night in an attempt to assure you of his blamelessness. When we are done here, you may contact him and tell him to present himself. Of course, he'll still have to clear things with the authorities—and with the man he knocked out."
Again, all eyes enwrapped me, most imploringly, Paige's. I said, “If he's innocent, I'll let things slide."
"But, wait now.” Nina Browley seemed confused (and she was not alone). “What about the gemstones? David had them in his room."
"They were placed there by another party.” Mr. O'Nelligan said. “Someone found the opportunity to enter the inn, pick Pobenski's lock, and scatter the gems. Someone who wished to bring this investigation to a premature end. But let us return to our trio of facts. I say that all three cannot be mutually true. The third fact, that everyone had gathered in the kitchen, is undeniably true. Everyone is everyone else's alibi, so to speak. I will also insist that, despite police assertions, not even an athletic youth like David Pobenski could have raced to and from the Roost and committed murder in those few minutes before he joined the others. Thus, for all practical purposes, we can place him fully with his companions during that quarter hour."
"Yes!” Paige cried out again, clearly pleased with David's ongoing exoneration.
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 on
e. 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 filmmaking."
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.
* * * *
11.
"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 toward 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."
"Renomination,” 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 looked 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—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 time frame 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.
AHMM, July-August 2009 Page 24
