Date for Murder (7 page)

D
R. NESBIT
blinked in the bright sunlight as he bent over Link’s remains. He looked quizzically at the Chief, a half grin on his face. “Who covered the corpus delicti, Chief?”

“Idell did,” Mark answered.

The doctor lifted the candy-striped towel which draped the corpse’s middle and dropped it quickly. “She could have gone upstairs for a sheet; much more fitting to cover the face.”

The Chief snickered. “I’ll tell her, Doc. Now, what’s the verdict?”

Dr. Nesbit shrugged and turned toward a splash of shade closer to the house. He stopped there, the others beside him, and lit a cigaret. “I know little more than you, Chief. It was cyanide, of course. Any infant can tell that As to the time of his death—” he waved his cigaret at the Chief’s rotund face—”I can only guess now. Say between five and eight. Close to seven. Merely a guess, though. I’ll know more after an autopsy, naturally.”

“Okay,” the Chief said. “They can haul him away any time.”

Mark grinned half-heartedly at the Chief. “Now what?”

“Now I got to ask all these people a lot of fool questions,” the Chief said, “and get a lot of fool answers. If I can guess who’s lying and who ain’t, then I win.”

“What’s the prize?” Mark grinned.

“There ain’t no first prize. Booby prize goes to the loser—the gas chamber, I hope.”

The Chief chose the library for his questioning. It was a small room bulging off the east side of the living room, and was fitted quite comfortably with leather easy chairs grouped around a fireplace. The fire had lain dead in it for some time, and would remain that way.

The Chief swung one chair around so it faced two others. He sat down, Mark beside him. After a moment Bayless ambled into the room and blinked expectantly at the Chief.

“You want the Farman kid?” Bayless asked him.

Mark was surprised when the Chief shook his head. “Not for a while. Anybody else.” He spit into the fireplace, turning slightly to face it.

Bayless brought in Clinton Jeffers. He was in a lightweight dressing gown with light tan silk pajamas showing underneath. Both were tailored to set off his broad shoulders and slim hips. He was still very much the athlete, moving quietly and surely across the floor to the chair indicated by the Chief. His yellow hair had been quickly brushed and stood out from his temples in short tufts, and sleep still clung to his heavy-lidded blue eyes. He stifled a yawn and grinned apologetically.

“Hell of a thing to wake up to.”

“You heard, huh?”

“I heard. But that’s all.”

“You went to bed around four o’clock. Go right to sleep?”

Jeffers found a cigaret in the pocket of his dressing gown. He located a match in the other pocket and lit the cigaret. He tossed the match in the general direction of the fireplace. It landed on the hearth. Mark got up and set an ashtray at Jeffers’ side.

“I went right to sleep,” he said finally.

“And didn’t wake up until Bayless called you, huh?”

Jeffers seemed to hesitate. He said slowly, “No. I woke up before that. I don’t know what time it was. But it was already daylight.”

The Chief waited, but Jeffers seemed to have nothing more to say. The Chief was patient about it. “What woke you?”

“Shouts in the hall.” Jeffers was frank but not very glib.

The Chief half turned and spit into the fireplace. He sighed ponderously. “Look,” he said, “tell me about it. How you woke up; what happened; what you did; what everybody else did and said; everything until you went back to sleep, huh?”

Jeffers sucked on his cigaret for some time before answering. Mark sensed he was cool and composed and fully awake now. He seemed to be debating just how little he could tell and still get away with it.

The Chief said, “It ain’t a good idea to hold back like this, Mr. Jeffers. You ain’t helping anybody. If you woke, others did too. Somebody’s bound to tell it all sooner or later. Huh?” he added persuasively.

Jeffers grinned faintly. He said, “I was awakened by shouts in the hall. They were more like noises in a dream at first, and I listened for a time, half awake. Finally I heard someone curse at someone else, and I got up and went into the hallway.

“Link was going toward his bedroom; he staggered like he was drunk.”

“From which direction was he going?”

“The center of the hall, by where the stairway goes up.”

“Around Miss Manders’ room, huh?”

“Yes. But don’t misunderstand …”

“They’re engaged?” the Chief said. He seemed to be deliberately goading Jeffers.

“I said not to misunderstand.” Jeffers voice was flat and mean.

The Chief looked satisfied.

“Okay, okay. Then what?”

“Well, Idell’s door was open and Chunk—Tony Farman—was standing by his door looking sort of sick. At least when he turned he was white and there was blood on his chin. I think they had been fighting.”

“Anything else?”

Jeffers hesitated very perceptibly, but not long enough to need more urging to speak. “He had a gun in his hand.”

“What kind?”

“I didn’t notice. I don’t think it had been fired, though,” he added hurriedly. “I didn’t hear any shots.”

“Anything else? Anybody say anything?”

“His cousin came out of her room just after I came out of mine. Nobody said anything right then. Nor did anyone else show up.”

“This Farman say anything at all—anything you remember?”

Jeffers took a last drag on his cigaret and flicked it away. He studied his fingernails closely. They seemed in good shape, so he dropped his hands to his knees and raised his eyes.

“Before he went back into his room, he told me Link had tried to bother Idell and they had fought. Link knocked him down and went into Idell’s room. Chunk went into Maybelle’s room—she’s his cousin—and got the gun. He said Link was trying—well, he was in Idell’s room. When he saw the gun he went back to bed.”

The Chief said, “Yeah,” musingly and looked at Mark.

Mark asked, “Did that make you feel like murdering Link, Jeffers?”

Clinton Jeffers jerked his head in surprise. “It made me curse,” he said. “I got mad, naturally. But I didn’t feel like killing the big baboon.”

“How about Farman?” Mark pursued. “Was he gone enough on Idell to feel that way?”

“Yes,” Jeffers said quickly. “Tony Farman has a temper. But he would have shot Link right then. He flares up and then gets over it. I never heard of him nursing a grudge for very long. That’s conjecture, of course.”

“Is that all?” the Chief asked.

“That’s all. I went back to bed and fell asleep. I didn’t wake up until your man shook me.”

“You didn’t dream anything else, huh? Like people moving around or someone splashing in the pool?”

Jeffers’ smile was apologetic. “I’m afraid not. I was fagged out. I had a few drinks, and by the time I had gotten up once I was pretty well done in. I slept like the well-known top.”

“Okay. Just one thing more. How long’ve you known this Link guy?”

Jeffers became interested in his fingernails again. They were evidently the same as the last time he had looked at them. He said finally, “I knew him in the East slightly. He was a friend of Grant’s. He came to our frat house once in a while. I didn’t know him well.”

“Thanks,” the Chief said. He turned, spit into the fireplace and then gazed into space. He seemed to have lost all interest in Jeffers. He didn’t look at Mark until the door had closed and then opened to admit Bayless.

The Chief grinned. “Miss Manders, huh?”

Idell came into the room wearily. Mark felt sympathy for her when he saw the dark pouches beneath her incredibly black eyes and the utter complete weariness in every line of her youthful features. She was obviously under a great strain, and had been for a number of hours.

Mark looked sympathetically at her. She had changed to a light blue slack suit which looked cool. The material was light silk, and the perspiration made it cling to her body. It didn’t appear as if she wore anything beneath either the shirt or the trousers, and Mark couldn’t help wondering if Link had been altogether to blame for what had happened early in the morning.

The Chief said, “Miss Manders, if you don’t feel like talking right now, we can give you a chance to rest, huh?”

She smiled warmly. “Thanks, but I’m as up to it as I’ll ever be. I’d rather get it over with, too.”

“Whatever you want. Could you tell us something about what happened this morning? I mean after you first went to bed?”

“Clint told you?” She flushed a little. That was enough to tell Mark that her modesty and her lack of clothing were separate and distinct things with her. She was not all the brittle little sophisticate whose attitude she usually wore.

“Jeffers had to tell me,” the Chief said. “Either that, or let someone else show him up as a liar.”

“If course,” she said with a slight nod, and in a determined voice told the Chief exactly what had happened after she had gone upstairs at four that morning. Her eyes, though, were on Mark, not the Chief.

“He was awfully drunk,” she said as if apologizing for him. “And I suppose I should have remembered to put on more clothing.”

“Did you want to marry Link?” the Chief asked abruptly.

Idell’s fingers contracted before she caught control of herself. She looked from Mark to the Chief. “I suppose,” she said, “that’s what is known as an incriminating question; one I don’t have to answer or some such thing. But I might as well tell you. The answer is easy to find.” Her voice was low. “I didn’t want to marry him. It was—an infatuation, you might call it. And then the bargain was made.”

Mark knew that was too weak to hold water for very long. She had hesitated before stating she had been infatuated by Link. Girls didn’t keep bargains these days unless they wished to. He watched the Chief to note his reaction to the obvious lie, but he had apparently accepted her word.

“After last night, you would have broken the engagement had he lived, huh?”

“No-o,” she said. “No, Link was very drunk. I really don’t blame him overly much.”

The Chief spit into the fireplace. When he turned around he switched his tactics. “How many people here knew Link liked dates, huh?”

“Why, everybody, I suppose. He’s been here before. And this time everyone had been with him for a few days. Three days, to be exact.”

“All but you.”

“I was in New York.”

“Doing what?”

“It was a private matter,” she said with a trace of stiffness in her voice.

“No connection with this, huh?”

“None. I was simply winding up some of the Major’s unfinished business. I flew to Los Angeles and picked up Link’s car. He had left it there for me and come down with Grant. I had planned to be there for a while, but I changed my mind and came down as soon as I arrived.”

Here was one person who evidently didn’t need prompting all of the time, Mark thought.

“You were in a hurry to get here, huh?”

“Uncle Frank wired me when I reached Los Angeles. He asked me to come right down while the others were all here.”

“Funny place to come in the dead of summer, ain’t it?”

“Grant and Uncle Frank had to be here to organize things after the Major’s death. The others were all going to be in Los Angeles anyway. It was convenient.”

“Myra Cartwright too?” the Chief demanded.

“Grant brought her up for Clint last night.”

“Little young for her, ain’t he?”

She smiled. “Myra seemed to think so.”

He swung the subject again. “When did your father die?”

That question puzzled Mark. The Chief knew as well as anyone when the Major had died, and how. Everyone in Indio knew all about it—or thought they did.

“About two months ago. From a heart attack.”

“Do you believe that?” the Chief demanded. His eyes caught hers. Mark began to see what he was driving at now. He remembered rumors … The Chief was saying, “I heard a few stories that maybe he didn’t have a heart attack.”

Her eyes were candid, but her voice was pleading. “Do we have to rake up past muck because a—someone like Link was killed?”

Mark said gently, “I’m afraid so, Idell. If it fits at all.” He wanted to reach out and touch her. What he really wanted to do was kiss her, very gently, as he would kiss a tired child. “The police will find out sooner or later anyway,” he added.

“We got to look at every angle,” the Chief said.

“Believe me,” she assured him, “it had nothing to do with this. I can’t see any connection between the Major’s death and Link’s murder.”

“He had no business troubles?” Mark suggested. “No financial worries?” He wondered if she would take the out he was offering. He felt rather than saw the Chief’s scowl.

“Uncle Frank would know more about that,” she said, ignoring Mark’s hint. “But I think not.”

“Well, then—” the Chief began. A soft knock on the door cut him short. “Yeah?” he called.

The Queen opened the door. “A phone call for Chief Rourke,” she said. “You want it in here?” She was in a blue seersucker robe with a white cotton nightgown sticking out from the bottom. She looked entirely different from the way Mark remembered her from early morning. Nor was she haggard and weary as he had expected. Rather she was determined. The way she looked at the Chief and the way she touched Idell’s shoulder was a blunt warning that he had better not try any tricks on the Manders family. She moved away from Idell, carrying a handset phone in one hand. She plugged it into the wall and handed the receiver to the Chief.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sure, send ‘em right up.” He hung up. “Sheriff’s men from Riverside,” he said to Mark. “Fingerprint guy and the photographer. And that butcher hoping to muscle in on Doc, I guees. About time they got here.”

He said nothing more until the Queen had closed the door behind herself. Then he turned to Idell. “Now, Miss Manders, what’s this I hear about you getting shot at, huh?” He had evidently forgotten her father’s death altogether.

Idell looked relieved. “I don’t know, really,” she said. “I was chased from Riverside, and once a bullet struck the top of the car. I can’t imagine what it was all about.”