Kill and Tell

by William Kienzle

  20.

  “Want some more coffee?” Sergeant Ewing was pouring himself another cup.

  Sergeant Papkin shook his head. “I’ll float.”

  Ewing returned to the large table that served as a desk in their squad room, and sat opposite Papkin. He stirred the steaming brew before him. “Well, the Hoffman woman was buried this morning, and this is the third day of our investigation. I think we ought to branch out a bit. What do you think?”

  “Where?”

  “I’d say Ms. LeBlanc. I know that all our suspects have motive, means, and opportunity. But I just like her motive best. The mistress who’s been on the back burner too long. Well set up, but no public life at all. Can’t be seen with her john. Maybe begins to believe she’s about to be dumped. She figures to see enough dough from his will to set herself up pretty good. Move away from here. Start over somewhere else. You know, hell hath no fury and all that.

  “I like her opportunity too. The others’ whereabouts are pretty well on record. But she comes in out of nowhere. No one knew she was there till she came and stood on the fringe of the group. Finally recognized by Emma, then sighted by Frank Hoffman.

  “She could have just walked into the room. Walked over to the bar. Who would notice? The room was crowded. She finds Hoffman’s standing drink. No problem; his name identifies it as his. She drops the nicotine in the drink. Goes over to the reception table. Gets her sticker. Walks over to the group. She knows her presence will cause a scene. More than likely, Hoffman will want another Rob Roy. You know, ‘This calls for a drink’ kind of situation.

  “So Jackie just stands there, waiting for her Frankie to take the poison. But, unexpectedly, his wife grabs the drink from his hand and swallows it before anyone can stop her. Jackie couldn’t stop her in any case since that would be an admission that she knew something was in the drink.”

  Ewing sipped his coffee and smiled at his partner. “Well, what do you think?”

  Papkin had listened to the scenario behind unrevealing eyes. “I don’t swallow it. For one thing, if Ms. LeBlanc could enter unnoticed, and put the poison in the drink unnoticed, why bother joining Hoffman’s group and making herself noticed? Why not just drop in, drop the poison in, and then leave, with nobody the wiser?

  “No,” he shook his head, “your problem is you’re always looking for the subtle suspect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve got somebody else at the bar.”

  “Who?”

  “Mercury. Angie Mercury. You’re assuming LeBlanc might have gone to the bar and dropped the poison. You don’t have to assume anything when it comes to Mercury. He went to get a drink for someone. He was at the bar. All he’d have to do is move over, by actual count, two feet from the spot where he picked up the lady’s drink to stand right in front of Hoffman’s. At that point, he takes a small vial—he only needs a few drops—from his pocket. It’s hidden in his palm; he holds his hand over Hoffman’s drink, pours in the poison, turns, brings the lady her drink. Then all he has to do is wait for Hoffman to have one more perfect Rob Roy.

  “But, the same thing then happens as in your scenario: He watches in satisfaction as Hoffman takes his drink. Then he can’t believe it when Emma grabs the drink and downs it. He can’t stop her for the same reason you proposed. If he did, he’d be admitting he knew something was wrong with the drink. Besides, she drank it so quickly no one could have prevented it.”

  “Except someone standing right next to her.”

  “But none of the subjects was.”

  Ewing drained his cup. “So you say it was Mercury.”

  “Right.”

  “Charlie, we questioned him just yesterday.”

  “Yes, and we were reaching him. If we hadn’t gotten that call about the threatening note that Hoffman received; if I had had just a little while longer with him, he would have cracked.”

  “He’s also got a nervous wife, who was on the verge of calling their attorney.”

  “Let her, I say.”

  “Charlie, we’re three days into this thing. A few more days and you know as well as I that the Inspector is going to want us to move on. We can’t take a chance of concentrating on just one suspect. We’ve got to play the field as long as we can before we decide to come down on one of them.

  “So what about the LeBlanc woman? And don’t forget, we haven’t scratched the surface with either Charles or Louise Chase. Then, there’s the bishop—the one who could immediately put his hand on a ton of nicotine.”

  “I’ve got it in my guts, Ray. An hour, maybe two, I could crack Mercury. Don’t forget: He lied to us about not being at the bar. And if he lied to us once . . . I know if I can get those lies he’s telling us lined up, we’d have him cold.”

  Without knocking, Inspector Koznicki opened the door to the squad room. He was wearing blue, pin-striped trousers, a matching unbuttoned vest, and a white shirt open at the neck. “Good,” he said, “You’re still here. Father Koesler just phoned.”

  Father Koesler? Papkin had been concentrating so hard on the suspects in the Hoffman killing that the priest’s name did not ring an immediate bell. Then he remembered that the priest was the Inspector’s personal friend.

  Koznicki was, for him, somewhat excited. “In his characteristic humble manner, Father told me he thinks he may have stumbled across the solution to the Hoffman case.”

  Oh, he has, has he? thought Papkin.

  “He would like for us to meet him,” said Koznicki.

  Big deal, thought Papkin.

  “Where?” asked Ewing.

  “At the Mercury home,” Koznicki responded.

  Smart man, thought Papkin.

  As the car bearing the three police officers turned onto the street where the Mercurys lived, they saw Father Koesler in his yellow Cheetah parked several houses the other side of the Mercury home.

  The unmarked police vehicle, Papkin driving, pulled up directly in front of the house. As soon as it came to a stop, the occupants of both cars emerged. There was a man whom none of the officers recognized with Koesler. They all met on the walk leading to the Mercury house, where Koesler introduced the officers to Rudy Scholl, whom Koesler identified as a friend and a doctor of psychology.

  “As I explained to the Inspector,” Koesler addressed Papkin and Ewing, “this is no more than a hypothesis on my part. However, I checked out its plausibility with Dr. Scholl here, and he told me I was operating at least in the realm of possibility. I’ve thought this out quite carefully, and I think at worst, my hypothesis will not cause any harm and at best, it might just provide the answer to this case.

  “And, I hasten to add,” Koesler was painfully aware that he, an amateur in the field of crime investigation, was speaking to professionals, “I have arrived at this hypothesis mostly from information I don’t think you had access to directly.

  “With that, gentlemen, shall we try it out?”

  All five men approached the door. Koesler pressed the bell After a few moments, Cindy Mercury opened the door. Quickly, she scanned the serious faces of the men. She appeared apprehensive. None of her visitors could blame her.

  After a slight hesitation, she stammered, “M-my husband isn’t home.”

  “We didn’t come to see your husband,” Koesler replied. “We came to see you, Cindy.”

  Her countenance clearly expressed fear and confusion. Nevertheless, she invited them in. They found seats in various locations in the living room, leaving Cindy only a straightback chair for herself. Her eyes darted from one to the other of the men.

  “Cindy,” Koesler broke the silence, “we’ve come to talk to you about Emma’s death.”

  “To me?”

  “Since Monday night when this terrible tragedy occurred, everyone has assumed,” he paused, realizing that he was including professional crime investigators, “everyone, with very good reason, has assumed that the intended victim of the killer was your brother Frank. And that Emma became the unintended victim
when she impulsively took the poisoned Rob Roy from him and drank it.”

  “Of course everyone assumed that.” Cindy’s voice was strained. “Everyone saw what happened. The drink was Frank’s, a perfect Rob Roy. He would have drunk it if Em hadn’t taken it from him. What else could it be?”

  “What if, Cindy . . . what if Frank were not the intended victim? What if the person responsible for poisoning the drink actually intended to kill Emma?”

  “But . . . but that’s ridiculous! If anyone wanted to poison Em, they would have put the poison in Em’s drink. She drank martinis. Everyone knows that. In fact, she’d had a couple of martinis earlier in the evening.”

  “That’s right, Cindy. Emma drank martinis. But she was not one of those celebrities who had their specialized drinks pre-prepared. With Emma, there was little opportunity to poison a drink that never left her hand after the waiter had given it to her. Besides, if someone were to poison Emma’s drink, then everyone would know that Emma was the intended victim. Just as all ‘knew’ Frank was the intended victim because it was his drink that had been poisoned.”

  “And what difference would that make?”

  “Quite a bit of difference, I think. For about three days now, the police have been operating under the assumption that Frank was the intended victim. They have been looking for someone who had the motive,” Koesler tried to recall Inspector Koznicki’s words, “the motive, the means, and the opportunity. There has been the added pressure of the fact that, under this assumption, whoever tried to kill Frank failed, and so that someone is still out there someplace. And Frank’s life is still in danger.

  “Now, if Frank was really not the intended victim, the police are looking for the wrong person and for the wrong reason.”

  There followed a significant pause during which it became evident that the only person who was ill at ease was Cindy. And she was very ill at ease. “I . . . I think I’d better call my attorney.”

  “You may do that, of course, Mrs. Mercury,” said Koznicki. “But, at most, he can advise you on which questions to answer and which he finds it advisable for you not to respond to. And I believe that, up to this point, Father Koesler has not asked you any questions. He has been explaining a theory he has. You are the one who has been asking the questions. Now, Father can continue the explanation of his theory whether or not your attorney is present. That is what you intend to do, is it not, Father—to continue the explication of your thoughts on this matter?”

  Koesler nodded.

  After a moment, Cindy shrugged.

  “So,” Koesler continued, “let’s suppose that Emma was the real intended victim—”

  “It’s an impossible assumption, Father,” Cindy interrupted. “It’s so obvious that whoever put that poison in Frank’s drink meant it for him! Em’s grabbing his glass could be nothing but an impulsive gesture.

  “Even granting, just for the moment, that someone would poison Frank’s drink to throw the police off the track—how could that ‘someone’ possibly get Em, if she were the real intended victim, to take it from Frank and drink it herself?”

  The identical question was in the mind of the three officers. They, naturally, had not expressed it. But now that Cindy had, they turned to Koesler for his response.

  “How about the power of suggestion?”

  The blood seemed to drain from Cindy’s face. She appeared about to faint. Dr. Scholl moved toward her, but she waved him away. She sat very still and very upright, the fingers of her right hand pinching her forehead, eyes closed as if she were enduring a very painful headache.

  “I am so sorry, Cindy,” said Koesler. “But I think we’re getting at the truth now. You see, I learned a lot of things at the party you had here a week ago. They weren’t things I was trying to learn about you in some gossipy context. It was information that in some cases was almost forced on me.

  “All of us who were at that party will remember what a central role Emma Hoffman played and how she sort of orchestrated the events of that evening to their unhappy conclusion.”

  Koesler was aware that, of the six people presently seated in the Mercury living room, only he and Cindy had been present at the party in question. Thus, he would have to recap briefly the sequence of events leading to Emma’s revelation of some dark family secrets.

  It was also important for Koesler to make clear that his knowledge derived from what had transpired at that party and not from any privileged communication. Cindy certainly had made apparent in the confessional their living far beyond their means as well as their dependence on her brother’s dole. But Koesler, in the explanation of this part of his theory, was basing it on what he had learned at the party, not on what Cindy had told him in the confessional.

  “Undoubtedly, it was because Emma was . . . uh . . . in her cups and at least slightly intoxicated that she began to reveal some of the family secrets. Among them was the obvious statement that Angie was not working in the theater that much or that well. She then made the equally obvious implication that you were living far beyond the rather meager income that Angie was able to eke out of show business. Emma also made plain that your income was being substantially augmented by her husband, referring to him as your rich relative. She also made evident her disapproval of the entire affair. From all she said, I think it safe to assume that should she have had her way, Frank’s contribution to your income would cease.

  “That put you under enormous pressure, Cindy. So much pressure, indeed, that you ran to your room weeping uncontrollably.

  “The pressure you felt was completely understandable. You love your husband. You realize that in his profession, the appearance is quite as important as the substance. You understand this because at one time you shared that profession with him. Angie told me about that earlier in the evening.

  “You knew that Angie was determined to stay in show business whether or not, at the moment, he was achieving success. You were determined to support him in what had become a facade.

  “The only thing that permitted you to keep up appearances was the subsidy from your brother. His contribution might have been somewhat demeaning, but it was dependable. You are justly confident of your brother’s love and care for you. All others might desert you, but not your brother. You could be sure that in life or in death, he would provide for you.

  “If your brother were to die, naturally, accidentally, or by homicide, you could trust his will to provide for you amply. But you had no reason to want him dead. You loved him and he would continue caring for you while he lived.

  “The only possible fly in this ointment was Emma. As Frank’s wife, she was arguably at least as close to him as anyone else, perhaps closer than anyone else. She was being openly sarcastic about Angie’s inability to maintain your lifestyle without Frank’s continued assistance. What if she tried to cut off these funds? She was the only one who might try. And who was to know what sort of pressure she might bring to bear on Frank? Who could be sure she might not find enough of a threat to Frank to finally discourage even him from continuing to help you?

  “Your only ultimate security was in the elimination somehow of Emma. But how to do it? If even you want to be objective about it, Frank has a lot of potential enemies. But Emma apparently had few. Her greatest enemy, judging by the violent argument they had the night of your party as well as at the party at the club, was her husband.

  “Now, if an attempt were made directly on the life of Emma Hoffman, successfully or not, the prime suspects very likely would have been Frank and you. Frank because they obviously were not getting along. And you because it could easily be demonstrated that she was a threat to the lifestyle you are, in effect, being forced to live by the vagaries of Angie’s career.

  “So you devised the ingenious plan of going after Emma through Frank. Then the authorities would logically be searching for someone who might want to kill Frank. Which certainly would not be you. They would have no reason to try to find someone who might want Emma out of the way. />
  “Frank would not be a suspect because he obviously had no control of his wife’s seemingly impulsive action in taking his glass and drinking its contents. You would not be a suspect because the attempt at murder was made against Frank, and you would be among the last persons who would want him dead for any reason whatsoever.”

  Koesler paused to allow his explication, still incomplete, to sink in. Cindy had not moved. She still sat upright, eyes closed, fingers pressing into her forehead.

  “Father,” said Inspector Koznicki, “if you do not mind my intruding, your explanation of motive was very strong. No stronger, however, than the police might have made had Mrs. Mercury been a viable suspect. But your hypothesis that Emma Hoffman was the real intended victim remains as unlikely as ever. The charge you are making is most serious. And you have said nothing that would alter the extremely logical assumption that Frank Hoffman was the intended victim. It was his drink that was poisoned. Emma Hoffman has been described by many who knew her well as an impetuous, impulsive woman. It would seem that her action in taking a drink meant for her husband would have been right in character.”

  “I agree, Inspector. I must admit I was astounded by her behavior the moment I saw her grab that glass. But when so many of her friends as well as her husband described her as a most impulsive person, I could understand what she did in that context.

  “Now that I look back at it, I think I tended to believe her action to be spontaneous partly because she had the reputation of being such an impulsive person and partly because there simply was no other credible explanation for what she did.

  “But I remember thinking all the while, as I’m sure all of us did, what a fantastic coincidence! Think of the odds against her picking the precise moment that her husband is holding a poisoned drink to snatch it from him and drink it! Undoubtedly, he had never before held a lethal drink or, in all probability, he would not be with us today. So, the one time in his life he is about to drink something someone has poisoned and intended for him, he doesn’t drink it because of his wife’s impetuosity. What a coincidence.