The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  The chief inspector sighed. "Yes. Bad, that was." He thought for a moment. "Tutwiler?"

  "That was her maiden name."

  He nodded. "Most of the land around here was once owned by the Tutwiler family. That her?"

  "I believe so. She didn't say anything about it, though."

  "Any other family?"

  "The only one I know of is her son, Tom. He's in San Francisco."

  The chief inspector's eyes narrowed for a moment. "Tom Jenkins?"

  I nodded.

  He sighed again. "Thank you, gentlemen. Wait here."

  We both sat back down as he walked into the kitchen.

  Carter asked, "Why didn't you tell him about Willoughby?"

  I had called Mr. Willoughby at both of the numbers he'd given us after I'd called the police. There was no answer at either. "I didn't think about it." I sighed. "We have to tread carefully. Otherwise, we could be thrown out of the country."

  "Again," added Carter with a wan smile.

  I rolled my eyes. "Yeah."

  We sat in silence for about five minutes. The chief inspector came out of the kitchen and asked, "Mr. Williams?"

  I stood. "Yes, sir?"

  "Can you come in here for a moment?"

  I nodded and followed him into the kitchen.

  The police surgeon was squatting next to the body. He had turned the body on its side and was looking at the gash on the top of her head.

  The chief inspector asked, "How tall would you say Mrs. Jenkins was?"

  "About 5'7" in her heels."

  He looked down at her shoes. "And those are two-inch heels, wouldn't you agree?"

  I nodded. "Yes."

  The police surgeon turned the body back to its original position and stood. He looked at the inspector. "Whoever struck the blow had to be well over six feet tall. I'd say at least 6'4" but no taller than 6'6"."

  The inspector looked at me. "How tall is Mr. Jones?"

  I kept my face perfectly still and said, "He's 6'4" in his socks. He's closer to 6'5" in his shoes."

  The police surgeon said, "Perfect height."

  I nodded. "Except for one thing."

  "What's that?" asked the chief inspector.

  "We were together the whole time. Captain O'Reilly, Mr. Murphy, and myself found the body first. Besides, the blood was already congealing. She had to have been dead for at least twenty or thirty minutes when we got here. Probably at 11 or shortly thereafter."

  The chief inspector looked at the police surgeon who nodded. "He's right on that, Chief Inspector. Time of death could be no later than quarter past 11 and no earlier than quarter before. Temperature and lividity confirm that." He looked at me. "Along with the pooling of the blood."

  I added, "Besides, Carter has no motive."

  The chief inspector frowned. "And who has?"

  I shook my head. "Only one person that I know of. And that brings me to two things I haven't told you, yet." As soon as those words came out my mouth, I instantly wished I'd said that differently.

  "And what's that, Mr. Williams?" The chief inspector sounded annoyed. I couldn't blame him.

  "As we turned onto George Street, we saw Robert Stanhope run by."

  "In this bloody rain?" That was the sergeant.

  I nodded. "It seemed odd to us."

  "What else?" asked the chief inspector whose annoyance had moved from me to his sergeant.

  "After I spoke with you, I called the real estate agent who arranged this rental for us. No one answered at either his home phone number or at the office."

  "His name?" asked the chief inspector.

  "Lowell Willoughby."

  The police surgeon said, "I know Willoughby. His office is on Bondi Road. He's about 6'4"."

  I nodded. "He is."

  The chief inspector nodded. "Very well. You know of any reason he might have motive?"

  I shook my head. "Not really. There's one thing, however."

  "What's that?"

  "He told us that Tom Jenkins was in San Francisco for work." At the mention of Tom's name, the police sergeant guffawed. He was around 30, stood about 5'10", had sandy blond hair, and a bad complexion. I wondered if he'd had smallpox when he was younger.

  "That's enough of that, Dooley," said the chief inspector.

  The sergeant meekly replied, "Sorry, sir."

  "Now, you were saying, Mr. Williams?"

  "Mr. Willoughby said that Tom was in San Francisco on business but what we heard was that there is no business."

  The chief inspector. "That doesn't surprise me." He didn't say anything else.

  "Because I knew Mrs. Tutwiler—"

  "Jenkins," interrupted the chief inspector.

  I nodded. "Yeah. Because I knew Mrs. Jenkins was worried about Tom, I asked my guys to keep an eye on him. I got a telegram this morning saying that he'd checked out of the Y.M.C.A. where he was staying on Monday morning, San Francisco time."

  The chief inspector looked mildly impressed. "Did you tell Mrs. Jenkins?"

  I shook my head. "They're trying to trace him. I wanted to wait until I knew something specific."

  He smiled briefly. "Good man." He sighed and pointed to the door. "Will you wait outside, Mr. Williams?"

  I nodded and walked into the dining room. Carter looked up when I did. "Well?" he asked.

  "It was someone tall who hit her. I think the chief inspector was hoping it was you."

  "If he knows about us, then why ask you? Why not ask O'Reilly or Murphy?"

  I shrugged. "He already had the timeline. He knew it really couldn't be you. Maybe he was trying to find out what else I knew."

  "Did you tell him about Willoughby?"

  I nodded.

  Carter whistled. "He's my height."

  I nodded and raised my eyebrows. "Yes, he is."

  Right then, all three men filed in from the kitchen. The police surgeon walked over to the front door and began to put on his coat. He said, "Any rush on this one, Chief Inspector?"

  "No, Doctor. She'll be waiting for you when you arrive in the morning."

  "I'll leave you to it, then." He turned and quickly walked down the stairs.

  "Sergeant?"

  "Yes, Chief Inspector?"

  "Could you wait in the car while I finish up some details here?"

  The sergeant looked surprised as he replied, "Yes, sir." He put on his coat and hat and slowly walked down the stairs.

  The chief inspector stood at the far end of the dining table and looked at us. "I know what's going on here and, as I know you've been cautioned, you're in violation of the law."

  I didn't say anything. Carter's face went stony.

  "That being said, unless you have a desire to find rooms elsewhere, I'd rather you stayed here. I know you can look out for yourselves."

  Right then, two men in white coats appeared in the doorway. The chief inspector pointed to the kitchen. "Through there, lads."

  Without saying a word, the two men carried a stretcher into the kitchen.

  "I'm not quite done with you two. But while the lads are here, I'm going to pop in and see your friends." He looked at me.

  "Captain O'Reilly and Mr. Murphy."

  "Irish?"

  I nodded.

  "Fine. Stay here." With that, he made his way down the hall. I heard him knock on the door and call out, "Captain O'Reilly."

  The door opened and then closed again.

  I looked over at Carter. "You don't wanna move, do you?"

  He shrugged. "Where would we go?"

  I laughed. "Good point."

  He yawned and stretched out his arms. "Besides, we've slept next door to a crime scene before."

  I nodded. "That we have."

  . . .

  The two men with the stretcher carried out the body under a white sheet and left without saying a word. About ten minutes later, the chief inspector emerged from the back of the house. He walked past us and into the kitchen for a moment and then came back into the dining room and took the c
hair next to me.

  "I'll be honest. I've no mind to threaten you with deportation but I do expect you to be cooperative in my investigation without getting in my way." He sighed. "I may need your help, but I don't want you to go off on your own. You're not in California, Mr. Williams. You are not authorized to work here, in any form. Bear that in mind."

  I nodded and waited for the next part that I was sure was coming. There was a reason he'd sent his sergeant out to the car. I was wondering when he was going to tell us why.

  He looked at me directly for a moment and then said, "Not everyone in the police force agrees with the state's new approach to cracking down." He looked down at the table and then began to fiddle with the gold band on his left ring finger. "In the same way that not all of us are in marriages for love. For some of us, it's for convenience." He cleared his throat. "When this bloody rain clears up, I'd like to invite you blokes over for dinner. My wife, her name is Priscilla, she'd be happy to meet you and will invite her own friends, some very nice ladies." He looked at me. "I'm sure you see what I'm saying."

  I nodded. "We understand."

  He put both hands on the table and then stood. "Good."

  Carter and I both stood as well. We shook hands all around. As he put on his coat and hat, the chief inspector said, "Bear in mind what I've said, Mr. Williams. No private investigation while in New South Wales. Of course, if you should find anything helpful, I trust you'll call me at the station or leave word."

  I nodded and smiled.

  He tipped his cap at us, smiled for the first time since he'd arrived, and made his way down the stairs in the rain.

  Carter said, "Damn attractive when he smiles."

  "Too bad he likes me and not you."

  Carter shrugged. "I'm not as popular here as you are. I'm learning to live with that." He pulled me into an embrace and kissed me deeply. Once he was done, he whispered, "Let's go check on the captain and Johnny."

  I nodded and could feel the knot in my stomach again. In those short few minutes that we'd been kissing, I'd temporarily forgotten what had just happened.

  . . .

  Once we were in bed, Carter pulled me into his arms. Neither of us said anything for a while. Finally, I said, "I can't believe she's gone."

  "I know. Me, neither."

  "I'm glad that O'Reilly and Murphy were here and that she was happy—" As I spoke, the tears started to hit hard. I turned and buried my face in Carter's neck while I blubbered like a four-year old. A part of me was standing in the doorway, smoking a cigarette, and looking at the whole scene. I didn't understand what was happening.

  After the storm passed, I said, "Sorry 'bout that."

  Carter, who'd been running his hand through my hair the whole time, said, "I've seen you go through this before, son."

  I sighed. "What do you mean?"

  "Mrs. Tutwiler was like your mother."

  I sat up. "No. I don't wanna talk about this."

  Carter sat up next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. "Sorry."

  I shook my head and jumped out of bed. "It's fine. Where are those cigarettes?"

  "I ditched 'em, remember?"

  I walked down the hall and knocked on the guest bedroom door. I heard some movement behind the door. After a moment, Murphy peered out. His face was drawn. "Everything OK, Nick?" he asked.

  I nodded. "Either of you have any cigarettes?"

  He shook his head. "We both smoke pipes."

  "Right." Without waiting for him to say anything, I turned on my heel and walked into the dining room. I pushed through the kitchen door and flipped on the light. The pan was gone. I didn't see anyone remove it but it was gone. The blood was mostly cleaned up. I wondered if the kids in the white coats had done that.

  I began to open the kitchen drawers. I knew Mrs. Tutwiler smoked. After a moment, Carter walked in.

  "Whatcha doin', son?"

  "There's gotta be cigarettes around here, somewhere."

  Carter reached for me and I slipped away before he could grab me. For the first time, I noticed there was a door at the back of the kitchen. That was obviously her bedroom. It had probably been the maid's room, originally. Had to be that she kept her cigarettes in there. I pushed the door opened as Carter said, "Nick."

  "What?" I asked as I spotted a package of cigarettes on the bureau. I grabbed the pack, opened the lid, and took one. "Where's my lighter?"

  Carter was suddenly standing in front of me. His arms were crossed. I looked up and saw him frowning. "What's wrong?" I asked as I began to look for her lighter or maybe some matches. I remembered that the stove was gas. I ducked around Carter and made my way into the kitchen. I saw a box of wooden matches on a small shelf above the stove. I opened the box, took a match, and lit it using the underside of the kitchen counter lip.

  As the cigarette caught, I inhaled deeply. I closed my eyes, shook the match to make it go out, and then exhaled. Opening my eyes, I made my way over to the sink. I ran the tap over the match and then tossed it in the garbage pail. I looked out the window into the rain-streaked gloom and could feel myself coming back to myself.

  I felt Carter put his hand on my right shoulder. I tilted my head and affectionately rubbed my jaw against his fingers. He squeezed my shoulder, pulled his hand away, and said, "Turn around, Nick."

  I did as he said and grinned at him, holding the cigarette in my mouth.

  He looked angry for some reason. I asked, "What's wrong?"

  He shook his head. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"

  I shrugged, taking in another deep drag. "No, what?"

  "You just stole a dead woman's cigarette."

  I felt like he'd just slugged me. I pulled the thing out of my mouth and looked at it. I blinked and then looked up. "I, uh, Carter." I swallowed. The tears were coming back. "I did, didn't I?"

  He nodded. His face softened. He pulled the cigarette out of my hand and looked at it for a long moment. I wondered if he was going to take a drag. He then reached around me and put out the cigarette under the tap.

  Chapter 10

  2 George Road

  Friday, February 25, 1955

  Early that morning

  "Nick!"

  I was rowing a big boat. There were two oars on either side and I was having a hard time pulling both of them at the same time. The boat was too wide. I looked up and could see that the S.S. Hilo, the ocean liner we'd once sailed on from San Francisco to Honolulu, was bearing down on me.

  "Nick!"

  Someone was trying to tell me something about how to steer the boat. He was standing on the deck of the Hilo and waving down at me. I wanted to wave back but I had to hold the oars or they'd fall into the ocean. I tried to see who it was and, as I did, the prow of the Hilo cut into my boat, causing it to splinter into pieces. Before I could say anything, the ocean sucked me in and I could feel myself drowning.

  "Nick!"

  I opened my eyes and gulped for a breath of air. "What?" I asked as loudly as I could.

  Carter put his hand over my mouth. "Shh," he whispered in my ear.

  I nodded. He took his hand from my mouth and whispered, "Someone is in the kitchen. And they're muttering."

  I listened. Sure enough, I could hear someone opening drawers and talking. I quietly slid out of bed, with Carter behind me, and padded into the dining room. The kitchen light was on but the rest of the house was dark. The incessant rain was beating against the windows that overlooked the ocean. I heard a male voice say, "Where is it, mum? Where've you hidden it?"

  I felt someone standing behind me. John Murphy whispered in my ear. "It's Tom, isn't it?"

  I nodded. I whispered, "I don't wanna scare him."

  He replied, "Right. Nothing like a handsome man, who's practically naked, showing up in your kitchen to give you that nice warm feeling."

  I tried not to laugh. I pushed the door open. As I did, it creaked.

  "Who's there?"

  I replied, "Tom, my name is Nick. I'm coming in."<
br />
  "Who are you?"

  I pushed the door open and peeked inside. He was standing with his back to the sink. He was completely soaked. His dark hair was dripping over his forehead. Dark green eyes peered at me with a look of confusion. He was a young 25, if that, and stood about 6'4".

  "Who are you?" he asked again.

  Without moving, I said, "My name is Nick Williams."

  He shook his head. "Nick Williams? Notorious Nick?"

  I smiled. "I see you've read the Examiner."

  "What are you doing in my house? Where's my mum?"

  I blinked a couple of times before I said, "We can talk about all of that in a minute. Where are your clothes?"

  "In my bedroom."

  "The small one?"

  He nodded.

  I shook my head. "We rented this house from your mother. There aren't any clothes in either of the bedrooms."

  He rolled his eyes. "Willoughby."

  "He's the real estate agent."

  Tom huffed. "He's a worm."

  "What about your clothes?"

  He thought for a moment and said, "There's the storage room behind the garage."

  I was still standing in the doorway. "Why don't you change your clothes while the rest of us get dressed?"

  He pushed his hair off his forehead and frowned at me. "The rest of you?"

  I nodded. "There's four of us."

  "All blokes?"

  I nodded.

  He gave me a leering grin. "Sounds like fun."

  I smiled tightly. "Tom, go get dressed." I sounded like my father all of a sudden.

  He must have heard it that way. He nodded and crossed the kitchen. "Where you going?" I asked.

  He pointed to a door in the back of the kitchen and said, "There's a stair back here that goes to the garage below."

  . . .

  Once we were all dressed, Murphy started making coffee and scrambling some eggs.

  The rest of us sat around the dining table. Tom was dressed in a short-sleeve t-shirt that made him look even younger than he did already. He couldn't keep his eyes off Carter as I told him about renting the house.

  "Your mother sent us to Mr. George and he told us all about your father."

  "You know Mr. George?"

  I nodded. "Nice guy. Very chatty."