First Come, First Kill

by Frances Lockridge

  Forniss considered several further questions, having to do with wills and divorces and the like, and decided against asking them. Give things time to ripen a bit more, Forniss thought, and thanked the Thompsons for letting themselves be bothered and told them, again, that the coroner of Putnam County would undoubtedly be in touch with them.

  Forniss telephoned, at his home, the vice president of Ironclad Products, Inc., to whom he had talked the day before. William Peters was indeed a salesman for the firm, and a good one. He was on vacation—he’d said something about starting in London and flying around after that. He would, indeed, be gone about a month. Yes, he and Wade Thompson did look a good deal alike. Not that there was any trouble telling them apart, but—

  Forniss telephoned Enid Mitchell’s apartment, and was not answered, and drove to it and rang the bell and was not answered. He drove around Tonaganda, to no special destination, for an hour or so. He was not followed.

  All in all, he thought, a disappointing morning. He drove back to his hotel and telephoned Heimrich.

  Heimrich crossed the lawn, toward the sports car, and the two young people got out of it, one on either side. The man was tall, and rather thin, and very blond; he looked as if, a few years before, he might have been a basketball player. Nice reach for tennis, Heimrich thought.

  ‘You’ve been looking for me, probably,’ the girl—the girl with amazing eyes—said, and Heimrich said, ‘Yes, Miss Mitchell. We have, naturally.’

  ‘And now,’ the tall young man said, ‘here she is.’ There was no belligerency in his tone; he tolerantly stated the obvious.

  ‘You’re probably Brian Fields,’ Heimrich said.

  ‘And you’re Captain Heimrich,’ Fields said. ‘We both get around, don’t we?’

  He smiled pleasantly. He looked beyond Heimrich at Susan, and looked pleased, and smiled even more pleasantly. The girl, on the other hand, did not smile at all. Her oddly colored eyes were very large in her tanned face.

  ‘The moppet,’ Fields said, ‘wants to speak her piece. Wants to say she was a naughty girl, and caused trouble and is sorry.’

  He looked down at the slim girl beside him.

  She looked up at him, her face grave. But then her rather full lips curved into a smile.

  ‘The casual note,’ she said. ‘Really, darling. Quit trying so hard.’

  ‘Very well,’ Brian Fields said, and it occurred to Heimrich that he had been flippant with a purpose—the purpose of relaxing, in a way reviving, the girl beside him.

  ‘Are you,’ Susan said, ‘going to stand out there in the sun?’

  There was clearly no point in standing out there in the sun when there were chairs in the shade. The casual note certainly persisted, Heimrich thought, as Brian Fields and Enid Mitchell were introduced to their impromptu hostess, as they found chairs on the terrace. Heimrich himself was in shirt and walking shorts; Fields wore slacks and a linen jacket over a sports shirt. Susan’s sleeveless dress was yellow, and there were sandals on her slender, bare feet. Enid’s sleeveless dress was white. She wore loafers and short white socks. All very casual; friends met on a friendly terrace, presumably for drinks all around. Heimrich did not suggest drinks.

  ‘Take it,’ Fields said, ‘that I’m Miss Mitchell’s lawyer. All right? Take it that she’s here at my advice and ready to answer all questions I think she should. All right?’

  He was quite serious, now. He sat near the girl and, Susan thought, wanted to reach out and hold her hand. Not, she thought, as lawyer might hold the hand of client.

  ‘Quite all right,’ Heimrich said. ‘Miss Mitchell, I got you a room at the Old Stone Inn. Asked you to stay around. You didn’t stay around. Why?’

  Enid looked at the tall, blond man. He did take her hand, then. A fine-looking couple, Susan thought. I do hope she didn’t kill papa.

  Enid turned to Heimrich and spoke steadily, her voice soft and clear.

  ‘I was afraid,’ she said. ‘I—I saw something. I didn’t want to have to tell what I’d seen. It was very foolish to run. I—I got to thinking about it. I telephoned Brian and asked him—’

  ‘Asked me what to do,’ Brian said. ‘I told her. Came to help her. All right?’

  ‘We’re going to get married,’ Enid said. ‘It may as well be clear all around.’

  ‘Irrelevant,’ Brian Fields said. ‘True but irrelevant. Get on with it, moppet.’

  ‘I should,’ Enid said, ‘have said I saw somebody, not something. Out of my window. One window of the room I was in looks out over the parking lot.’

  ‘I know,’ Heimrich said. ‘And who did you see coming toward the hotel, Miss Mitchell?’

  ‘My stepfather,’ she said. ‘Wade Thompson.’

  ‘You’re quite sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. He’ll deny it but—’

  ‘And,’ Heimrich said, ‘you didn’t want to have to tell anybody—tell us, especially—that you had seen him. And that was the reason you—ran?’

  ‘Not because of him,’ she said. ‘Not really because of him.’

  She looked at Brian Fields, then. He merely nodded his head.

  ‘Because of mother, really,’ Enid Mitchell said. ‘I was afraid—afraid if—if—’ She stopped.

  ‘Go on, moppet,’ Fields said, his voice very gentle.

  ‘If he had done anything,’ the girl said, and spoke fast, as one who wants to get something over with, ‘mother would be involved. Would have known about it. Perhaps even—’ She stopped again. ‘I was just afraid,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t really thinking at all.’

  Again she looked to Fields.

  ‘His presence here,’ Fields said. ‘In view of what had happened. A not very convincing coincidence, captain. She’s told you about the letter from her father? About its being forwarded? Her suspicion that it had been opened and sealed up again?’

  ‘Yes,’ Heimrich said. ‘She was right, apparently. You thought, Miss Mitchell, that your stepfather had found your father and killed him? That your mother might be involved? That—’

  ‘That she couldn’t be the one to put you on that track,’ Fields said. ‘We don’t argue it was reasonable. That, at the moment, she was reasonable. She had just learned that her father had been killed. She had just been taken to identify his body.’

  ‘Things came so fast,’ Enid Mitchell said. ‘So fast I couldn’t think. Except—to get away from things. To—to call Brian. Get him to help. To tell me what to do.’

  ‘She had trouble finding me,’ Fields said. ‘I’d had a sudden weekend invitation. More or less a command invitation. It was from one of my bosses. She tried a good many places she thought I might be before she got the right one. That was yesterday. She’d got to a motel a good distance out along the Thruway before—well, before she stopped running. Began to think.’

  ‘My father ran,’ the girl said. ‘I don’t know what from, but he ran. When—when my mind was working I—well, I didn’t want it to be the same way with me. Can you understand, captain? I don’t know how to make you see the way I felt.’

  ‘Now Miss Mitchell,’ Heimrich said. ‘It isn’t really too difficult to see. Although—there has to be more to it, doesn’t there? Grant that Mr Thompson’s being here was, as Mr Fields says, a considerable coincidence. Still—you must have had some other reason for thinking he might have killed your father. With, you were afraid, your mother’s knowledge. Must have thought he—they—had a motive.’

  ‘I—’ the girl said, and did not go on. But Fields went on.

  ‘It is quite probable,’ he said, ‘that Mrs Thompson is the chief, perhaps the sole, beneficiary under Justice Mitchell’s will. I don’t know the provisions. The firm I’m with didn’t draw it up. But she was his wife at the time the will was drawn. Unless there was a specific provision—if still my wife at the time of my death, or something like that—well, I imagine she’ll still get the money.’

  ‘Presuming,’ Heimrich said, ‘she was not party to his murder.’
>
  ‘Yes,’ Fields said. ‘Presuming that.’

  ‘And,’ Heimrich said, ‘that there was not a later will. Miss Mitchell, was the letter you showed me the only one you got from your father?’

  Her remarkable eyes widened. (A most interesting color, Susan thought. Very difficult to put a name to.)

  ‘Why,’ she said. ‘Yes. The only letter.’

  ‘Did you, by any chance, get a letter from a man named Woodborne? A lawyer?’

  She repeated the name. She shook her head.

  ‘Captain,’ Fields said, and there was nothing casual, now, in his attitude, ‘she’s come clean with you. If you’re fishing—As I said, she’s my client. She’s appeared voluntarily. She—’

  ‘Now Mr Fields,’ Heimrich said. ‘She can answer or not answer. I quite realize that. And, she has answered, hasn’t she?’

  ‘She has,’ Fields said. ‘Perhaps we’ve gone far enough, captain.’

  ‘Mr Fields,’ Heimrich said, ‘this is, obviously, very informal. As you say, a voluntary matter. I can, if I need to, add formality. I have grounds for detaining Miss Mitchell as a material witness.’ He paused. He closed his very blue eyes. ‘Advise your client, counselor,’ Merton Heimrich said, from some distance.

  Brian Fields looked briefly at the sky. Then he said, ‘Go ahead, captain. My client will answer what she can. If I feel she should.’

  ‘Mr Woodborne,’ Heimrich said, ‘is a lawyer. Has an office in White Plains. Happen to know him, Mr Fields?’

  Fields said there were thousands of lawyers. He said, ‘No. Can’t say I do.’

  ‘Mr Woodborne,’ Heimrich said, ‘got an unexpected communication in the mail. A document purporting to be a holograph will, written and signed by Justice Mitchell. Miss Mitchell, you knew nothing about such a will?’

  She looked to Fields. He said, ‘Go ahead, moppet.’ She said, ‘No.’

  ‘A recent will,’ Heimrich said. ‘The handwriting is the same as that of the letter you got from your father. His fingerprints were on the letter and on the will. So—probably it will stand up in probate courts wouldn’t you think, counselor?’

  ‘If the handwriting checks out.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Heimrich said. ‘I suspect it will. You’re quite sure you knew nothing about such a will, Miss Mitchell?’

  ‘She’s answered that,’ Fields said, and at the same time the girl said, ‘I’m quite sure, Captain Heimrich.’

  ‘The will,’ Heimrich said, ‘makes you the sole beneficiary, Miss Mitchell.’

  There was a moment of silence. A bluejay in a tree scolded something, angrily.

  ‘I didn’t—’ the girl said, and shook her head.

  ‘If you’re working up to something,’ Fields said, ‘get to it.’

  ‘Nothing,’ Heimrich said. ‘Only certain facts. We’ve only guesses to go on, but Justice Mitchell’s estate may total as much as half a million dollars.’

  ‘I think perhaps—’ Fields said, but did not finish. He looked intently at the girl and she looked at him, her eyes very wide. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’ve nothing to hide, captain.’

  ‘Good,’ Heimrich said. ‘Miss Mitchell, did you by any chance happen to be at your mother’s wedding to Mr Thompson?’

  She said, coming back from a distance, ‘What?’ He did not repeat the question, knowing she had heard it.

  ‘Why no,’ Enid Mitchell said. ‘They were married out West. Right after mother got her divorce. Why do you ask that?’

  There was a series of explosions, closely spaced, behind trees to the east. Fields turned and looked toward the sounds and moved as if to get up. He said, ‘What the hell?’

  ‘A neighbor,’ Heimrich said. ‘Shoots at a target. We get used to it. About your mother’s marriage, Miss Mitchell. Her divorce, as a matter of fact. We’re told there’s no record of either.’

  She looked at him blankly, and he looked at her with care. She looked surprised enough, Heimrich thought.

  ‘Why,’ she said, ‘that can’t be. Everybody knows they’re—’ She shook her head and looked at Brian Fields. Fields said, ‘I don’t get it, captain. They wouldn’t be able—’ He did not finish that. ‘Where’s there no record?’ he asked.

  ‘Thompson,’ Heimrich said, ‘told me it was a Nevada divorce. That they were married as soon as the decree was final. Also in Nevada. Where there’s no record is in Nevada, Mr Fields. As for their not being able to get away with it—if people say they’re married, nobody asks them to prove it. In the normal course.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ the girl said, but her voice was dull. There was belief in her voice. ‘Why would they?’ she said.

  ‘If your mother was still married to Justice Mitchell at the time of his death,’ Heimrich said, ‘it changes things a bit. Wouldn’t you say, counselor?’

  Fields again looked at the blue sky. He said he supposed Heimrich was thinking, among other things, of dower rights. He looked from the sky to Heimrich. He said it might put a different face on things, mightn’t it?

  Heimrich agreed it might. It occurred to him that Brian Fields was looking very thoughtful, as a man may who is making up his mind about something.

  ‘By the way,’ Heimrich said, ‘is Mrs Thompson—call her that for now—a client of your law firm, Mr Fields?’

  Fields continued to consider. Then he looked at Heimrich, and his eyes were slightly narrowed.

  ‘Yes,’ Fields said. ‘It happens she is, captain.’

  Then, in the house, the telephone rang.

  ‘Probably Michael,’ Susan said. ‘Our boy. Wanting to know if he can stay at a friend’s house.’ She flowed up, went into the house. But in seconds she came back to the door, said, ‘Sergeant Forniss, dear.’

  Heimrich was gone several minutes, during which the bluejay was joined by another bluejay; during which Oliver Perrin, out of sight but not of sound, fired several more shots; during which neither Fields nor the girl said anything, although their hands still held.

  When Heimrich came again to the terrace, Susan looked at his face. Oh dear, Susan thought, something hasn’t worked out. The sergeant has thrown a monkey wrench.

  Heimrich sat where he had sat before. He lighted a cigarette.

  ‘Miss Mitchell,’ Heimrich said, and she turned to face him. ‘Do you happen to know a man named William Peters? Works for the same firm as your stepfather.’

  ‘Why—’ she said, and paused. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘He came to the house once or twice while I was still living there, I think. The one who looks a little—’ Then her eyes widened again.

  ‘Like Mr Thompson,’ Heimrich said. ‘Is the resemblance really very great, Miss Mitchell?’

  ‘I saw him only twice,’ she said. ‘Several years ago.’

  ‘Even so,’ Heimrich said.

  ‘There is a resemblance,’ she said. ‘As I remember him.’

  ‘Enough so that, say from a little distance, they might be confused?’

  ‘I suppose so. From far enough, in a not very good light.’

  ‘Such,’ Heimrich said, ‘as the light in the parking lot at the Old Stone Inn? From the distance, say, of a second-floor window?’

  ‘The man I saw,’ the girl said, in a steady voice, ‘was Wade Thompson, Captain Heimrich.’

  ‘The light was on his face?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m trying to remember,’ she said. ‘No, there wasn’t much light on his face. But—I’m quite sure, captain.’

  ‘Captain,’ Fields said, ‘does this man Peters say he was at this inn you’re talking about?’

  His face is very intent, Susan thought; for the first time, he looks worried, she thought.

  ‘Mr Thompson says he wasn’t there,’ Heimrich said, and closed his eyes. ‘Says Peters may have been. The man I think Miss Mitchell saw registered as William Peters. He was staying at the inn while he looked for a house to buy, apparently. You’re still quite sure, Miss Mitchell?’

  She said, ‘I’m quite sure.’ Her voice was very lo
w, without animation.

  ‘Could this man—whichever one he was—have looked up and seen you at the window. Miss Mitchell?’

  ‘I suppose he could have,’ she said, in the same low voice. ‘I don’t think he did.’

  And then Brian Fields stood up.

  ‘I think, captain,’ he said, ‘that we’ve gone as far as we usefully can. Unless you have other plans in mind?’

  He might be right, Heimrich told him. For the time being, naturally. As for other plans—

  ‘I’d like Miss Mitchell to be near by for a day or two,’ he said. ‘In your custody. Informally, I realize but—you’d rather have it informal, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Fields said.

  ‘Then why,’ Heimrich said, ‘don’t you and Miss Mitchell stay at this inn we’ve been talking about? For a couple of days, anyway. It’s a very comfortable place. Used to stay there myself a good bit.’

  ‘We’re working people—’ Fields said.

  ‘Now Mr Fields,’ Heimrich said. ‘I realize that. And I’ve no reason to insist that you stay around. That’s up to you. But Miss Mitchell—well, she may be a material witness, you know.’

  Fields looked down at the slender girl in the white, sleeveless dress.

  ‘Brian,’ she said, ‘I can’t ask—’

  ‘We’ll be at this inn of yours,’ Brian Fields said. ‘Come on, moppet.’

  They went side by side to the sports car. He held her arm, as if afraid she might stumble. But the lawn they crossed to reach the car was very smooth, as country lawns go.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Susan said she couldn’t believe the girl had had anything to do with her father’s murder. She said that such a thing would be inconceivable.

  Practically nothing is inconceivable, Heimrich told her. Certainly patricide is not. Lamentable, but not beyond belief. ‘Beyond mine,’ Susan said, but added, ‘oh, I know. It is only that I wish I didn’t. Mr Fields was worried toward the end, I thought. Confident when they came; at the end in a hurry to get her away. So they could talk alone?’