by P. N. Elrod
“Why would he talk to you, then?”
She looked puzzled. “Why not?”
“Since he stole the bracelet from you, 1 should think you’d be the last person he’d want to see.”
“Not if he was trying to play innocent about it all. Stan only had to lie, you know. I’m sure he was good at it. He’d be able to stand up to me or even Daddy, but it must have all fallen apart for him the moment he thought someone was actually after him.”
“Yeah, I guess it must. Did he say where he was going in such a big hurry?”
“No, but he had to have gone straight to his hotel. Kitty said that you and your partner scared him off.”
“With some help from Kitty.”
“Don’t be so hard on her, she really loved him. She was expecting to marry him.”
Oh, good Lord. “With your bracelet as a wedding present?”
She started to blurt out some kind of a retort and caught herself before any sound came out. She looked over at Kitty, a sick expression on her face. “Oh, my God, you can’t mean it.”
“I gotta look at things the way the cops would.”
“But Kitty wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“Like what? Theft or murder?”
“Either one.”
“Maybe you could be a character witness, but you’d better work on your delivery. Right now, it’s not too convincing.”
“You—” She bit the word off but I had a good idea about what she’d wanted to say. I’d been called worse. Name calling wouldn’t have eased things for her; what she really wanted to do was to knock my block off.
“Who do you think did it?” I asked.
“Leadfoot Sam,” she spat. “Whoever he is. Kitty knows a little hit about him. Not much, but enough to be scared.”
“And if he didn’t?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, perhaps some one of Stan’s other friends. He must have had others. Why don’t you find that man Kitty told you about—Shorty—and ask him?”
“What about you?”
“I wouldn’t know where to look.”
“I mean did you do it?”
A soft laugh puffed from her. “Don’t be ridiculous. Resides, I was with Harry.”
“Then both of you were in on it, or maybe you talked him into covering for you. Or you’re covering for him.”
“Is that the best you can do? Why would either of us want to kill poor Stan?”
“I learned enough about ’poor Stan’ last night to know that a lot of people might have wanted to kill him.”
“Then go talk to them; I’m not part of that crowd.” She swept back to the sofa to sit next to Kitty again. She glanced once at me with obvious distaste, then turned her attention to the others. Maybe she was hoping I’d just disappear as I had in the parking lot.
The short break had given her drinks time to really circulate into Kitty’s system. She was a lot more relaxed when Escott resumed his questioning.
“Once you were able to get hold of Miss Pierce, what did you say to her?” he asked.
“I told her 1 was in a jam and to come see me here.”
“Presumably without being seen to do it.”
The girl nodded. “And then she got here and I told her everything that had happened… what I could remember of it.”
“What time did this interview take place?”
“Sometime this morning,” answered Marian. “Around ten or so.”
“And when did you decide to mention it to your father?”
Pierce glowered at them. “They didn’t.”
“How did you find out?”
“My study window overlooks this whole area. When I saw Marian tiptoeing around in her own yard I had a feeling something was going on and came down to find out why.”
“Which you did,” said Marian, smiling as though chagrined at being caught. But her smile was a tight one and didn’t reach her eyes. She clearly resented his checking up on her.
“Which I did,” repeated Pierce. “And a good thing, too. These two innocents had some crackpot plan to hide Kitty out here until the fuss had died down, and then take off for Mexico. Lord knows what would have happened to them…. White slavers or worse.”
Marian restrained herself and did not roll her eyes.
“Then you sent for me rather than inform the authorities,” Kscott concluded.
Pierce was scowling, but not too seriously. “I needed time to hear her side of things and figure out what to do next. I talked with my lawyer, but he’s not a specialist in criminal law. Right this minute he’s doing what he can to find someone who can help us.”
“Once he does and after he’s had a chance to talk to Miss Donovan as well, I think you should take her in as quickly as possible to make a statement. It might look better for her.”
“It might look better, but would it be better?”
“To be honest, I don’t know. Legally, you are required to do as I’ve suggested. There is a warrant out on Miss Donovan, and the longer you delay, the worse it can get. You and your daughter could end up facing charges for harboring a fugitive.”
Pierce erupted from the sofa. The living room was really too small for him to decently pace off his anger. He vented some of it verbally, his colorful abuse aimed at the law in general and the criminal cYjurt system in particular. “I’ve half a mind to go along with your plan and put you on the next train out of town,” he concluded, looking at Kitty.
“Then they would know I was guilty,” she murmured. She was almost in tears again from his outburst and was shaking from the effort to keep them in. Marian was stone-faced bored. Perhaps she was well used to her father’s tempers.
“Of course you’re not guilty.” He started to add something, then realized what shape the girl was in and put a lid on it. “I just want to do what’s best for you. It’s about time someone did.”
If Kitty failed to notice what he said and how he said it, Marian did not. She was as stone-faced as ever, but her big eyes narrowed slightly.
“Miss Donovan?” I was adopting Escott’s formal manner. It seemed right for the question I had to ask.
She looked up at me, glad for a distraction.
“Just to set the record straight for us, did you kill Stan?”
Pierce started to erupt again, this time his anger directed toward me, but Escott stopped him. Escott knew what I was doing and knew that I had to be careful not to let it be noticed. It wasn’t hard, since everyone was looking at Kitty, waiting to hear what she said.
She didn’t answer right away. I repeated my question, holding her gaze. When she did answer, it was with a negative. It even came out sounding normal—or as normal as a person could sound, given the circumstances.
I continued to concentrate on her. I wasn’t seducing her, she wasn’t seducing me. This was simple influencing to get at the truth. I had to remember that to keep myself steady, to stay in control.
“Do you have any idea who might have done it?”
“Leadfoot Sam,” she said without hesitation.
I let up on the light pressure I exerted. The girl was unharmed and nothing else had happened. Memory and conscience still writhed inside me like bloated worms, but I could ignore them for now.
“Why do you think that, Miss Donovan?” Escott asked, picking up the slack before anyone knew it was there.
She displayed no awareness of my mental tampering. “Because of what Shorty told me. But I don’t know why or how it could have happened at my place.”
I had an idea or two, but kept shut about them.
“Have you been here all day?” he continued.
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, except when Marian was here.”
“When was that?”
“This morning… after ten, wasn’t it?”
Marian confirmed the time.
He shifted his attention to her. “How long did you stay here, Miss Pierce?”
“An hour or so, maybe a little lo
nger.”
“What did you do after you left?”
“I went back to the main house and tried to pretend nothing was wrong.”
“Did you visit Miss Donovan at all throughout the day?”
“No, I couldn’t do that or it might have looked funny.” She broke off as her father nodded agreement, then resumed. “So I called her a few times to check on her, to see if she was all right. I’d let it ring once, then dial again so she’d know it was me.”
“And she was there each time?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And what times did you call?”
Marian shrugged. “I don’t know, after twelve and again at two and three.”
“You were at home when you made these calls?”
“No, not for all of them. I went out shopping.”
“Shopping?”
“Kitty didn’t have any extra clothes or even a toothbrush. I couldn’t loan her any of my clothes since they don’t fit her, so I went to get her a few things and some groceries.”
“When did you do this?”
“At about one. 1 left after lunch.”
“And returned?”
“Around four, I think.”
“Is that not a long time to be shopping?”
“You don’t know my daughter, Mr. Escott,” said Pierce. “A three-hour trip means she’s only just started. Why are you so interested in the time?”
Escott held silent a moment. I found myself holding my breath, even though I don’t usually breathe. “There’s been a shooting,” he finally said. “It may quite well be connected to McAlister’s death.”
A little ripple of surprise went through them and the usual questions came out. Not all of them were answered. Escott kept shut about who was shot and where she was now. He only said that the person was a friend of McAlister’s and left it at that, which left them all highly dissatisfied.
“The police are still investigating. 1 cannot give out any more information than that.”
“But how is it related to Stan’s death?” asked Pierce.
“I’m not certain at this point, though considering the facts we have, one may come to a logical conclusion. The more immediate problem for us is that Miss Donovan does not have an alibi for the time of the shooting.”
“What time was that?”
“The police think it happened between three-thirty and four, when the victim was discovered.”
“Where did it happen?”
“At a city park less than a mile from this very house.”
“Oh, good God.”
“But I was here,“said Kitty.
“Have you proof?” he shot back.
The girl went white around the lips and shrank back into the couch.
“Miss Donovan need not have even used her car; it’s but a twenty-minute walk both ways …”
Kitty made a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper.
“Shut up, Escott,” Pierce snapped.
Escott ignored him. “Have you an alibi for the time, Mr. Pierce?”
Pierce opened his mouth to say something and left it hanging that way as the implications sank in.
“Does Mr. Griffin have an alibi, or your daughter?”
“Me?” Marian’s eyes went wide and she groped for her father’s hand. Griffin’s brow puckered.
Pierce shut his mouth, shaking his head. “All right, I see what you’re getting at, not that I like it very much.”
“Neither do I,” said Marian. “Why are you talking to us? Shouldn’t you be checking on this Leadfoot Sam or Shorty?”
“I expect I shall be doing just that after I’ve finished with things here. Miss Donovan, do you still have the gun that was in your possession last night?”
Kitty looked blank. “Gun?”
“Remember in the hotel lobby?” I prodded. “Or was that a dime-store toy?”
The memory reluctantly returned. “I guess it’s still in my purse.”
“Where’s your purse?”
“Upstairs, in the first bedroom.”
Pierce volunteered to go get it, but Escott said no and sent me. The stairs were just off the parlor and went straight up without any turns. The first door next to the landing stood open and the room beyond looked occupied. The bed had been made up, but the covers were all wrinkled, and feminine clothing lay scattered around. The wastebasket was overflowing with tissue wrap and a stack of empty boxes stood next to the dresser, evidence of Marian’s shopping jaunt.
On the dresser was Kitty’s purse. Inside the purse was her little automatic. It was the one I remembered from last night and it was a .22.
I filched a handkerchief to pick it up and sniffed the barrel. It hadn’t been fired. She could have cleaned it, but there was no evidence of fresh gun oil. I searched the room and could find no cleaning kit, but something like that could be anywhere in the house or out in the garage with her car. Kitty hadn’t killed McAlister, and though I couldn’t see her gunning down Doreen, either, my vision might not count for much. I could be nearsighted.
I came back down to a silent room. None of them seemed too happy when I exhibited the gun in its cloth nest. Escott took a close look without touching it and sniffed the barrel as well, then dismissed it.
“Are there other guns in this house or the main house?”
Pierce nodded. “I’ve a couple of hunting rifles and a Luger.”
“What caliber are the rifles?”
“They’re both .30-30s.”
“You should be safe enough, then, though I would advise you bring them to the attention of your lawyer when the time comes.”
“This person who was shot … is he dead?”
Escott went quite still, studying each in turn. I hoped that he was reading more from them than I.”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say.”
“Damn it. How does this tie in with McAlister?”
“The bracelet.”
“Always that goddamned bracelet,” he rumbled. He came to attention as a new thought hit him. “Did he have the bracelet? Was it … ?”
“The bracelet was not on the body.” Escott bent his gaze on Kitty again. “Miss Donovan, were you aware that McAlister might have stolen Miss Pierce’s bracelet?”
“Not until Mr. Pierce told me about it tonight. I feel terrible that I was the one to bring Stan into the house.”
“Do you believe he stole it?”
She faltered. “Well, that’s what Mr. Pierce said….” She looked at him support and got it.
“Of course he stole it,” he told her. “But there’s no need to worry about that. It’s over and done with. Whoever killed him probably got the bracelet, and I could not care less.”
“Do you, indeed?” queried Escott.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I cannot say, but may be able to tell you presently. What’s needed now is to tell the police your side of things and make them believe it, something that’s best done with experienced legal help.”
Pierce took the hint with a heavy sigh. “All right. I’ll phone and sec-it the old shyster’s turned up a likely candidate.”
He did some dialing, located his lawyer, and broke into a smile at the news he got. Arrangements were made for a meeting. Kitty would have to repeat her story, first to the new lawyer, and then to the police. I hoped that she had the stamina to last through the process. She had a long night ahead.
Escott was asked to come along, but declined. “Your lawyer is your best help there,” he said. “Besides, you want the real criminal brought in, and I cannot work on the problem from the police station.”
I also suspected he wanted to keep some distance between himself and Lieutenant Blair for the time being. Pierce accepted the point as it was given and didn’t press things.
After we got our coats, Pierce excused himself and walked us out to the car.
“You don’t really think that little girl did anything?” he asked Escott. Away from the others, his confident front wavered; h
is own private fears were more noticeable, now.
“No,” he replied. “But I do believe she has been used and used wretchedly. Finding proof of it is quite another thing, though.”
“Is that what you’re going after?”
“I hope so.” Escott got into the driver’s side, started the motor and got us moving. It was at a snail’s pace. His driving sometimes reflected his preoccupation with a problem: the busier his mind, the slower he drove.
“Good move back there,” I said. “Were you hoping to find out something by making them think Doreen was dead?”
“I was, but not with any reasonable expectations. My primary purpose was to ensure some little safety for Miss Grey by assuring her attacker of her inability to talk.”
“If he or she was there to hear it.”
“Hmm.”
“That bit about the key to the flat… McAlister didn’t have one on him, did he?”
“No. His pockets had been turned out. His wallet was gone, and if he had been carrying his own key, it was also gone, no doubt taken by the murderer. Any prosecutor will hold that Miss Donovan must have let him in herself. We’ve only her say-so that McAlister possessed one.”
“Which he probably did, since we know she didn’t do it.”
“It’s a pity we cannot bring Lieutenant Blair into our confidence on that point….” He caught my look. “Never mind.”
“Leaving Kitty out of it means that Stan let in the killer. He either answered the buzzer or met him outside and they walked in together.”
“And in ten minutes or less he is lying dead on the kitchen floor and the killer gone.”
“Fast worker,” I said.
“Why the kitchen?” he mused.
“It’s loaded with weapons.”
“So are most rooms in a house. Your conclusion implies a degree of premeditation, and the attack on McAlister looked impulsive to me. It was cold; perhaps they went there to find something with which to warm themselves.”
“They get to arguing, McAlister turns his back, gets clubbed with a frying pan, and stabbed for good measure to make sure he’s really dead.”
