Where There's a Will

by Kip Chase

  ‘Now then, you may read it for yourself, naturally. But because of the legal jargon,’ he coughed gently, ‘I thought perhaps if I just outlined the provisions …?’

  ‘If you please, Mr. Lewis’, the chief said.

  ‘The bulk of the estate, about two-thirds of it, goes to Mrs. DeVoors’s brother, Mr. Philip Newton. The remainder is divided primarily among charities. There are some other individual bequests, mostly to servants. The largest is fifty thousand dollars to Miss Wycliff.’

  ‘An interesting sum’, Carmichael murmured.

  The lawyer glanced at him sharply. ‘Ah-hem, yes. Now there is one other bequest that might prove interesting to you. It is to the Plateau of Supreme Oneness,’ the lawyer’s lips curled, ‘for two hundred thousand dollars. The money is actually left to Mr. Kuru to “further the interests of the cult”. And there is one further provision of significance, though this is an item of exclusion rather than inclusion. Mrs. DeVoors’s will states categorically that under no circumstances is Dr. Newton to receive any of her money in the event of her death.’

  ‘How’s that?’ Carmichael asked sharply.

  ‘Mrs. DeVoors took legal steps to assure her nephew would not get any of her money’, Lewis said. ‘She and Dr. Newton did not get along well, as I am sure you already know. When they had their first—ah—ah—difficulties, about six years ago, Mrs. DeVoors requested a codicil be attached to her will at that time providing her nephew would not receive any money from her estate when she died. It was a little unusual, but no legal problem. When Mrs. DeVoors revised her will, some months later, she incorporated the codicil into the body of the will. I might add Mrs. DeVoors kept our office fairly busy with changes of her will. Mostly it had to do with various societies of one sort or another. She would get interested in some group, provide for them generously, lose interest, then revise her dispositions so as to exclude them. It was, more or less, a continuing process.’ The lawyer gave a wry smile.

  ‘This business about Dr. Newton not getting the money intrigues me’, Carmichael said. ‘Could you elaborate on that please, sir?’

  ‘The last testament of Mrs. DeVoors,’ Lewis began didactically, ‘provides in the event of her death if for any reason or reasons whatsoever—I believe that’s the exact wording, you may check me on it—Philip Newton is unable to receive his benefits, the money normally accorded him shall be turned over to certain charities thereafter listed. The money shall not revert to Jack Newton—which it would normally do, as he is the only other living relative.’

  ‘Any reason whatsoever’, Carmichael mused. ‘That would indicate Mrs. DeVoors expected her brother to die before she did. But if that happened, she could simply change her will accordingly on his death. So there doesn’t seem to be any need for special provision. Do you have any explanation for that, Mr. Lewis?’

  The lawyer nodded solemnly. ‘I have. Your assumption, Mr. Carmichael, is correct, up to a point. Mrs. DeVoors was concerned lest her brother should die before she did. But she was also concerned lest she be unable to change her will when that happened.’

  Chief Delmar creaked forward in his chair. ‘I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t she be able to change it?’

  ‘Mrs. DeVoors thought it likely, by the time her brother died, she would be in a mental institution’, the lawyer said quietly. ‘In which case it would be legally impossible for her to change her own will.’

  ‘What made her think that?’ Carmichael asked, pulling at his nose.

  ‘I don’t know. Her doctor might help you there. All I know is she made quite a point of it when she discussed her will with me. She hemmed and hawed and finally came right out with it. “What would happen,” she said, “if Philip died, but by that time I was declared insane? Would I be able to change my will?” I told her no. That if she died insane the money would be administered as she had requested except that the amount bequeathed to Philip would then go to Jack, as the next of kin. “I don’t want that”, she said. “Fix it so that wouldn’t happen.” So I did.’

  ‘But,’ objected Carmichael, ‘that doesn’t make much sense. As it is Mrs. DeVoors has died, her brother inherits. He is not a young man. When he dies, the nephew will get her money anyway.’

  ‘I pointed that out to Mrs. DeVoors’, Lewis answered. ‘But she told me that what her brother wanted to do with his money was his business. She just wanted to make sure she wasn’t directly responsible for the nephew getting anything.’

  ‘It just doesn’t seem logical’, Carmichael muttered.

  ‘Mrs. DeVoors was not a logical woman’, the lawyer said dryly.

  Carmichael looked at him sharply. ‘I take it, sir, you were not surprised with Mrs. DeVoors’s self-evaluation of her mental condition?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Lewis answered, ‘I was astonished. I grant you, she was, ah, eccentric. But for a woman her age, she had a remarkably clear mind. Despite the fact she drank far more than was good for her. But she never evinced any symptoms of insanity or impending insanity to me. I told her as much.’

  ‘But she was unconvinced?’

  ‘Yes, she persisted in the belief she was headed for a mental institution.’

  Carmichael turned to Chief Delmar. ‘Have you talked with Mrs. DeVoors’s doctor yet, Louie?’

  ‘Nope. He’s another out-of-towner. No offence meant, Mr. Lewis’, he added hastily. ‘Anyway his name is Reeves. Got a suite of plush offices over in Hollywood, I understand. Has a lot of film people for clients. He’s been out of town for a week on a convention somewhere back east. Due back in a day or two. I left word with his secretary to call me as soon as he gets in.’

  Carmichael wheeled himself over to a window and stared out at a group of blue-denim clad prisoners working sluggishly on the closely cropped green lawn. Chief Delmar took up the questioning.

  ‘I understand you were Mr. DeVoors’s lawyer before he married Mrs. DeVoors, Mr. Lewis’, he said.

  ‘That’s right. I was a classmate of Peter DeVoors at Brown. That was a good many years ago.’

  ‘And how did Mr. DeVoors make his money?’

  The lawyer grinned. ‘He didn’t. His father did. Not that Peter didn’t have ability, but there wasn’t much need in exercising it. Peter was something of a gay blade. But a splendid chap. Splendid. His father was one of those railway tycoons who made a great deal of money in the pre-income-tax days and hung on to it. He was instrumental in the founding of New York Central and Union Pacific among others, I believe.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Chief Delmar, ‘my father had a pretty good deal going in real estate out here for a while, but the crash took all that.’

  ‘Well,’ said the lawyer, ‘DeVoors had his money in the hands of a first-class investment firm, Peters, Blake and Blum. They had it pretty well diversified. The depression hurt the estate, but not seriously. I believe since the ‘thirties the capital has made tremendous gains. When Peter died, Mrs. DeVoors lived well, very well, but she could afford it. As far as I know she never went into the principal.’

  ‘How did Mr. and Mrs. DeVoors meet?’

  ‘I don’t know. I attended the wedding, of course. But Peter never talked much about his wife’s background. I have been told she was on the stage.’

  ‘And how about that money, Mr. Lewis? You sure you have no idea why Mrs. DeVoors wanted it?’

  ‘None at all. This was the largest she ever asked for. On occasion—I would say maybe half a dozen times—she has called me requesting that I bring cash to the house. Twenty-five, thirty thousand. She would phone her bank and authorize me to pick it up for her. I would do so, then get a withdrawal slip from her and send it to the bank. That was the procedure I followed the day she died.’

  ‘And you never questioned her about this?’

  ‘I did not. She gave the impression she did not wish to make explanations.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone about the fifty thousand?’

  ‘No one. The bank officials knew, of course.’

  ‘O.K.’, said th
e chief wearily. ‘I guess that’s it. Thanks a lot.’

  Carmichael wheeled over from the window. ‘Just a couple of more things if you please, Mr. Lewis.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Just how much is the value of Mrs. DeVoors’s estate?’

  ‘I don’t know. Upwards of fifty million, I should guess. I have given Chief Delmar the local address of her investment firm. Our office works rather closely with them on the tax problem. Though I am not personally involved in that department.’

  ‘I checked with the company, Carmichael’, the chief broke in. ‘They said they’d have a breakdown for me as soon as possible. It’ll take a couple of days.’

  Carmichael nodded absently. ‘And about this will’, he said. ‘Just one more point I’d like to clear up. You said the money left to that Indian society was actually left to Sra Kuru to “administer”.’

  The lawyer nodded.

  ‘All right,’ continued Carmichael, ‘what if it came out the society was a fake. Would Kuru still get the money?’

  Lewis pursed his lips. ‘That’s difficult to say. As executors of the will it is our firm’s legal obligation to fulfil its terms. As it stands the money goes to Kuru personally. However, if that provision of the will were contested by another party, and if it were proved the society were fraudulent in its assertions to Mrs. DeVoors, then probably the bequest would be thrown out. That’s just my opinion. It might be a difficult thing to prove.’

  ‘And if it were disallowed, the money would go to Mrs. DeVoors’s brother?’

  ‘Yes. Though, in comparison with his inheritance, it would not be significant.’

  ‘One thing has just occurred to me’, Carmichael said. ‘Do you suppose any of the benefactors knew they were going to inherit money and the amount, other than the obvious ones, of course?’

  ‘With Mrs. DeVoors, nothing was obvious’, the lawyer observed. ‘But in answer to your question—I would imagine everyone mentioned in the will knew they were included, and for how much. I was present when Mrs. DeVoors told two of the beneficiaries—Mrs. George and Elinor Wycliff—and she did so with such, ah, relish that I assume she told the others. I know Dr. Newton knew about his “exclusion”. He mentioned it to me once at the house. He seemed to find the situation humorous.’

  ‘Thank you. No more questions, sir’, Carmichael smiled.

  When the lawyer had left, Carmichael turned to Chief Delmar. ‘Well, Louie, what do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s a mess’, Delmar answered bluntly.

  It was at this cheerful juncture that Detective-Lieutenant Hodges burst into the room. Chief Delmar regarded his subordinate with a frown. Hodges was too flustered to notice.

  ‘Picketts just called from the DeVoors lodge’, he said. ‘He located her brother.’

  ‘Fine,’ smiled the chief, ‘have him bring him in.’

  ‘Not so fine. He’s dead. Been strangled with a tie.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  GROUPS of men were standing about the swimming pool at the lodge when Carmichael, Pinkie and the chief pulled up in a squad car. Two sheriffs’ cars, a highway patrol car, the police car from San Margaret and half a dozen reporters’ cars were jammed into the semicircle of gravel in front of the house. Pinkie caught a glimpse of Sullivan, notebook in hand, tagged by a photographer. Several other reporters he recognized from the press conference at the San Margaret office.

  ‘How the hell do they get here so fast?’ Pinkie asked Carmichael, jerking his head towards the reporters.

  ‘They all have police radios at the papers, some of the reporters and photographers have car radios, plus friends in the departments who tip them off. They’re very seldom caught napping.’ Carmichael wheeled himself over to where Chief Delmar was already deep in conversation with his officer, Sergeant Picketts.

  Picketts was saying, ‘… so that’s when I called you, sir. Right after I called the sheriffs. Identified him by a driver’s licence in his pocket. It was soaked, but I could make it out.’

  ‘How did you happen to let all these reporters in?’ growled Delmar.

  ‘Well, I didn’t want to leave the body to go all the way down to the main gate. I figured as soon as the sheriffs got here I could help them out with traffic control. But the news-boys got here just about the same time.’

  The chief said, ‘Damage’s done now. Trampin’ all over everything. Course it ain’t our case, technically, but it sure louses things up. Anybody called Dr. Newton?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Called the meat wagon, and the county medical examiner’, Picketts answered.

  ‘Well, see if you can get a hold of him. Tell him what happened and to get right up here. Now let’s have a look.’

  The body, covered with a grey blanket, was lying beside one of the sheriffs’ cars. Pinkie had not noticed it. He followed his grandfather to watch as the chief pulled back the blanket. The dead man appeared to be in his mid-sixties. His eyes, a light blue set in a tanned face, were open. Round his neck was a grey and blue man’s necktie. The tie was knotted at the back and bit deeply into the brown flesh. The man’s clothes were sopping wet; his hair, black streaked with grey, was plastered down round his neck and face. The ground where he was lying was soft and moist.

  ‘Found him in the pool’, Chief Delmar explained. ‘Picketts came up here at eight on my instructions and there he was. Didn’t see him at first because he was on the bottom, weighted down with rocks in his pockets. Hard to say how long he’s been dead. I’d guess about eight hours. Find out when the county medical examiner gets here. What’s your guess, Carmichael?’

  Carmichael bent over in his wheelchair and lifted one of the dead man’s arms. He shook his head. Pinkie, who had been watching as if hypnotized, turned away.

  Another squad car rolled up. The driver stayed in the car and two men got out. One was a police photographer, the other was the county medical examiner, Dr. Sandleigh. The doctor was all business. He removed the tie and closely examined the red mark round the dead man’s neck. He poked the body in the stomach, in the chest and in the ribs. He tested the limbs for rigidity. Pinkie had decided he wasn’t going to be sick. He watched with interest while Dr. Sandleigh rolled up a sodden sleeve and pinched the flesh on the inside of the upper arm; then rolled back the eyes and examined the mouth and nose. He asked only one question, ‘How long has the body been in the water?’ The sheriff, a big man with thick white hair, who had arrived in another car, said they didn’t know. The doctor concluded his examination with a few more prods, then nodded to the photographer, who immediately began taking flash pictures of the body from various angles.

  The doctor pulled out a cigarette and lit it. It did not seem to bother him that his hands had just been poking at a dead man.

  ‘I would say,’ he began, ‘death was not due to strangulation. Can’t say for sure, yet, of course. But the mark made by the tie doesn’t look distinct enough to me. And I’m quite sure he wasn’t drowned. The man was dead when he was dumped into the water. I won’t hazard a guess as to the cause of death, right now. Maybe it was the tie. Anyway, we can work on him this afternoon. I suppose you’re in a hurry as usual?’

  The sheriff spoke, ‘I sure am, and I imagine Chief Delmar is just as curious as me.’

  Dr. Sandleigh nodded. ‘All right. Should have the report for you by tomorrow morning. The county ambulance should be pretty quick. I’ll ride it back down. Where do we send the body when we’re through with it?’

  ‘His son should be here soon, if my man got a hold of him. We’ll ask him about funeral arrangements and let you know.’ The chief glanced at the sheriff as he spoke. The doctor strolled off.

  More reporters arrived. Flash cameras began an intermittent popping. Pinkie even found himself the target of two photographers who asked him to pose with Carmichael and the body. Carmichael irritably declined.

  Finally Pinkie saw Dr. Newton striding through the milling throng with Lydia Drew at his side. The ambulance had arrived and two white-coated
attendants were just rolling the dead man on to a brown canvas stretcher. Dr. Newton said sharply, ‘I want to look at him.’ The attendants looked inquiringly at the sheriff, who nodded.

  Dr. Newton pulled back the blanket; his face was set in a stony mask. He examined his father in the same manner as the county doctor. When he had finished he covered the body and without a word turned towards the house. Pinkie, Carmichael, the sheriff and Chief Delmar followed him. Lydia trailed along behind. They found the doctor in the den. He was pouring himself a Scotch and water from the large desk. He downed the drink quickly, made another, and then sat down heavily in the chair behind the desk. The sheriff stepped forward and cleared his throat.

  ‘I’m afraid I have some questions for you, Dr. Newton’, he said in an apologetic tone. ‘I’m Sheriff Cansalli of San Bernardino County.’ He added quickly, ‘I know how you must feel, sir. I’ll get it over as quickly as possible.’

  The doctor seemed not to hear him. He was staring out of the window, his second drink half-finished in his hand.

  ‘It was my fault’, Dr. Newton said to nobody in particular. ‘I will be with that knowledge as long as I live. As long as I live.’

  ‘Why was it your fault, doctor?’ Carmichael asked gently.

  The doctor swung round to face the group. His face was ashen. ‘It was my fault’, he repeated dully.

  Lydia turned to Carmichael. ‘He didn’t say a word all the way up’, she said. ‘He’s not himself, can’t you see that? Can’t you talk to him later?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Drew’, Chief Delmar broke in. ‘It’s important we talk to him now.’

  Lydia’s voice seemed to have a revitalizing effect on the doctor. He passed a hand over his forehead.

  ‘Certainly’, he muttered. ‘I was all right until a minute ago. Delayed shock, I guess. When the policeman told me on the phone, I … well, I guess I just didn’t believe it was dad. He was getting old … the life he lived up here … I have tried to prepare myself for it for some time. But not this way. Who would do a thing to a man like that? He didn’t have an enemy in the world. And why, why…?’