Death from Nowhere (4 page)

Inspector Church

Karl

C
HAPTER
IV

Quick, Watson — The Handcuffs

D
ON DIAVOLO
realized that one more push like that would force the door enough for someone to get a hand through and disengage the chair.

He decided that there was one thing he had better do before Church got in — if he was going to do it at all. He'd never get the chance afterward. As the detective outside gathered himself for the final shove, Diavolo sprang across the room. If he could lock that door he'd have time to … But the keyhole held no key.

Don scowled, slammed the door back into place and secured the chair more firmly against it.

The Inspector's roar had thunder and lightning in it. “Diavolo! You can't get out. You might as well open up.”

Don made no answer. He saw the key then lying on the floor. Snatching it up, he inserted it in the lock and turned it over. Then he ran for the phone. The dial tone told him that it was still plugged through to the outside. He dialed a number hurriedly. Plaza 4-8484.

The Inspector outside commanded grimly, “Brophy. Shoot the lock off!”

“City desk,” Don said into the phone, his voice tense.

Brophy fired his first shot into the lock. Diavolo saw the smoke curl upward from the keyhole.

“Haywood Haines,” he snapped as a second voice answered in his ear. “And hurry it.… What? He's not—”

Brophy fired again. The door burst open.

Don Diavolo groaned. “He's never in. This is Don Diavolo and I'm sitting on something hot. Find him in a hurry and have him phone me back. The number is—”

But that was as far as he got. Inspector Church grabbed the phone and barked into it. “Hello! Who is this speaking?”

The magician quickly clicked the phone rest, breaking the connection. He saw the secretary in the doorway, her eyes round and staring. A detective drew her back into the anteroom and closed the door.

“Inspector,” Don asked, “is that polite? First you send the boys to spy on me, then you get nosy about my phone conversations. I don't like—”

Church roared at him. “Who were you talking to?”

Meekly, Don replied, “I thought it might be a good idea if I had a little chat with my lawyer.”

Inspector Church was a brusque and bulky pepperpot with a neat military mustache and a straightforward mind that disliked and mistrusted anything that couldn't be neatly labeled and filed. Things like magicians and the hocus pocus they were always up to. He knew the whole blamed bag of tricks was phony, and it annoyed him intensely that so many of the things Don Diavolo did weren't supposed to be possible. His private opinion was that conjuring was just another type of confidence game — an opinion which wasn't far from wrong and one that made Church suspicious of every move that Don made and of some that he didn't.

The Inspector looked grimly at the body sitting in its chair, head and shoulders slumped forward on the desk. He walked around it slowly once, bent over to examine the scratches that streaked the side of Hagenbaugh's face and then said, “You'll need lawyers this trip, all right. The best there are and lots of … what the blazes is that?”

Church was staring at the floor before the desk. Between screen and desk there was a large irregular area of carpet that was soaking wet. Near it on the beige carpet was a dark wet shape — the print of a bare foot!

Church scowled at it and said, “Hmmmph” once or twice, looked at Don Diavolo's shoes and then faced the magician. His voice was as hard as granite. “Well, why did you kill Hagenbaugh?”

“The verdict's murder then?” Diavolo asked.

“He didn't die from too many green apples,” Church shot back. “Not with the door barricaded and you in the room. Why did you kill Hagenbaugh?”

Diavolo slowly lit a cigarette. His eyes, flicking sideways, noted that there were five other detectives within the room. Two had ominously taken up positions on either side of him. Two more barred the doorway. Lieutenant Brophy was scowling at the body.

“Inspector,” Don said with a calmness that made Church boil. “Before we go into that there's something I want to know. Why did you have me tailed today?”

“I've had you watched for the last two weeks,” Church replied, scowling. “Ever since that Invisible Man case. The explanations you dished out for that were altogether too pat. I still think there was more to it than ever came to light — and I mean you. This is the third murder case you've been in on in as many months. It's also the last one.
Why did you kill Hagenbaugh?
”
3

“I see,” Don said. “You always get your man. All you need is a red uniform and a horse. But what brought you here just now? Why did you think that because I came to see Hagenbaugh there was anything in the wind important enough for your personal supervision? It looks fishy to me.”

“It looks fishy to— Say! What makes you think you're conducting this investigation? Why did you kill—”

Don cut in. “Don't do that, Inspector. I heard you the first time. I don't like to answer because it's going to be a big disappointment to you. I'm very sorry to have to tell you that you don't have a nice straightforward no-nonsense murder case on your hands. It's another of those now-you-see-it now-you-don't things. And a ripsnorter.”

The Inspector's voice had dropped to below zero and ice was forming around the edges. Incredulously he demanded, “Do you intend to stand there and tell me—”

“That I did
not
kill Hagenbaugh?” Diavolo asked. “Yes, I do. Just that. I knows it looks bad, but—”

“
Looks
bad!” Church thundered. “Great Scott, man! What more do you think I need? If you aren't guilty who the blue, blazing hell am I supposed to think—”

“That,” Diavolo said seriously, “is something I wish I knew.”

He turned to Lieutenant Brophy who was examining Hagenbaugh's body. “What killed him, Lieutenant? Those scratches on his face don't seem quite adequate. Find anything else?”

But Brophy wasn't giving out information. “Schultz,” he ordered. “Get Doc Pepper started over here.”

Church gave the body an inspection of his own, looked closely at the cuts along the side of the face, and then turned to the two detectives who stood watchfully beside Diavolo. “Frisk him, boys. See if you can find anything that might have done that.”

The boys gave the magician a thorough going over. They didn't find anything.

The Inspector took a quick look around the room. When he saw the open window he said, “Gianelli, you take a look downstairs. He could have pitched whatever it was out the window. And check to see if all the street exits to this building are guarded like I ordered. This guy has a nasty habit of vanishing. But this time I'm going to make it really hard for him.”

He faced Diavolo again. “Be reasonable, won't you? Hagenbaugh was alive when you walked in here. Even if you didn't kill him you'd have to know what hap—”

Don shook his head. “But he
wasn't
alive when I came in.”

“Yeah? The secretary, Miss Skinner, heard him speak to you on the interoffice communicator.”

Don groaned. “I've been waiting for that. That's what Blondie thinks she heard, but it was me doing an impromptu imitation of Hagenbaugh. I clicked the switch of the communicator and then immediately snapped it off again, keeping my hand over it so she wouldn't notice. I pretended to ask R.J. if I could come in and then threw out a little ventriloquism that made her think he was answering.” Somewhat ruefully Diavolo added: “Maybe I should be more careful where I throw my voice. I seem to have talked a little too much this time.”

“I wish to heaven,” Church implored, “that you'd try saying something that makes sense. Ventriloquism! Applesauce! You'd better start practicing to throw your voice at the foreman of the jury when he comes in with the verdict. Then what?”

“Well,” Diavolo continued, “I got to the door and I found it locked. And just then someone on the inside unlocked it!”

“I thought you said Hagenbaugh was dead,” Church caught him up.

“I did. Hagenbaugh didn't unlock the door. He was sitting at his desk right where he is now and looking just like that. I got one good look at him when someone, waiting behind the door, knocked me out — cold.”

This was too much. The Inspector rumbled like a volcano.

“Maybe you didn't know,” he barked, “that Miss Skinner says no one came out of this office here after you went in. What do you have to say to that?”

“Nothing.” Diavolo's eyes moved toward the window speculatively. “All I can tell you is that when I came to again you were pounding on the door.”

“Are you actually denying that you jammed that chair under the doorknob?”

The magician nodded. “I am. The guy who conked me must have put it there before he left.”

“Before he … before he …” Church gave Diavolo a sharp look. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “Are you handing me this fairy tale so your lawyer can go to work on an insanity defense?”

“You asked me what happened,” Don replied. “I'm telling you. I warned you you weren't going to like it. Remember?” Gingerly Don felt the back of his head. There was a sore spot there and a swelling bump. He showed it to Church. “That's evidence, isn't it?”

The Inspector nodded. “Yeah. Evidence of a crack on the head. But how do I know when you got it? And even if you produce witnesses to swear you didn't have it when you came in here, how do I know you didn't do it yourself so this fantastic vanishing man story would look plausible? That's just the sort of trick I'd expect from you.”

Diavolo protested. “Be reasonable, Inspector. If I had killed Hagenbaugh, do you think I would let you find me and the body together in a locked room? Don't you think I'd be all set with a lot stronger alibi than a self-inflicted bump on the head?”

“Yes, you probably intended to have one. But you had bad luck. For once your sleight-of-hand slipped. I got here too soon. You hadn't counted on that. So you whacked yourself on the head while we were trying to get in at that door. And now you hand out a yarn about someone else being in this room. You didn't have time to work out anything any fancier. This time I've got you where I want you.”

“I suppose you have,” Don Diavolo admitted. “Provided you can twist all the evidence to fit the answer you're set on having. But just the same, believe it or not, there was someone else in this room. Someone who isn't here now.”

Don rubbed his chin thoughtfully and eyed the open window.

Church was puzzled. Usually Don Diavolo threw such nice neat pretty answers at his questions. This time they didn't even limp; they were all stretcher cases. Church didn't understand it all; but he was beginning to suspect that Diavolo had a fast one up his sleeve. Don, on the other hand, was only wishing that he did have.

“Well,” Church said. “You and your lawyers are going to have to explain how this Mr. Mystery left this room if you want anyone to believe that wild yarn. And don't you as much as hint that this room is haunted. I won't have it.”

“We'd better start investigating that open window then,” the magician said slowly. “From where I am that looks like the only exit. If the murderer was prepared with a length of rope—”

Church looked at Brophy. “Hold your hat, Lieutenant. Here we go again. He wants us to believe it's acrobats again.… Sergeant Maurer. Find out who's in the offices above and below this one. Ask them politely if they noticed anyone climbing in their windows lately. And bring me back witnesses that say no. I'm not leaving any loopholes this guy's lawyer can wriggle through — not if I know it.”

“Have him try that window across the way, too,” Don suggested. “The face of the building outside makes a right turn. Thirty feet of wire strung across the angle could reach it and a good tight-wire walker—”

“Okay, Maurer.” The Inspector's nose wiggled as if it had been hit with a bad smell. “That one too.” He gave Diavolo a sour look. “Maybe he should ask if anybody's seen a murder floating by in a parachute?”

From the anteroom outside a detective's voice came saying, “Hey, not so fast, lady! You're staying.”

An indignant feminine voice replied, “Take your hands off me! I—I—this seems to be the wrong office.”

Inspector Church hurried to the communicating door. “What is it, Branner?”

“This dame,” the latter said. “She came in from the hall. When she saw cops she turns tail and tries to lam. I grabbed her. I thought maybe you'd better—”

Church looked at her. “What's your name?” he asked.

The catch Branner had made was a nice one, five feet of dark Spanish beauty — and dynamite. Her eyes, from behind the lacy veil of her smart hat, were round and frightened, but they flashed fire just the same. And she made no answer to the Inspector's question.