Hanley's private office matched what I'd seen of the rest of the building: tasteful and controlled, which pretty well described the good doctor himself as he stood up from behind his desk and came around to greet me, outfitted in the white smock over his suit that is the uniform of his calling. There was no telling how he'd spent the rest of his night after the death, the sudden death, of one of his foremost patients.
"Mr. Dugan, good morning." His greeting was as fresh as the smock. His smile was restrained but sincere. "I'm glad you came when you did. My appointments begin before long, but we should have a few minutes to ourselves. Won't you sit down?"
I nodded and dropped into a comfortable chair facing his direction, next to the desk. He returned to his own swivel chair, clasping his hands before him as he sat. Bright rays of sunlight drifted in from between the half-drawn curtains behind him and reflected brightly off the silver gray of his hair. The whole office had a warm, comfortable, early morning feel to it and it seemed like a heck of a time to bring up the subject of murder. But that's what I was there for, so I didn't try to get away from it.
"Have you spoken with Susan yet this morning?" I began.
He shook his head. "No, I imagine she's sleeping late. I gave her a sedative last night before I left to try and help her calm down. I would have preferred that she not stay in the house alone, but—" He ended the sentence with an expressive shrug.
"What do you think happened last night, Doctor?"
"To Mr. Court?"
"Uh-huh."
He held off a moment, checked my face closely to see if he could read what I was thinking. Then, slowly, "The papers are suggesting suicide. The police probably gave them the idea."
"What do you think?"
He smiled, lifted his eyebrows. "What do you think?"
"I don't think Mr. Court seemed in the mood last night of a man about to kill himself."
He nodded. "And I think you're right."
"You and he walked together last night from the house to the glider. Can you tell me what you talked about?"
"Nothing very important," he shrugged. "He knew I'd been reading a bit about sail-planing, but though he didn't mention that specifically, he did say he thought I'd get a real kick out of what he had to show us." That out of the way, he cleared his throat and said, "Mr. Dugan, may I ask why you're here, and why you're asking me these questions?"
"I'm a private detective," I told him. "Susan Court hired me to keep an eye on her father. She was afraid something might happen to him."
"And something certainly did, didn't it?"
"I'm trying not to think about that," I conceded. "Right now all I'm interested in doing is nailing the people behind it. I'm not sure how they did it. I don't even have the faintest idea yet, to tell you the truth. And I'm not sure who they were. But they're there, all right, and I'll find them. I came to you first this morning because, according to Susan, you were not only Carlander Court's physician but his friend as well, and I thought you'd be able to maybe give me some leads in the right direction."
He nodded. "I'll do anything I can, certainly. But right now I'm afraid I'm as much in the dark as you are."
"Okay, that's fair enough. So why don't we just kick it around a little and see what we come up with? How does that sound?"
He smiled. "Sounds fine. Start kicking."
"All right. You and Court were good friends. It must have really been tough on you, watching him die by inches like that."
He nodded. "It was tough, knowing he was dying. You're right. We go back quite a ways together. But as far as watching him die," he broke into a small grin, "no way. Carl Court was one of the...well, one of the toughest men I've ever known in my life. No one watched him die; his suffering was a private thing. He kept it from his family, his friends, even his physician."
"And yet his pain must have been considerable."
His face clouded. "I...I don't know about that. It would seem so, certainly. And during our examinations I could tell...well, that he was not free from discomfort. And yet...he did not seem to be feeling as badly as he should have been, either."
"Was he on drugs?"
"Not to my knowledge, no. He should have been. I suggested medication several times, but he refused."
"And yet he seemed to have the pain licked. Any ideas?"
He shook his head. "Just guts, I guess. Like I said, Carl was a tough man. A remarkably tough man."
"Were you aware that he was about to change his will?"
"Yes, he'd mentioned it to me. You see, I gave him a checkup almost daily and during these checkups...I suppose it's only natural that our conversation would wander. Yes, I knew about the new will. He'd planned on signing it this morning in fact, at George Bishop's office, isn't that right?"
"He'd planned to, yes."
He leaned back and cracked a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ah ha. And Susan suspects that Tommy—"
"I haven't talked with Susan since last night. But before last night she did think her brother might be capable of murder, to stay in the money. Any ideas on that?"
"No, none that wouldn't come under the heading of vicious gossip."
"We're not old maids, Doctor," I pressed. "We're trying to catch a killer. Anything you can tell me will help. Did you and Mr. Court ever talk about his son?"
"Occasionally, yes."
"Lately?"
He sighed. "Yes. As you probably know, Carl cut his daughter out of his estate, leaving Tommy the sole heir. But about three weeks ago he had a change of heart. He'd read some good reviews of Susan's acting in Denver, and just previous to that he'd received a number of rather distressing reports on Tommy and some of his escapades around town."
"Any idea who these reports came from?"
"No. They didn't come from me, I can tell you that. And quite frankly, I wouldn't be too surprised if they came from Tommy himself. Inadvertently, of course." His mouth crinkled. "The boy's notorious for his fast mouth and slow brain."
"What did Court say about Tommy?"
"He said he'd found out the way he'd been running around. He'd heard about the stabbing."
"Stabbing? Susan mentioned something about that. You're talking about the thing outside of Murray Zucco's, right?"
He nodded. "That's right. A couple coming out of Murray's, that's also the name of the club, incidentally, about two months ago said they saw a fight between two men going on across the parking lot. They were pretty stewed and they got scared, the story goes, and they hopped into their car and drove away. But not until after they'd gotten an eyeful. The next day the man found the gumption to go to the police and tell them what he'd seen. He said that one of the men had a knife, that there'd been a pretty mean scuffle, and that while they were watching the man without the knife had grabbed his middle and fallen to the ground. The other had kicked him repeatedly after that and had finally bent over and it looked as if he'd stabbed the fallen man nearly a dozen times more."
I couldn't help giving a little tsk from the side of my mouth. "Sounds like dynamite."
"It was. Or it had the potential."
"These people identified the man with the knife?"
"They did. They said it looked like Tommy Court. His, uh, face is kind of familiar around town."
"What about the police? Did they investigate?"
"Sure. Chief Medwick looked into it himself. Tommy denied everything, naturally. Said he'd been at the club, all right, but that he didn't leave until after closing, and Zucco backed him up."
"What about the witnesses?"
"They seemed to get real bad memories all of a sudden. Couldn't remember a thing. Maybe it wasn't a fight. Maybe there wasn't a knife. And for sure it wasn't Tommy Court they saw there under the light. Of that they were positive."
"Are they still around?"
"Nope. Moved to Chicago, I hear. They were both in their early twenties, just married, and he worked out at the Lewellyn plant. But when they left they had a new car and the word is they were a few thousand
dollars richer."
I shook my head. "That doesn't smell too good."
"It stinks to high heaven," he agreed. Then he looked at his watch. "I'm afraid our interview will have to come to an end, Mr. Dugan. My appointments begin in five minutes." He rose and looked back at me. "I hope I've been able to help. Again, I don't want to appear like an old gossip..."
"Again, we're trying to catch a killer." I got to my feet and he walked me across to the office door. "I'm not saying it was Tommy, Doctor. But it doesn't look too good for him. All I want to do is learn everything I can about everyone involved in this thing. And Tommy's just at the top of the list."
He stood with his hand on the doorknob. "Am I on the list too?"
He had me there, and he knew it. I was trying to think of an answer when his hand reached over and touched my arm and another of those warm professional smiles creased his face.
"Don't worry, Dugan," he said. "I know your lot's not an easy one. You're looking at all of us, and everything that's happened, from the outside, trying to make sense of it, and you don't know who to trust. And maybe that's best, don't you think? It's certainly better than trusting the wrong people!"
"I guess it is, Doc," I said weakly.
Damn, the old guy had turned the tables on me and had done it so neatly that I couldn't help admiring him for it. Tough shamus Dugan was supposed to be hot on the trail, and here I was suddenly on the defensive.
But maybe I had it coming. A little humility is good for all of us now and then.
Even private eyes.
"See Chief Medwick," he suggested, finally opening the door and holding it for me. "He should be able to fill you in a little more on...what happened."
I stepped past him into the outer office and found that three of the waiting chairs were occupied. "Okay, Doctor," I said. "Thanks."
"Certainly, Mr. Dugan, and if I can be of any further assistance, please don't hesitate to call on me." Then he looked across at the middle-aged receptionist and said in a kinder, softer tone, "All right, Hazel. I'll see the first patient now."
So much for Dr. Hanley.
I left the office and headed back for the Toyota.
* * *
The Chief of Police of Langdon Springs was a big, rawboned man with an easygoing manner that put me more on edge than at ease the moment I saw him, because there was no mistaking the hardness just below the friendly surface. He was the kind of guy you could be getting along just fine with and then, without knowing it, you'd cross that invisible line. You'd say or do the wrong thing and then the hardness would move aboveground, would explode, and you'd be in trouble.
A small plaque on his desk read Chief Clarence E. Medwick in raised silver letters against a black base.
I'd found his office on the second floor of City Hall. The first floor was occupied by the administrative offices and the third floor held the county jail.
"Dugan, eh?" He leaned back in his chair and started working between his teeth with the sharpened end of a wooden match. "Your name was in the report the boys filed last night. You were out at the Court place."
I took a seat before him. "That's right."
He glanced down at some papers on his desk. "The report says you're a private investigator. Mind if I ask if you were out there officially last night?'
"I was. I'm still being retained by the Court family. Susan thinks her father was murdered."
That was it. I'd crossed the invisible line and it hadn't taken me long at all. But it didn't get me a thing—not yet, at least. Because he wasn't sure yet how to play it. The hardness moved to his eyes but that's where it stayed. If there was going to be an explosion, it was still to come.
"That's ridiculous," he said evenly. "How could it have been murder?"
"Why don't you tell me why it couldn't?"
His eyes left mine and he fidgeted slightly before answering. "All right," he said. "You were there. You know what happened. Carlander Court got into that glider of his before all your eyes, took off, flew overhead and even waved down at you once. He did a few maneuvers, but when he started to land it began to look like he was having trouble. He hit hard and you all ran over to him. You got there together, didn't you? You were all there over the cockpit at the same time, so there wasn't a chance for one of you to slip the knife into him without the others seeing it. And there was a knife, wasn't there?"
"What about the glider itself? Did you check it for any devices or anything like that?"
"You bet your life we did, and that baby was clean. The boys from the State Crime Lab were down early this morning and went over it with a fine tooth comb. There were no devices, nothing that could have mechanically sent that knife into Court's chest. And the plane itself is strictly a one-seater. There was no room for anyone to hide in and somehow get up with him and commit the murder there. No, Court was flying alone. And while he was alone, he killed himself. And that's that."
He was right, it didn't look very promising. But then I remembered his fidgeting. I said, "Is it? Or is there something, one other item, you're not telling me about?" And then I tried a longshot. "What about prints? Were there any prints on the knife?"
He started getting restless all over again. "What?"
"You heard me, Chief. Court wasn't wearing gloves. If he'd stabbed himself his prints would be on the knife handle, right?"
"Well, yeah—"
"So were they?"
It was another case of the tables turning, just like back in Hanley's office. Only this time I was on top.
"There were no prints," he admitted slowly. "But that doesn't mean a thing. They might have been smudged."
"Then at least the traces of the smudges would have shown, right?"
"Look, pal—"
The fuse was too short and the rising surliness of his voice told me that the explosion was only tenths of a second away unless I did something about it. So I did. I'd gained the upper hand, but he was too mean a bastard to let it go without causing me plenty of misery for the price, and he was in just the position to do it. So what the hell? I'd ascertained what I'd been after: the chip in the wall of evidence.
I said, changing the subject, "Miss Court said there'd been some trouble with her brother Tommy, that Mr. Court was getting ready to change his will and leave him out because of it. She said something about a stabbing outside of Murray Zucco's a few months ago."
He realized that I didn't want him in the corner he'd been pushed into and he took the out I offered without thanks or a second thought.
"I think you ought to make sure how much your client tells you is rumor and how much is fact before you take a case," he replied, and that superficial good nature was back where it seemed to belong.
"There was no stabbing?"
"I got the report and looked into it, but I didn't come up with anything. Sorry."
"Yeah. So am I."
He smiled. "I'm afraid you've been sent on a wild goose chase, Dugan. Sure, Tommy's a little wild. If he wasn't Carlander Court's son he'd have probably spent a whole bunch of nights upstairs for some of the stunts he's pulled under the influence. But the fact is, he is a Court, and I'll be frank with you. I'm one man who knows where his bread gets buttered. This is an elected office and I'm mighty comfortable here, and I don't like to make waves."
"So you let the investigation slide?"
The only visible reaction to that one was a whitening of his knuckles. His voice stayed even and friendly. "I told you, there was nothing to dig up. Tommy's not a killer." His voice grew confidential. "Personally, I think Miss Court is just a little jealous of all that dough her brother's in for. She's no tame young thing either, you know."
"What about the two witnesses to the alleged stabbing?" I asked. "Any ideas on where they went to? I heard they ran into quite a bit of money just before they left town."
His eyes became twin points of cold steel as they locked with mine. "Just what are you trying to say, Dugan? Let's get our cards on the table."
I got up
and gave him what I thought was my cagiest smile. "All right, let's," I said. "There are a few things that don't add up, Chief. Things that wouldn't mean a damned thing if you took them one at a time, but when you string them all together..." I let the sentence drop with a shrug and gave him another smile. "But I'll look into it for myself, and I'll keep you posted. Thanks for your time."
And I turned and made my way out into the corridor.
I stood there and took a sip from a water cooler, giving him enough time to think I was gone. It's a bit of modus operandi I like to try out every now and then. Sometimes it pays off, sometimes it doesn't.
This time it did.
I heard him dialing the phone on his desk and I decided to hang around and catch what I could. This was City Hall and I didn't want to overdo it, but it could be the lead I needed.
It was.
When the Chief's voice came on it was worried, cautious and low. But not low enough.
"Hello, Mr. Zucco? This is Chief Medwick. Look, there's a guy, a private eye named Dugan, in town. Yeah. Yeah. Look, I'm...I'm pretty sure he knows about Harmon. I'm pretty sure he knows about what went down—"
That was all I needed to hear.
Smiling, I turned and made my way down the marble steps and out into the midday sun.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Someone was waiting for me out in the car, but I didn't know that when I climbed in. I closed the door, reached for the keys—and felt the unmistakable snout of a gun pressing against the nape of my neck. I looked up, startled but smart enough not to make any sudden moves, and gazed into the face looking back at me from the rearview mirror.
It was Jinx Moran. He'd been below seat level when I'd approached, but he was sitting up now.
''Morning, Jinx. What's this all about?"
"We're going back to your motel," he said evenly, as if he'd memorized a speech. "We're going back to get you packed, we're going to put you on the two-thirty bus to Denver, and we're going to make sure you don't show your face in Langdon Springs again."
"That's a pretty big order, isn't it?"
"We'll handle it. Now drive. I know where you're staying, so don't try any funny stuff; any detours or stuff like that."
Some Die Hard Page 6
