by Donna Doyle
"Yeah, what do you want?" the man hissed.
"Horace Given?"
"Who’s asking?"
"I am officer Digby," Digby said in a polite fashion while he showed the man his badge. "This here is Molly Gertrude Grey, and this is Dora Brightside. Can we come in? We would like to ask you some questions."
"Why?"
"Did you hear that your brother, Samuel Given died?"
"Of course," the man said with a scowl. "He had it coming."
Digby looked surprised. "Can we come in and talk about it?"
"Got a warrant?"
"No, not really."
"Then you can't come in." I detected a victorious grin on the man's chubby face, and before we could say anything he slammed the door shut. I looked at Digby and could tell he was beginning to boil, but Samuel Given's brother was right. Without a warrant, there was no way they could force the man to cooperate.
"Don't let that man get to you, Digby," I said. "If he's guilty we will get him one way or the other.”
But Dora, in the meantime, had been doing some snooping around on her own. "Miss Molly Gertrude… Digby… come over here," she cried out from the other side of the camper. We walked around to where Dora stood. She pointed to a trash bag in which she had uncovered a bloodied paperweight.
"You opened his trash?" Digby said in surprise, but I could detect admiration in his voice.
"Yes," Dora said. "I've seen many detective stories where they searched through the crook’s trash and that way they found amazing things. People don't usually think of such things."
"Don't get too excited," I said. "It doesn't necessarily mean anything. If Horace had indeed anything to do with Samuel death, then this could be the murder weapon, but it may also be totally unrelated."
Digby nodded, but he took out plastic gloves and fished the paper weight out of the trash. "We'll have to take it to the lab."
"Maybe you should ask JJ Barnes for a search warrant," Dora suggested, but Digby shook his head. "Not yet," he replied. "I need a bit more to convince JJ Barnes. What about the other fellow you talked about… Peter Broke?"
"Peter Brogue," I corrected him.
"Yes, that's the one. If you want, we can pay him a visit as well."
"Thank you, Digby," I said, thankful for Digby's enthusiasm.
Thus we climbed back into Digby's car, but when we drove off, I could see the little curtains in the camper being drawn and for a short moment I stared into the pudgy face of Horace Given. His foul stare made me shiver.
Peter Brogue's place was a bit out of town on the way to Boulder Valley.
A beautiful place it was. Actually, it was more like a country house, situated on a soft rolling lawn and safely tucked away behind a creaky, iron gate. To my surprise, Digby could just push it open. As we drove up to the front porch, we passed a small pond with a delicate fountain made of natural stones that gurgled and splashed its clear, sparkling waters, giving the place a calm, rustic appearance.
"He sure seems to have a bit of money of his own," I suggested. "This place is gorgeous."
Dora agreed. "Yet, I wonder how rich he is towards God. He has never impressed me in a spiritual sense."
I smacked my lips. It would be an honorable mission to talk to him about his eternal destination but obviously, today we had other things to discuss.
As we stood by the doorbell we smoothed out a few disturbing wrinkles in our clothes, and waited with bated breath as Digby rang the bell.
Peter Brogue was home.
He opened the door and stared at us with questioning, authoritative dark eyes. He was just wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and green pants, his tie was undone and in his left hand he held a smoking cigar.
"Peter Brogue?" Digby asked.
The man cringed when he realized Digby was a police officer. It never ceases to amaze me what the sight of a simple uniform can do to people. Maybe it has something to do with our collective human sense of sin and guilt.
He blinked with his eyes and then mumbled, "Yes, I am Peter Brogue. What can I do for you?"
"We would like to ask you some questions about your business partner, Samuel Given," Digby spoke in a polite tone.
Peter Brogue nodded and opened the door all the way. "I am just in the middle of a business meeting. Will it be long?"
Digby shook his head. "It's just standard procedure, sir. We would like to find out what happened exactly, so we can close the case."
"Come on in," he said and made a welcoming gesture with his hand. It caused the ashes of his cigar to fall on the marble tiles of his hallway. He probably had a maid running around for him day and night.
When we entered his living room, a stately place with large windows, lots of rugs, paintings and exquisite furniture, we were met with the stony stares of a middle-aged woman in a fashionable women's suit and long, raven-black hair. Her eye-liner was equally black. She reminded me of the pictures of the witch in the picture book of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs that my Daddy used to read to me when I was a child. She was leaning back on the sofa and moved her hair back as we came in. Right before her, on the coffee table, were two full wine glasses, and a bottle that was about empty. Soft-swaying notes of romantic saxophone music filled the air. I knew that piece.
"That's the Rhapsody For Alto Saxophono by Debussy," I said, trying to break the ice.
The lady on the sofa did not even blink her eyes.
"This is Janet," Peter Brogue said as he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Janet Johnson. She's helping me with the books for the Trust."
At that instant the lady opened her mouth. Her voice was chilly. "Police? Why are you here?"
"You are helping Mr. Brogue with the books?" I asked.
"It's none of your business," she fired back.
I turned to Digby. He understood.
"You are helping Mr. Brogue with the books?" he asked.
She gave him a scowl, but the sight of his intimidating uniform was too much for her and she gave him a small nod. "I've been trying to make sense of the late Samuel Given's donations to Calmhaven Trinity Church. What a mess." She shook her head in disgust, and then shot, "But you are all interrupting our work. We are very busy."
"Coffee? Tea? Whiskey?" Peter Brogue offered, trying to create a pleasant atmosphere.
"Thank you," Digby, answered for all of us, and turned his attention back to Janet Johnson. "Have you been his bookkeeper for a long time?"
Before she could answer Peter Brogue stepped in. "Is that relevant, officer? But to show you how willing we are, I will tell you. She's been helping me for about a month or so. Miss Janet is very good at what she does."
Digby nodded. "Thank you. But, we would like to ask you about a phone conversation you had with the late Samuel Given."
"Oh, what about it?"
"We found Mr. Given's phone," I said again. "There's a recording on it in which you are heard to say, and I quote: "I'll get you, Given. Your days are numbered."
Brogue's face flushed. "I-I can't recall that very well. Samuel was—"
"—Our friend," Janet Johnson interrupted. "Peter was Samuel's faithful partner. He wished him no harm."
I gritted my teeth. "Sorry, Mrs. Jonson, I was talking to Mr. Brogue. It seems to me he's well able to talk for himself."
"Who do you think you are, old lady," Janet Johnson fired back. "You come in here with the police, and you treat us as if we are common criminals."
I did not react to her taunt and continued with my questions to Peter Brogue. "What was your relationship with Mr. Given?"
He shrugged. "I was helping him with the Trust. A Trust is a complicated thing and I was helping him, so all the benefactors would be well cared for. In fact," Peter Brogue went on, "Samuel was about to give me more authority. He was tired of the whole thing and wanted to take a step back. I was to become the person in charge."
I narrowed my eyes. "Samuel Given wanted to make you the number One person in his Trust?"
"Sure,"
Brogue said as if it was the simplest matter in the world.
"Then why did you say what you said to him over the phone? Do I need to refresh your memory? We can play the recording back to you."
"A misunderstanding. Nothing more. You don't know the business world, and how things are being done. It's common practice."
"Common practice?" It sounded ludicrous, and I wanted to ask him about it when Janet Johnson stepped in again. "We have been extremely forthcoming to you. You just barge into our house, while you seem to be questioning our integrity. But we are having an important business meeting, and I would like you to leave."
I glanced at Digby. Again, we did not have a warrant and I knew by the look on his face that we had to leave if these people requested it.
"Okay," I agreed. "We'll go. Would you mind if I use your bathroom? It's a long way home."
Janet Johnson's face said a stern "No," but Peter Brogue had not seen it and he nodded. "Sure. It's in the hallway. The last door to your right."
5
Solving the case
When we drove away in Digby's squad car my heart was pounding so fast that I thought it would be bad for my health. Dora noticed it. "Is everything all right, Miss Molly Gertrude?"
"I didn't go to the bathroom at all," I answered.
Dora gasped and while Digby kept on driving, I could tell his mind was no longer on the road, which was dangerous.
"I wanted to," I said, but when I came to the bathroom, I noticed the door to a bedroom that was open. There, on the bed was an open briefcase. Probably Peter Brogue's."
"And?"
"I snuck in," I answered. "I just couldn't resist the temptation."
"Why would you such a thing," Digby asked without taking his eyes off the road. "A thing like that is highly illegal."
"I know," I agreed, "but think, Digby. If Samuel Given was indeed murdered, which I think he was, then every detail is important." I thought for a moment trying to find the right words. "Why, for example, was Samuel Given's briefcase open in Cabin 24? Why were the contents spread out over the floor? We know that Peter Brogue did threaten Samuel over the phone. We have proof of that. What if Samuel's death has something to do with the Trust and Peter's hope to become the main administrator? We are talking about a lot of money."
Dora nodded and Digby grunted an 'it's possible.'
"Anyway," I continued, "when I saw the briefcase I just took my chances. And what did I find?"
"What?"
"Papers that looked identical to the papers I saw on the floor in Cabin 24. Papers that dealt with the ownership of the Trust, all stamped with Samuel Given's personal stamp. I could not read them so fast, as it was all business mumbo-jumbo, but one thing is clear, they are papers that Peter Brogue needs for his rise to power."
Dora frowned. "But if he was partner with Samuel Given it is not strange he has such papers in his briefcase."
I did not agree with Dora. "I think it's the other way around, Dora. What if Samuel Given had second thoughts about giving Peter Brogue the authority over his trust? Peter Brogue found out, he gets mad, and yells that he's going to make Samuel pay. Samuel is about to destroy the documents that Peter Brogue needs, but Peter breaks into Cabin 24, hoping to steal the needed documents. Samuel Given is taking a shower, but gets out before Peter has found what he's looking for, and he kills the man in a panic.
Digby whistled. "That's really something, Miss Molly Gertrude. Now we just need the proof."
I nodded. Digby was right.
All we had were my hunches, and although they were usually right, nobody would be condemned on the grounds of a premonition from an old lady who had just arrived in Calmhaven on the Greyhound bus.
I had an idea.
"Dora, you talked to Gloria Given right?"
"Yes, I did."
"And you still have her number, right?"
"Of course."
"Do you mind trying to call her with Samuel Given's phone, and ask her who her Daddy's notary is?"
"Sure, but why?"
"I'll tell you later. While you are talking to Gloria Given, and I am waiting for you to get me the number of Samuel's notary, I will also call the Casino in Boulder Valley."
Dora readjusted her pink glasses. "You are speaking in riddles, Miss Molly Gertrude. Tell us…"
"I will, dear. I will. But I must be certain. For now, all I am doing is gathering information so I know exactly what happened in Cabin 24 on that fateful day."
I was not used to making so many phone calls. My ear was hurting as I had to press the receiver firmly against my ear in order to hear what was being said. But an hour later I was satisfied I knew what had happened. The lawyer from the firm I spoke to, who took care of Samuel Given's business, a business by the name of Bendeck, Fisher & Maloney (apparently a well-known law firm in Boulder Valley) had been very helpful. The gentleman was Mick Maloney himself, one of the proprietors, and he knew Samuel Given very well. He was shocked and very sad to hear Mr. Given had passed away. When I told him I believed the man was murdered, he offered me all the information I wanted.
After my talk to the Casino and Mick Maloney, I was certain that Samuel Given had been murdered. Now, we just needed to get the different suspects together, and we could wrap this up.
Digby…" I asked as I turned to him, "Would you be able to officially summon Horace Given, Peter Brogue, and Janet Johnson to come the police station tomorrow?"
"Of course," Digby replied. "I'll be glad to."
"And ask your boss, JJ Barnes to be there too. I will show him that Samuel Given's death was not an accident, it was a cold-blooded murder. He will surely want to be present."
Digby smiled in his boyish way and went about his business.
Digby told me later that JJ Barnes was very irritated. He had just been writing a long and detailed report about the unfortunate accident that had caused Samuel Given's untimely death. He was about to close the case, when Digby gave him my message.
"Who does this old lady think she is, anyway?" he grumbled. "She's not even been here a week, and already seems to think she is smarter than the whole police force of Calmhaven combined."
But Digby stood his ground and apparently pleaded with his boss to give me a chance. If I had known how irritated JJ Barnes was I may have dropped the whole thing, but thankfully, I only found out much later. Barnes even said that if his good name was tarnished, and if I managed to make a mockery of Calmhaven's police department, he would personally ask Mayor Abe Mortimer to send me straight back to Pittsburg.
But he did consent, and the next morning Calmhaven police station was buzzing with activity.
It was hard to tell which of the three culprits; Horace Given, Peter Brogue, or Janet Johnson, wore the greatest scowl. All three were extremely displeased, and the atmosphere was tense and full of animosity. Nevertheless, as I was sitting opposite of them, I think I was even more nervous than they were.
I cleared my throat and stared at Horace Given.
"Mr. Given," I began. "We have witnesses who claim that you said you wanted to kill your brother."
Sweat began to form on his forehead. "It's true that I said that. But that was an unguarded moment. I did not really mean it." His eyelid began to twitch and a drop of sweat trickled down his fat cheeks. "You know," he continued, "when you are angry you say just about anything in order to stamp the other guy in the ground. You know how that goes. We all do it, don't you?"
"No Sir," I replied. "I don't think I ever said that to anybody. But why did you say it?"
Horace lowered his eyes. "My brother Samuel was always the good one in our family. Dad would always lift him up, and put me down."
Look at your brother, Horace.
Do as Samuel, Horace.
If you'd have only half his brains, Horace…
"On and on it went." Horace's glance hardened. "Do you know what that feels like? And then, just before our father died he grabbed Samuel's hand, not mine, and made him promise he would look afte
r me." He wrinkled his nose. "Can you imagine? I couldn't even make a move without my brother checking up on me."
He looked up, and stared at the ceiling as if to draw comfort and strength from the pale, yellow cement above. When he turned his glance back to me, his eyes were watery. "All the money from the inheritance is in my brother's Trust. But then, just recently, I came face to face with a golden opportunity. Miss Johnson here…," he pointed to Janet Johnson, "… told me of a wonderful project that she was involved in. Something to do with jam, and she told me it would make me rich."
I glanced at Janet Johnson. She did not react. She sat erect like an ice-queen on her seat.
"And then?" I asked.
"I approached Samuel. I asked him for the needed money so I could invest in the jam-business, but he said he did not trust the deal." He began to speak in a different voice, apparently mimicking his brother. "'It looks shady, Horace. I have a bad feeling about this.' Of course he wouldn't give his approval. No money for me and no profits. It's true, I was mad. I reasoned with Samuel, but could not convince him. Finally, in anger, I yelled at him that I would kill him. But I never did." He looked up with pleading eyes. "You must believe me."
"I think I do," I answered. "There's just one more question."
"What?"
"We found a bloody paper weight in your trash can," I said. "What was it doing there?"
In spite of his sorrow, Horace broke out into a grin and pointed to the band aid on his temple. "You think I killed him with the paper weight? That's not what happened. After I had met my brother that time I was so mad I got drunk in my camper. I must have been clumsy and knocked that wretched paper weight off a shelf. It landed right on my head and in my anger I tossed it out in the garbage."
I nodded. It all made sense.
Now, it was time to tighten the screws on Peter Brogue.
I turned my attention to him. "Mr. Brogue," I said and I raised my brows.
"What do you want, old lady?"
