by Parnell Hall
Florence wasn’t in handcuffs, which was something of a concession. She’d arrived in handcuffs, but was being allowed to sit at a table without them. Her lawyer had argued for the right.
At another table sat Louise, Randy, and the chef. I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen them together. They did not look like a harmonious family unit.
Randy looked aggrieved, among other things. Those included cocky, arrogant, sulky, sullen, insolent, and on edge. In short, your typical teenager. I had to remind myself he was actually a young man in his twenties.
His mother was a picture of concern. Louise looked as if her world was crashing down on her. Whatever relief she must have felt at learning Florence was free when Mrs. Mclnnerny was killed, and had been arrested for the crime, had apparently been undone when Pinehurst had called and instructed her to assemble everyone in the dining room at five o’clock. Canceling dinner was surely the least of her worries.
Evidently, she had done so at the last moment. The chef, sitting on the other side of Randy, was still wearing his apron. At least he had taken off his hat. His hair was brown, flecked with gray, and was quite full. For the first time I could see a resemblance to his son.
The two waitresses sat together. The young one looked somewhat nervous, but Lucy looked positively miffed. I wondered if that was due to missing out on the possibility of selling recipes at dinner, or if it was the defensive look of someone who expected to be accused. In any event, her expression recalled my first impression of her, my concentration-camp-commandant assessment.
As for the rest, Jean and Joan seemed positively thrilled; the two businessmen who might be brothers seemed slightly bored; and the mother and father seemed concerned for and protective of the six-year-old girl, who looked as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as if she were on line for a ride at Disney World.
Johnny Mclnnerny and Lars Heinrick sat in their respective seats, Johnny at his table, and Lars in the booth. They looked dull, vague, numb, as if they could not believe this thing that had happened to them.
And then there was Alice, sweet Alice, sick this morning, recovered this afternoon, or at least feigning recovery, bundling up in sweater and slacks, clutching a box of tissues, and venturing stoically forth, despite sniffles and sneezes and a fever of 102. She sat at the table, watery-eyed, sweating, determined not to miss a thing.
Pinehurst took a breath, looked around the dining room, and said, “I’d like to go over this one more time.”
There were audible groans.
“Yes, I know,” Pinehurst said. “It would seem as if we’ve been over the ground enough. And yet, each day there are new developments, new matters that come to our attention. Matters that must be addressed.
“We are all aware of what happened last night. Mrs. Mclnnerny was killed. Florence Baker was arrested for the crime.” He held up one finger. “However, this must not prejudice us. There is in this country a system of justice that maintains that a person is considered innocent until proven guilty. Which is why she is with us today, sitting here among us.”
“Is she out on bail?” Louise demanded.
If Pinehurst was annoyed by the interruption, he didn’t show it. He considered a moment, then said, “Actually, she is not. Since we are here to share information, I suppose I should tell you. In point of fact, bail was asked for and denied in this case. The judge who had previously granted bail ordered it revoked. In light of the subsequent crime.”
Pinehurst put up his hand. “But that’s a side issue. Florence is here today because I asked that she be here. She is here with her attorney’s consent, and in his presence. So that she may hear some of the things that we are going to hear.”
“Are you going to make a statement?” Louise said.
“No, I am not. As the arresting officer in the case, I feel it would be inappropriate for me to do so at this time. For that reason, I am going to turn the floor over to another type of investigator. That is, Mr. Stanley Hastings, a private detective from New York, who has been looking into the matter. Mr. Hastings?”
All eyes turned to our table.
Alice sneezed.
I handed her the box of tissues. She pulled out two and blew her nose.
I got up, walked to where Pinehurst was standing. He gave way, sat at an empty table. I stood there, surveyed the room.
I felt a sudden, overpowering urge to say, “Let’s go over this one more time.” I stifled it.
“Thanks for your attention. I am, as Chief Pinehurst said, a private detective. I have no official standing in this case. What I am about to tell you does not bind anyone to anything. I am merely presenting some facts and/or theories for your consideration. In an effort to clear up the crime. Or, rather, crimes.
“Let us take them one at a time. To begin with, the murder of Christine Cobb. By now, you are all aware of the background. Christine Cobb had an affair with Florence Baker’s husband, who subsequently divorced her. Florence became embittered, fixated on revenge. Followed Christine Cobb on vacation, observed her in the company of a young man.”
I turned, gestured to Lars in the booth. “Lars Heinrick. Young, handsome, romantic. In every way, they are the perfect couple.
“She spies on the young couple, and what does she see?” I raised one finger. “Christine Cobb does it again. She leaves the young man to run after another.”
I gestured to Randy.
“As far as Florence is concerned, this is the last straw. She has brought poison with her. She uses it.”
I paused, looked around the room.
“At least that is how the police construct the case. And how do they construct the second one? Mrs. Mclnnerny was interested in the crime. As are we all. But she was interested enough to do something about it. She began her own amateur detective work. She had learned of the affair between Randy and Christine Cobb. She questioned him about it last night. Visited him at approximately eight-fifteen, when almost everybody else was in the movie. She called on him in his room behind the kitchen.”
I pointed at the boy. “Now, Randy had been admonished many times not to be rude to the guests. Just how well he took that to heart remains to be seen. The fact is, he gave Mrs. Mclnnerny no satisfaction and got rid of her as quickly as possible.
“Then sometime between eight-fifteen and ten o’clock, Mrs. Mclnnerny was killed. And we can narrow that down a bit more. Because I returned to my room at nine-thirty. And I heard nothing. And the walls in East Pond are paper-thin. Not only would I have heard the murder, I would have heard Mrs. Mclnnerny return to her room. So she had to have been killed before that.
“What is the police theory of the case? Florence, released from jail, returns to the inn. She encounters Mrs. Mclnnerny, who has just been rebuffed by the busboy, Randy. Mrs. Mclnnerny accosts Florence, springs on her some fact she has managed to dig up with her detective work.
“In all likelihood, Mrs. Mclnnerny did not know how devastating this information was. But Florence did. She hears it, and panics. She swears Mrs. Mclnnerny to silence. She tells her that though the facts look black, she can explain everything. In fact, she has evidence. She can prove she’s not guilty. If Mrs. Mclnnerny will just give her the benefit of the doubt, she will show it to her. She will bring it to her room.
“So, Mrs. Mclnnerny goes to her room and waits. But Florence doesn’t go to get the evidence, she goes to the kitchen to get the carving knife. She goes to Mrs. Mclnnerny’s room, stabs her, rushes back to her room to get Prince, and takes him out, so if anyone asks her what she was doing at the time of the murder, she can say she was walking the dog. Her only mistake is leaving the gloves she wore to commit the crime in her room.”
I paused, spread my arms. “Is there any problem with this police theory of the case? Anything about it that doesn’t quite seem right?”
After a few moments, I said, “No, there is not. It’s a perfectly logical interpretation of the facts. It could have happened just that way.
“So, the thing we
have to ask ourselves now is, is there any other logical explanation. Anything else that might have happened. Or, in legal terms, can these facts be explained away by any reasonable hypothesis other than that of guilt? Or, more simply, could anyone else have committed the crimes?
“In order to consider that, we have to throw in a few more facts.”
I looked around the room. “I assume you are all familiar with Agatha Christie? Even if you haven’t read the books. You’ve heard of her Belgian detective Hercule Poirot, and Miss Marple, the little old lady who solves crimes in a small English village. Well, in one of Miss Marple’s books she finds a clue at Somerset House.” I looked around at utterly blank faces. “Yes, I know, it means nothing to you. But in England, that is where the marriage records are kept.
“Which brings us to fact number one. Lars Heinrick and Christine Cobb were married.”
I looked over to see the sheer astonishment on the faces of Jean and Joan.
“That’s right. I know you all made the assumption that they were not, as they had registered under both of their names. But, in point of fact, they were man and wife.
“Does this change things? Well, yes, it does, if you throw in fact number two. Christine Cobb had some money. Which Lars now stands to inherit. Money is always a motive for murder.”
I glanced over at Lars. His face betrayed nothing. If I’d been playing poker with him, I wouldn’t have known whether to raise or fold.
“Does that mean he did it? Not necessarily. But it certainly gives him a motive.”
I turned to the other side of the room.
“Just as it gives Johnny Mclnnerny.”
Mr. Mclnnerny, on the other hand, was transparent as glass. His face, already a picture of grief, twisted into one of horror and surprise. He gawked at me, as if unable to believe I’d said such a thing.
“I’m sorry if that upsets you, Mr. Mclnnerny. But it happens to be a fact. You and your wife had some money. With her death, it now comes to you.”
I turned back to the room at large.
“But would he kill for it? And, if so, why would he also kill Christine? Because that is the situation here. We have two crimes. And the first question is, are they separate, or are they connected?
“That is the easiest question to answer. They are connected. Why? Because if they were separate, it would defy the laws of logic, the law of averages, and the name of reason. For the murders to be unrelated is just too fantastic to be considered.
“There is one small possibility I would grant. That the one murder was inspired by the other. For instance, Lars Heinrick kills his wife, Johnny Mclnnerny says, ‘That’s a good idea,’ and does the same.
I put up my hands. “I am not saying that happened. I am using it as an example. But I believe it is one we can discard. It is my personal opinion the same person killed both women.
“So, let us look at our potential killers. First off, Lars Heinrick. Because his wife died first. It is what the police would call the primary crime.
“The first question is, could Lars Heinrick have committed it?”
I spread my arms.
“Absolutely. He was sitting in the booth with Christine. During the course of dinner he drops the poison in her glass. He leaves the dining room before she drinks it, does not return until he hears the screams. As far as murders go, it’s easy as pie. In terms of opportunity, clearly Lars Heinrick had the best.
“Next best would be the busboy, Randy.”
Louise sprang to her feet. “Now see here, I’m not going to let you accuse my son.”
I put up my hands. “No one’s accusing anyone of anything. I am merely laying out facts. Some of them will involve your son, just as others will involve other people. Could we all take that for granted? I am going to lay out facts involving several people in this room. There is no reason for us to take offense each time someone’s name is mentioned.”
Louise sat back down.
“Now, as I was saying, the person with the next best opportunity is Randy, who served them the drinks. He could easily have put the poison in the glass. Why he would want to is hard to comprehend, unless you are willing to grant the youthful obsessive love of the if-I-can’t-have-her-no-one-can mentality.”
Since both Randy and Louise seemed on the verge of springing up, I went on quickly.
“But I am not claiming that happened. I am presenting all these theories for what they’re worth. Granted, some of them are not worth much.
“Where was I? Oh, yes. Who had opportunities to poison the glass? Well, the next best would be Florence. She had an opportunity to poison the glass when she left the dining room to walk the dog. What gives her a good opportunity is the timing. She left the dining room after Lars Heinrick went out. At a time when Christine Cobb would have been alone in the booth. So no one but Christine would know that she stopped there.
“Also—and this is an important point that I happen to know because she was sitting at my table—she left the table just as Mr. and Mrs. Mclnnerny stopped to talk to us. When the Mclnnernys stopped by our table, she excused herself to walk the dog.”
I raised my finger. “Why is that important? It is important because the Mclnnernys were a distraction. To Alice and me. Ordinarily, when a person gets up and leaves your table, you would watch them go. At least to some extent. And look where our table is.”
I pointed to our table, where Alice was blowing her nose. She looked out from under the tissue with pink eyes, like a little white mouse.
“If you get up from our table and go out the door, you walk by the booth. But you reach it rather quickly. It’s actually quite close. So, without the distraction of the Mclnnernys, either Alice or I would have been likely to notice if she’d stopped at the booth. By carefully timing her exit, Florence is able to insure that that does not happen. She stops by the booth when the only witness to see her there will shortly be dead.”
I raised one finger. “And what of Johnny Mclnnerny? Did he have an opportunity to poison the drink? Remember, he came in with his wife, he came in late, and he came directly to my table. This was after the drinks had been served, and after Lars Heinrick had already left. Johnny Mclnnerny is at my table, with his wife, talking to Alice and me, just as Florence is leaving to walk the dog.”
I pointed. “After which, Louise escorts him to a table on the other side of the room. But could he, at any time, have stopped by the booth?”
I paused, looked all around the room.
Smiled.
“I can see the answer on all of your faces. You ... don’t ... know. Not one of you can tell me whether Johnny Mclnnerny had an opportunity to go to the booth. And why is that? Because you never once considered him a suspect. Ever. Not until the murder of his wife. That is the first thing that involves him in any way in the crimes. Johnny Mclnnerny is a perfectly ordinary middle-aged man that there is no particular reason to notice at all.”
I looked at him. “No offense meant, Mr. Mclnnerny, but you are not memorable. Not like a Lars Heinrick, who is a young, handsome man traveling with a drop-dead gorgeous woman whom everyone notices at once. So, for that reason, and that reason alone, you could get up from your table, walk over to the booth, tell Christine Cobb some innocuous fact about some hiking trail or other, drop poison in her glass, and no one would particularly notice.
“So the answer is yes, Johnny Mclnnerny could have committed the crime. Why would he do so?” I smiled. “Well, I explained this to Chief Pinehurst, and I can’t say he liked it. But, of course, he thinks he has his killer in jail. If Johnny Mclnnerny planned to kill his wife, if that was the point all along, if he were to simply do so he would be the number-one suspect. But if he kills someone else first, someone he has absolutely nothing to do with—and the police investigation has shown that there is no connection whatsoever between Johnny Mclnnerny and Christine Cobb—well, if he can make the murder of his wife look like it’s tied in to the murder of this other woman, then no one in the world will seriously suspe
ct he did it.”
I looked around the room. “Pretty clever, huh? When you think about it, it is an absolutely brilliant crime.”
I paused. Frowned. “There is only one problem. Johnny Mclnnerny was at the movie Arsenic and Old Lace. And he never left. That fact is verified by several of you, including my wife.”
I tried to avoid looking at Alice, though I could see several heads swiveling in her direction.
“So, Johnny Mclnnerny would seem to have a perfect alibi for the murder. So does that mean he couldn’t have done it?” I smiled. “Well, not if my reading of crime fiction is any guide. The person with the perfect alibi is always suspect. For, while an innocent man may have an alibi, a guilty man usually goes out of his way to see he has one. So the very fact that Johnny McInnerny’s alibi is so good is in itself suspicious.”
I turned, pointed to the booth. “On the other hand, Lars Heinrick has no alibi at all. He was alone in his room. While almost everyone else was in the movie. Could he have left his room and killed Mrs. Mclnnerny? Absolutely. Particularly if she came and found him. We know she was snooping around about the crime. She had already called on Randy. Suppose she calls on Lars? Now we have the same scenario as with Florence. Mrs. Mclnnerny drops some information that alerts Lars to the fact she knows he committed the crime. Lars arranges to meet her in her room, goes to the kitchen, gets the carving knife, and kills her. No problem at all. Piece of cake.
“And, of course, Randy was not at the movie. Randy was in his room. Mrs. Mclnnerny called on him there at eight-fifteen. By his own admission, he is the last person to see Mrs. Mclnnerny alive. And no one can vouch for his whereabouts. He says he sent her away. He could also have accompanied her up to her room, and killed her.”
I held up my hand. “And, thank you, Louise, I don’t need you to point out that he didn’t. I am merely saying he could. And he, of all people, would have had access to the knife.
