Her calm was too much for Monks. He exploded.
“Dammit, you’re a cool character. While you’re thinking of how to thank him, you’d better think up some good answers, Miss Wexler. This throws a lot of bad light on your side.”
“Please don’t be any more ridiculous than you have to be,” she snapped at him. But I could see her unpainted fingernails raking the material of the slacks she was wearing.
He ignored her and examined the remains of the chandelier, nudging the million shattered shards with his size twelves. He knelt to study the snapped-chain section that was still connected to the crown of the thing. His grunt was mammoth.
“It figures. Somebody’s been working on this with a hacksaw. Neat job by the looks of it. Just enough so it would go sooner or later.” He made the word “somebody” sound just as if he had said “April Wexler.”
“Lieutenant,” she shrilled at him suddenly. “Please stop being ridiculous! June is my sister. All I have left in the world. She means more to me than any amount of money you could name.”
For a cool character, she had gone hysterical. It wasn’t nice to watch.
“April, I don’t believe what he seems to think—” June blurted, staying right where she was. Not going to her like she should have. “I know I told them what I suspected. But I’m just all mixed up—”
It was my turn. “I suggest everybody simmer down. For my money, that chandelier changes a lot of things.”
“What does that mean, Ed?” Monks barked.
“Later, Mike. Not now.” I smiled at the Wexler twins. “Look, I hate to impose. But the lieutenant and I have skipped our food so far today. Any possibility of a snack? Cold cuts would be fine. How about it, Mike?”
I winked at him. He started to argue, then shrugged.
April Wexler was composed enough to smile.
“Of course. I’d be delighted. Come along, June. I’ll call a technician to have this mess cleared away—”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that it stay just as it is for the time-being,” Monks rumbled. “Routine, you understand.”
“Perfectly.” She didn’t bat an eye. “Coming, June?”
June Wexler looked at her in an odd way. Her smile was slow.
“Sure thing, April. See you soon, Ed—” She squeezed my arm as she edged past me to join her sister. I was beginning to get the idea that she was mine any time I raised my finger. Somehow the notion made me feel like an old lecher. I can’t help it. When it comes to the birds and the bees, immaturity scares me.
When they had gone, Monks whirled on me.
“Don’t get bright about this now, dammit. On top of what we already know, that chandelier makes it open-and-shut. Sister April wants the whole pie to herself.”
I shook my head.
“Mike, it’s your police training I guess. Facts are what you always want and the more you get, the more you keep adding them up. For my money, that chandelier just closed the door as it was beginning to open.”
“Come on, skip the stunt talk. What the hell do you mean?”
“Good God, Mike. Use your head. Okay. Let’s say April rigged the chandelier. Now how the hell could she rig it just to fall when little sister June is standing under it? I can just see what a good defense lawyer could do with that line of reasoning. No sir, it’s just a coincidence that June was under it. It could just as easily have been April. Or you or me, for that matter.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. That says June might be trying something on her own. Like planting a phony murder attempt.”
“So what’s wrong with that? If April goes the way of all flesh, doesn’t June figure to collect the same kind of dough?”
“Dammit, that’s right, Ed.”
“Thank you.”
Monks winced. “These sophisticated cases give me a pain. All undercurrent, trick motive—hell, why can’t they be simple? Give me an ax murder any day of the week.”
I grinned. There was some justice to his argument. But I consoled myself with the thought that where police routine ended, the private-detective business began.
“You’ve got a lot of checking to do, Mike.”
“Don’t I know it. Family history of two girls right back to their first diaper. And that Anton character. I’ll bet his record is a mile long.”
“Could be. For a first impression, I wasn’t impressed. He reminded me of the rat family.”
“He wasn’t a pretty stiff,” Monks admitted. “But it don’t prove a thing. The meanest-looking guy I ever saw was one of the biggest philanthropists in town. Nobody found that out until he died.”
“If Anton donated to charity, I’ll eat my license. Look, Mike. Let’s haggle.”
“Like what, for instance?” He respected me but he never stopped suspecting me. Which was why he was always a good cop.
“Look, I know you may be playing around with the idea of pulling April in. But I’m asking you to hold off.”
“For a guy who showed all our cards in front of a prime suspect, you’ve sure changed the record. Why should I?”
“Because that chandelier fell right on top of your case. June bears some watching now, too. Also it dragged in the uncomfortable prospect of a third party.”
That puzzled him. “How can you figure that? Nobody else gets anything out of this except the twins.”
That’s what was bothering me. Suppose both the girls were dead on their twenty-first birthday? That would still leave two million dollars lying around to be inherited. I don’t know much about wills but the dough would have to wind up with somebody. Or someplace.
“Yeah. That’s what their story is, Mike. But the family lawyer is the guy to see about that. More checking for you. For both of us. You’ve trusted me before. Trust me now. We’ll find out a hell of a lot more with two clay pigeons up on the board. A hell of a lot more than we will with only one.”
He walked around the room, combing his bushy hair with one of his sausage-like thumbs. He skirted the chandelier debris and looked across at me. He didn’t say anything, just gave me my cue to keep on talking.
“Anton is still my responsibility. Okay. It’s still my case if you want to get technical. June more or less hired me. So I’m unofficially in again. Look, I’ll cooperate right up to the grave. You’ve got more to gain with both girls out than one in, haven’t you? There’s more to this than just a little hard feelings between two girls.”
“There sure as hell is,” he agreed. A big sigh moved his barn-door-wide shoulders. “Okay. We play ball. But I’m the captain this time. We use my signals.”
“Promotion granted, Lieutenant.”
“And remember,” he warned. “No last-minute hero stuff like last time. Cases don’t have to hang by single threads. So no Lone Wolf when you get a hot idea. We got telephones downtown. Call me and we’ll work on it like a team.”
“Why, Lieutenant,” I mocked. “If Knute Rockne were alive—”
I didn’t have time to say any more because the Wexler twins were coming back with trayloads of steaming coffee and sandwiches. Monks who was just starting to swear again clamped his mouth down at both corners. I almost laughed.
We went to work on the sandwiches as the girls took turns pouring wonderful black java into thick cups that looked like family heirlooms.
April was herself again, although a look of stern sobriety dominated her creamy complexion. June was curled up at her feet like a cuddly cat but her gay air had been replaced by an uncomfortable duplication of April’s demeanor. I could see something Siamese in their relationship for the first time.
June seemed unconsciously to mirror April’s personality whenever they were together. It wasn’t too hard to peg who was boss within these ivy walls. April was probably the older sister. By about two minutes. Don’t laugh. Age is a funny thing.
The doorbell suddenly opened up. Chimes. And a noisier set I’d never heard. June sprang to answer it.
The chimes were still chiming away when she got to
the front door. A babble of voices dinned from the alcove of the hallway, like a hurried exchange of jokes behind the teacher’s back.
June came back hanging on to the arm of someone who might have stepped down from one of those paintings of the Knights of King Arthur’s Court that you see in some of the art galleries around New York.
He was good-looking. Men seldom admit another guy is good-looking. But this guy was handsome. And he wore a suit of gray tweed like it was a coat of armor. The matching gray Homburg on his head had all the glamour of a visored helmet.
Handsome was worried. At least he sounded worried.
“—kept calling and calling. When I received no answer, naturally I was worried. Oh, I say—” He had caught sight of Monks and me and that little bit of Harvard jumped right out of him. His eyebrows rose like a fast elevator.
His hat came off his perfect head with a rapid sweep. It was the Homburg, of course, but for a second I could have been fooled. This guy was centuries past his time.
Somehow his mustache was just right. It refused to clash with any part of his face or figure. He crushed the Homburg delicately under one arm and let us see his teeth. They matched too. Small and white like diamonds.
“I didn’t know you had company,” he said. His voice was a voice no man should ever have. Unless he’s a psalm singer. Or a phony. I could see he wasn’t a psalm singer.
April rose stiffly.
“Hello, Randy. Lieutenant, this is Randall Crandall. Mr. Noon, Mr. Monks, Mr. Crandall is our solicitor.”
As I got to my feet, I had all I had to do to keep from laughing out loud. Solicitor. The family lawyer, of course.
Randall Crandall. That wasn’t a name.
It was a voice impediment.
SIX
Randall Crandall took everything Monks told him with a stiff upper lip. His modern-design mustache didn’t so much as wiggle. Mike skipped the inferences and suspicions and stuck to the facts.
At mention of Anton’s messy murder, Randall Crandall allowed his eyebrows to arch. When Monks got to the part about the chandelier, his eyebrows came down. All through the lieutenant’s sum-up, the lawyer maintained an almost detached air. I felt like kicking him because he was just about my age and detached airs are for octogenarians and undertakers. Strictly.
I kept my other eye on the twins just to see where Randall Crandall fit into their family picture. As far as April was concerned, the man-hater theory still went. As for June, I could see I had just muscled the handsome jerk out-of-bounds because she was giving him a look that showed him his fraternity pin was just a hunk of junk at this point.
“Well, Lieutenant,” Randall Crandall pursed his perfect mouth. “I must say I hardly know what to think. Anton’s death bewilders me.”
Men were more in Monks’ line. “Come on, Mr. Crandall. A smart young lawyer like you. It shouldn’t be too hard to do a little simple legal arithmetic. I understand the little ladies here are due to come into a sizable fortune a few days from now.”
Crandall’s nostrils nearly rose in disgust.
“That’s preposterous!”
“What is?” It was Monks giving him the needle.
“If you are implying that either April or June would like to see the other one dead, I can only regard that as defamation of character!”
“Now, that’s funny.” Monks smiled to show how funny it was. “A good policeman would look on it as excellent motive. Unless, of course, Anton’s dying leaves somebody two million bucks. Which isn’t likely.”
“I’ll concede the point, Lieutenant. But for what it is worth, there are no two sisters anywhere as devoted to each other as the Wexler twins.”
“Good enough, Mr. Prosecutor,” I admitted, cutting in. “Then what do you suggest killed Anton? Flying saucers?”
He gave me a stony look and I saw we were never going to be good friends. He had a way of looking at people that I would never be able to buy.
“Mr. Noon, I’m afraid you and the lieutenant are carrying this investigation along rather dubious lines.”
“Dubious, shmubious,” I snapped. “Get to the point.”
“Very well, I shall.” He sat down between his two legal wards and crossed one knee with the other. Dainty-like. April opened a platinum cigarette case for him and he took one, tapping it methodically on one manicured nail.
He was perfect. If I was a dame, I might have gone for him myself.
The twins were saying nothing. I got the impression that Randall Crandall was going to do all their future talking for them.
“The point seems to be that you both imagine that Anton got in the way of a bullet—or bullets—that was or were intended for Miss Wexler. June, that is. The inference being solely justifiable by the fact that June is coheiress of a sizable estate. May I suggest that your police minds are overly susceptible to the attractive motive at hand? Anton could have been killed by many people. He was not the sort of man who makes friends. Too much of a foreign sort—if you know what I mean. Why isn’t it just as likely that Anton got exactly what was meant for him?”
“What about the chandelier, Mr. Crandall?” Monks was still being polite.
“An accident. A regrettable accident.” His tone took on a million icicles. “I’d make legal hash of that in a courtroom. Fortunately no one was hurt.”
“Thank God, we’re all alive to pay taxes,” I sighed. “Okay. You ruled out a .45-caliber slug and a crystal chandelier. Try ruling out this.”
I dragged out June Wexler’s three missed murders like rabbits out of a hat. As each rabbit popped out, Randall Crandall looked at April Wexler and kept on looking. For shock value alone, I underscored a point.
“Pardon me for mentioning that June was the one who nearly had her hairdo messed by yonder chandelier. Now what do you say?”
Crandall’s answer was to get to his feet and walk slowly toward the small bar setup at the other end of the room. While the decanter was tinkling with liquid sound, I caught Monks’ eyes and conveyed as best I could, let’s-do-it-this-way-and-see-what-happens-when-we-play-both-ends-against-the-middle.
“Well, Crandall?” Monks’ growl prompted him. The lawyer put his drink down and shook his head slightly. His handsome kisser had taken on a load of ashes.
“I’m afraid this puts rather a terribly different light on things.”
“I should say so,” I mocked.
His eyes were annoyed with me. But the moment passed. He smiled bravely at the girls. The smile disappeared as he looked at Monks.
“Lieutenant, I am about to disclose something I had thought it best never to mention before. Not even to April and June Wexler, about whom, oddly enough, it concerns the most.”
He smiled thinly at them again, every inch the faithful family friend and counselor. There were more actors in this case…
“But in view of these charges, events, and suspicions, I think my course is clear. Possibly, it is for the best. Believe me, the ethics of my profession have given me many a sleepless night because of it.”
April Wexler had risen to her feet, long past her patience. Her face was a taut, lovely mask.
“For God’s sake, Randy,” her voice was a husky imitation of what it really was. “You’re not in a courtroom, you know—what are you trying to say?”
“Forgive me dear.” He shrugged his college-football shoulders. “I thought it best that you and June should never know.”
“You and June should never know what?” June Wexler demanded belligerently.
“You better make sense, Mr. Crandall,” I said. “And make it fast.”
The guy was just as much a play-actor as June. He walked to the fireplace, reached it, and turned. Straddle-legged, he faced us. I repressed a laugh. He had brought his drink with him. If I’d had a camera, he would have been a natural for one of those Man of Distinction ads. The only thing that was missing was a playful Great Dane.
Plus that, Monks had his pencil and beat-up notebook out like a cub reporter at his fir
st interview and the Wexlers were like a couple of kids listening to their first ghost story.
“I’ll be as brief as possible.” Crandall finally picked up the ball on his own five-yard line. “August Wexler was rather a strange man. He built up a large fortune in oil, married Susan Talbot Wexler, sired the two girls, and spent the rest of his life gadding about the globe.”
“For once, August came before April and June,” I said.
“Just so,” Randall Crandall purred icily, letting me know how particularly unfunny he thought that was. “Mrs. Wexler succumbed while giving birth to the girls, while Gus Wexler was in China presumably purchasing sites for business purposes. That actually was the start of a family pattern. The twins were forgotten by him save for Christmas and a week end or two when he saw fit to be in America at all. The death of their mother altered his existence not one iota. He traveled as much as usual, leaving them to the care of highly paid governesses and the like. Therefore, they scarcely sensed their loss when, in their fourteenth year, word came that Gus Wexler had died in a motoring accident in the mountains of Naples. However, with all of Gus Wexler’s idiosyncrasies, he had been sensible enough to make out a will prior to his death.”
“Some trick if he could do it after his death.” I was being deliberately nasty. But I had my reasons.
He let it pass.
“A will which had been drawn up by my father who was also his very close friend. Unhappily, my father died several years later. Which accounts for my present status of family solicitor.”
I could count every one of his buttons after that remark. Also I could just see the glowing testimonials under his picture in the Harvard yearbook.
April couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“God, will you get on with it, Randy? Just what are you trying to say?” Her hysteria had put in a reappearance. Come to think of it, the poor kid was still on the receiving end of all the dirty looks in the room.
“Please, April,” Randall Crandall chided. “It is for the benefit of these gentlemen alone that I repeat the family history.
The Spitting Image Page 4
