“Only if I had to,” Donahy grinned. “Do you have any ideas on where to go from here?”
“Remember I told you yesterday, a man from Buffalo named Michael Schuler discovered Elwell’s body,” Stark said. “You said you knew him.”
“Sure. But I thought you said he wasn’t a suspect.”
“He was seen going in after the shots were fired. And it must have been after Mason had fled. I even had a man time his movements and his story seems to check out. So I dismissed the idea. But he could have been back in Buffalo by Sunday evening, well before Whitner’s death.”
“So you’re thinking maybe Whitey—Schuler, I mean—did kill Elwell,” Donahy said. “Then somehow Whitner found out. Whitner tries to blackmail Whitey and Whitey kills him.”
“I doubt he shot Elwell, but he obviously has some connection with the affair. But whatever his involvement in the Elwell case, I think he has to be a suspect in Whitner’s murder.”
“But no one would call him tall,” Donahy pointed out.
“Maybe not, but this witness was looking down from the third floor and across the street. The man may have merely appeared tall from that angle.”
“I’ve known Whitey Schuler for years and I can’t see him shooting anyone. I doubt he even has a gun.”
“Well, it may be that Whitner killed Elwell and Schuler was blackmailing him,” Stark conjectured. “They argued, fought, and Whitner fell.”
“I still don’t see it. Schuler works for Boss Conners, who controls all sorts of legitimate rackets. He doesn’t need to mix himself up in this kind of thing.”
“But why did he flee Toronto?” Stark asked.
“That’s easy,” Donahy answered. “Because he didn’t want to find out what the inside of a Toronto jail looked like. How would he know if you’d make him a suspect or not?”
“And there’s the races,” I added.
“Races?” Stark asked.
“Yes, I happen to know Whitey was anxious to get back for the horse races running over in Fort Erie.”
“Of course,” Stark interjected, “you’ll admit that being involved in a murder might prove as sound a reason for fleeing as a fondness for the turf.”
“That’s true enough,” I admitted. “I wonder if Whitey did go to the races yesterday?”
“Ah, I think I see what you’re getting at,” Stark said. “If he escaped from Canada on Sunday, would he cross back over the border to attend some horse races on Monday?”
“He could just as easily have placed his bets in a pool room here, right, Detective?” I asked.
“Well, it may be someone’s running a wire,” Donahy admitted. He could probably name a dozen places, but he wasn’t going to make a confession in front of Stark. “I guess I need to go find Whitey Schuler. And it will be easier if I go alone.”
“All right. Perhaps we can have lunch together, Mr. Reese?” Stark asked.
“I’m meeting Miss McGinnis, but you’re welcome to come along.”
“Since you brought up the girl,” Donahy said, “I guess I should point out Whitner’s body was found just around the corner from Charles Elwell’s house, where she’s living.”
“Are you suggesting she’s involved in these murders?” Stark asked. “I’m afraid there’s no chance of that. She was on a boat when Elwell was killed, and in Toronto Sunday night.”
“You know that for sure?”
“Yes, I’m quite sure.”
I thought it might be best to focus attention away from the Elwell homestead. “There is someone else I should mention. Friday night I was in the bar at the Vendome with some show people. One of them, a man named Tim Madden, spoke to Whitner at the bar, briefly. I asked Madden if he knew Whitner and he said he’d never seen him before. That’s probably all there was to it. But last night, I heard that Madden had gone to Canada, where he supposedly has family.”
I gave them a description of Madden and also had to tell them about Carlotta. Then Stark and I left Donahy and walked up to Lafayette Square and the Elevator Company office.
“Do you think he was serious about Miss McGinnis?” Stark asked.
“No, I think he was just being a little defensive on Whitey Schuler’s behalf.”
“Do you think Donahy can be trusted?”
“Well, I guess as much as any policeman who’s had his territory invaded,” I smiled. “He and Whitey are friendly, I’ve witnessed as much. But I have no idea if it goes beyond that. You didn’t meet Schuler, but I’d say he isn’t a thug. He’s a smart guy, and he has a great set-up here. By the way, when he pointed the finger at Miss McGinnis, you said you were afraid there was no chance of that. Afraid, Inspector?”
“Did I really say that? Just a slip of the tongue. What about this Madden?”
“There’s probably nothing to it. I just thought I should mention it. If you want, I can take you around to the Vendome after lunch and you can talk to Carlotta. What about your witness? Was there anything else to the description other than that the man was tall?”
“Yes, he was wearing a straw hat. Like most men in August. Is this Madden tall?”
“Yes, I guess he is. I have an errand to run with Miss McGinnis after lunch, but I can meet you at the Vendome at two.” He agreed.
Emmie was surprised to see the Inspector, but recovered quickly. He left us to wash up, and she closed the office door.
“I forgot I had wired him,” she confessed.
“Yes, you did. Anything else you forgot about?”
“No. How about you?”
“Me? This was your work.”
“I was thinking of my fifty dollars.” At least she was smiling.
I handed her a crisp fifty-dollar bill. Her stash had been in fives and tens. She looked at me quizzically, but then just smiled and put it away in a chatelaine bag that hung from her belt.
“To foil the dips?” I asked.
“Dips?”
“Pickpockets. I thought you were fly to the cant.”
“I’m not completely fly yet,” she admitted. She opened her chatelaine again and pulled out her little notebook, no doubt adding “dips” to the ever-expanding glossary.
“You know, Detective Donahy thought it mighty suspicious Whitner’s body was found so close to your home. What with you having been in Toronto.”
“He was thinking of me?” This idea seemed to please her. “What did he say about Charlie?”
Stark returned before I could answer. Which was too bad, as it would have saved Emmie some trouble.
At lunch, I asked Stark to tell Emmie about the new witness who saw a tall man leave the building after the shots were fired. She became visibly anxious and her thinking even more untethered than usual.
“There must be a large number of tall men in Toronto, Inspector,” she began.
“Oh, yes,” Stark agreed.
“And I don’t think my cousin Charlie is especially tall.”
“Isn’t he?”
“No. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Reese?”
“Well, he’s rather taller than me.”
“Yes, but surely most men are taller than you,” Emmie pointed out.
“I suppose it’s true they appear so,” I conceded. “But other men tend to wear taller hats.” The Inspector gave me a wink and I hoped that meant he hadn’t taken Emmie’s digression seriously. But Emmie wasn’t satisfied that cousin Charlie was safe from suspicion. As a further precaution, she created a diversion.
“Inspector, did Mr. Reese tell you that his associate Mr. Keegan seemed to know Jack Whitner? And that Mr. Keegan lied about his whereabouts Saturday?”
“Indeed?” Stark addressed that to me.
Emmie’s ploy necessitated me explaining about the encounter Whitner and I had had with the Keegans. And then about the note from Keegan and the comment the clerk had made. But none of us had any idea what to make of it.
After lunch the Inspector went to check in to a hotel and I walked Emmie back to her office.
“Harry, d
o they suspect Charlie or not?”
“Well, until you brought him up no one had mentioned him.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t have a chance. But if you’re so sure he didn’t do anything wrong, why are you afraid for the police to check on his story?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because you aren’t sure. Sooner or later the police will be talking to Charlie and he better have a believable story. If he just went to Lockport, everything’s fine. But I don’t believe a business meeting went so late on Sunday he couldn’t have taken a train home before morning. Lockport can’t be more than an hour from here. I’ll talk to Charlie later and we’ll find out where the truth lies. Then, when the police come to talk to him, he’ll have a convincing alibi.”
“I suppose you’re right. But you don’t really think he had anything to do with his father’s murder?”
“Of course not. He was probably with one of his colleagues’ wives.”
“Harry!”
“Just a joke, Emmie. I’ll tell you what. Let’s go to the horse races this afternoon. It will take our minds off all this. And you can meet Keegan and size him up for yourself.”
The chance to interrogate Keegan piqued her interest. She agreed enthusiastically. Poor Keegan didn’t know what he was in for. We closed up the office and she left a note on the door about a family emergency. She had begun adding a detailed description of the fictitious emergency when I pulled her away.
The little Grand Trunk station was crammed with people, but Keegan was looking out for me. He was delighted to have Emmie along. Even after she gave him a short lecture on the dangers of pickpockets in crowded railway stations. While she scanned the crowd for would-be dips, I whispered to Keegan a request that he escort Emmie to the races while I stayed behind. He was more than willing, and just as we got on the train, I jumped off with the excuse that I wanted to buy a newspaper.
20
Stark was waiting for me at the Vendome. We went up to Carlotta’s room and she was coming out as we arrived.
“Hello, Harry. Come to escort me to the races?”
“Sorry, I can’t today. Is that where you’re off to?”
“Yes, I thought I’d try my luck again. I wanted to catch the two o’clock train.”
“I think you’ve missed it.” I held out my watch to her.
“Oh, well, there’s another at 2:30. What did you come about?”
“Let’s get a drink first,” I suggested.
We all went downstairs to the taproom and I introduced Stark, who promptly ordered us three lemonades. I told Carlotta why we were there and told them both I needed to run another errand. I left before either could respond, my lemonade untouched.
I made my way over to Charlie’s law firm and waited for him to finish a meeting. Then he came out and led me to his office.
“What can I do for you, Harry?”
“Have you spoken with the police today?”
“No, do you mean about father’s death?”
“No, not directly. You know Jack Whitner was found dead yesterday morning?”
“Yes. I read it was an accident.”
“Well, now the police aren’t so sure. Did he visit your home Sunday evening?”
“No. I was out, but my mother and aunt were there. Perhaps he was on the way to our house when he fell?”
“Yes, maybe. Did you ever see him intoxicated?”
“No. He drank, but never to excess. And frankly, he didn’t seem the type to get that drunk. I just assumed the police knew what they were talking about.”
“Yes, we’d all like to think that. But in this case, they may have been a little hasty. You said you were out Sunday evening. With friends?”
“Yes. I met some people at the Bedell House. That’s on Grand Island. I went there directly from Lockport.”
“And when did you get home?”
“Well, I missed the last boat back—we’d gone off on a walk—so I spent the night there. In the morning, I had to come to work directly from the boat.”
“Can I have the names of the friends?”
“Why? What’s this to you, Harry?”
“Whitner was involved in what went on in Toronto. How, exactly, no one knows for sure yet. It’s even possible he shot your father.”
“I see.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“Well, after you spoke with me about him, I was beginning to wonder what his game was.”
“He’s in Toronto on Saturday when your father’s killed and then on Sunday evening he cracks his head and dies. Two blocks from your house.”
“I see what you mean, I guess. The police are going to think there’s some connection. Do they think Whitner was murdered?”
“Yes, almost certainly. So sooner or later they’re going to come to you and ask where you were. If you were at a hotel in Lockport Saturday night, and with these friends on Sunday night, they’ll be able to verify that and the police will move on. But if there’s anything in that story that’s not true, they’ll dig a lot deeper.”
“Saturday?”
“Yes, I understand you were out of town, on business.”
“That’s right, I had to meet with a client in Lockport. I took the eleven o’clock train and got there around noon. We had lunch and I was with him the rest of the day.”
“But didn’t return home?”
“No, it was late, so I put up in a hotel.”
“You didn’t go running after Sadie Parker?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Don’t be coy, Charlie. I know you were reading the cards she received. I know she rushed out of town Friday night. And then Saturday you rushed off, probably after the clerk at the Tifft House read you the last card. It will be a lot easier for all of us if you tell me the truth now, rather than have the police dig it up later.”
“All right. I did go to Lockport, and spent the afternoon with the client. I was intending to come right back, but while I was waiting for the train I remembered there was a Queen’s Hotel in Montreal, where some of Sadie’s cards were sent from. So, I went the other way, to Rochester. There’s a night train from there to Montreal. I caught that and got to Montreal about ten the next morning. I spent the day at the Queen’s Hotel, but saw nothing of Sadie. There weren’t any trains back until evening, so I waited and took the night train back here. I had to come to the office directly from the train, after traveling to Montreal and back in the same suit of clothes.”
“That’s quite a story, Charlie. And kind of hard to verify.”
“You don’t think the police will believe me?”
“When they can prove it they will. But tell me, Charlie. Were you so beguiled by Sadie?”
“No, not at all. I was convinced she and my father were in touch and were planning something together.”
“You thought the cards came from your father?”
“Didn’t they?”
“No. Didn’t you ever see them?”
“No, the clerk at the Tifft told me about them. He always read them before giving them to Sadie. And she must have destroyed them later. If they weren’t from my father, who sent them?”
“Robert Mason. If you had found your father in Montreal, what did you plan to do?”
“I imagine you can guess that.”
“Well, luckily you didn’t find him. Did you have a gun?”
“Yes. I tossed it in the river yesterday.”
“Well, when the police come by, tell them the whole story, including the gun. Otherwise, they might find out about it themselves and then use it against you.”
“You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Oh, I believe you. But I have to.” That comment made it necessary to explain my current status with Emmie. Apparently Charlie hadn’t heard and he was a little stunned. At first he didn’t even believe me. But then his good manners took over and he congratulated me and invited me to dinner that evening.
�
�One more thing. If you spent two nights on trains and then came directly to work on Monday, how is it you were up for a late night that evening?”
“Oh, I sleep like a baby on a train. The secret is to have two drinks, but no more.”
“I see. I’ll have to remember that.” I had a hard time believing anyone slept like a baby on a train. Babies certainly didn’t.
I said good-bye and headed over to Donahy’s office, where I found Stark waiting.
“How’d it go?” I asked.
“You were right when you said there probably wasn’t anything in it. Madden was in a show here on Saturday night. And your cousin saw him off at the train station Sunday. And she knew he had family in Canada because she had visited them before.” He gave me a hard look. “I hope you weren’t just trying to keep me busy?”
“I didn’t know anything beyond what I had told you. I was worried that if I didn’t bring it up, it would look like I was trying to protect him because of my cousin.”
Stark didn’t seem altogether satisfied with my answer, so I changed the subject. I told him about Charlie and then recounted the revised version of his story.
“And you think that’s the truth?” The Inspector seemed a little incredulous.
“I do, because first he told me a story that was even more feeble. He must not have given it much thought. A simple telephone call and it all would have fallen apart. If he had killed his father Saturday night, I think he would have come up with something a little sounder by today.”
“So, because he was a bad liar the first time, you think he must be telling the truth now?”
“I wouldn’t put it exactly like that, but that’s the general idea.”
“Doesn’t it strike you as a little impulsive to be discussing contracts all afternoon and then jumping on an overnight train to Montreal with no change of clothes?”
“Well, he’s young. And he’s Miss McGinnis’s cousin.”
“Yes, I suppose that helps explain it. Is he tall?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I admitted. “Listen, Inspector. I want to check on Charlie’s story myself. I’m hoping I can find a porter who remembers him. Would you mind not mentioning it to Donahy?”
“For how long?”
Always a Cold Deck (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 1) Page 17
