Mark of Murder - Dell Shannon (4 page)

"A kid," said Palliser now. "No reason
for it--you figure he just runs amok all of a sudden? And how the
hell--"

"It's the only way you can figure it," said
Hackett. "Come on, let's get back. And the hell of it is, no
make on him at all. That damn bar so dark, nobody could say even what
color he was. Though I suppose that desk clerk would have noticed
whether he-- Yes, the ones like Florence are used to funny customers,
so nobody investigated right away. And Simms-- Well, you can see
there's practically no evidence on it, but we've got to work it.
Because one like that--maybe those aren't the first people he's used
that knife on, and they sure as hell won't be the last, unless we
catch up to him."

"
So, you have any ideas where to start looking?"
asked Palliser.

"Some," said Hackett tersely. "For one
thing, these four kills all happened inside a fairly small area--all
downtown. Roughly inside about a twelve-block square. All right. We
know that our Slasher--damn it, might as well call him that--once
took a hotel room, and in that area. At least it's practically
certain that the man who rented that room is the one who left the
body in it. The fellow called Mike would probably go anywhere with
anybody who promised him a drink, ¿cómo no? Anybody could get taken
to Florence's room. The indication seems to be, on Simms, that this
fellow got talking to him at the bar, for some reason followed him
out. And we can't guess on the Reyes boy, but I want to talk to some
of the other kids at that meeting, find out if any of them took the
same direction. Or I did want to. Now, with this Nestor thing in our
laps, I think I'll let you do that. See the kids. And we're also
going to set every man we've got free looking at every hotel inside
that area, for a signature to match up to the one in that hotel
register. We've got photographs of it. Have some more prints made up
if you need them, and send out some men."

"Hell of a job," said Palliser. "But,
of course, the first thing to try, I see that. You're going to work
the Nestor killing?"

"I think I'll go back and poke around his office
some," said Hackett thoughtfully. "And it might be the
obvious thing, just what it looks like, but on the other hand there
are a couple of funny little things about it. And that woman-- Yes,
you get on with that, I'll probably be back about three anyway to see
if they got any interesting prints .... Everything always comes at
once. I wish to God Luis was here .... "
 
 

THREE

When Hackett turned into the parking lot beside
Nestor's office he saw a second car there beside Nestor's. Nestor's
white Buick convertible was parked in the slot nearest the side door,
and the other car had been parked in the next slot, so the Buick's
length partly hid it. There was movement there at its rear; a woman
straightened and began to walk around the car, saw him turning in,
and paused.

Hackett pulled his Ford in on the other side of the
Buick and got out. He ought to have left a man here, he thought,
angry at himself. He went up to the woman, who had waited for him.
"Detective Sergeant Hackett," he said curtly. "Are you
one of Dr. Nestor's patients?" He wondered suddenly about that;
if Nestor was doing so well, he'd scarcely have had a morning free of
appointments, but nobody had shown up.

"Oh no, I'm his nurse. Margaret Corliss."
She was a woman about forty, and not trying to look younger. A little
too plump, and careless make-up; she had short, straight dark hair
and dark eyes behind plastic-rimmed glasses. She was in a white
uniform and sensible flat-heeled white shoes. "Mrs. Nestor
called and told me the awful news, about Doctor. I couldn't believe
it at first. It just doesn't seem possible. But then I thought I'd
better come down and call all the patients who had appointments. I
expected the police would be here, and it would be awkward, having
patients coming in. It's dreadful--have you any idea who the burglar
was yet?" She sounded sincere, anxious.

"Have you been in the building?" he asked.

"Oh no, I just got here."

"Well, come in with me now, please, I'd like to
ask you a few questions? Just as well she was here. He took her down
to the private office. She was quick, coming in, to notice the small
stain on the floor, and recoiled slightly.

"Oh, is that where-- It's too awful! To think of
Doctor--"

Palliser had left the top drawer of the one big file
case open. Hackett drew it out and set it on the desk. "Sit
down, Miss Corliss." He sat down himself in the desk chair and
riffled through the cards in the file. They were stiff cards, lined,
about eight by six; and most of them were blank. Only here and there,
under different alphabet headings, was a card filled out. "Can
you tell me who the doctor's appointment was with last night?"

"Why, I didn't know he had one," she said
blankly. "Just a minute, I'll look in the appointment book."
She found it on the desk and turned to the latest filled-in page.

"There's nothing listed. He certainly didn't
mention one to me, and usually when he did make an evening
appointment, of course he'd ask me to be here too. It's better
policy, you see--especially if it's a woman."

"
Wasn't that rather inconvenient? I should
think--"

"Oh, it wasn't very often," she said.
"Goodness, I just can't believe such an awful thing's happened.
Mrs. Nestor said it must have been somebody breaking in to burglarize
the place. It seems to me people are getting more lawless every day.
The things you read--"

Well, it was possible, thought Hackett, that Nestor
had used his office as a meeting place for his girl friend. Or girl
friends.

"Would you say that Dr. Nestor had a good
practice?"

"Oh yes, very good. He was a clever doctor,
people liked him."

"I see. Would you come and look at these files,
please? It doesn't look like a very large practice to me. Not big
enough to start paying his office rent." He watched her; he saw
her eyes move behind the glasses. She looked through the file drawer
obediently.

"But, my goodness," she said, "he's
taken a lot of the tile cards out. I wonder why? There should be ever
so many more here--of course he had a lot more patients than just
these!" She sounded concerned. And that "ever so many"
gave her away: she'd been a long time away from England, but there
remained the faintest trace of Cockney.

"Oh, is that so? Why do you suppose he'd do
that, Miss Corliss?"

"Why, I've reely no idea, it does seem funny."
That "reely" gave her away further. "Do you suppose
the burglar could have done it? I mean, like vandals at the schools,
you know--just out of mischief."

Hackett regarded her guileless expression. There was
something about Margaret Corliss that smelled just faintly wrong to
him, as this whole Nestor business did. And because, damn it, he'd
had that Reyes kid and the Slasher on his mind this morning, he
hadn't been giving full attention to this thing; he'd had no business
to walk away and leave the office unguarded, with that side door
open. They hadn't really looked around much here, just desultorily as
yet. He hadn't, for instance, looked at the other file drawers ....
Ought to have his head examined, doing a fool trick like that.

Had the woman been in the building? At the back of
her car . . . He asked suddenly, "What were you putting away in
your car trunk as I drove up, Miss Corliss?"

The brown eyes never flickered, only widened on him.

"In my trunk? Why, nothing, Sergeant. What would
I be--I'd just driven up and parked, reely I had."

"Then what were you doing behind the car? I
thought you seemed to be shutting the trunk lid."

"Well, reely, all the fuss about nothing,"
she said fretfully. "I should think you'd be better getting
after the burglar, that's the important thing after all. I suppose
you can see I drive an old car. The trunk lid's got a way of coming
loose and flying up, and of course usually in the most awkward
places, when I'm in the left-turn lane or something. It did that just
as I came in, so of course I went round to shut it." She sounded
a little annoyed now. "Ree1y, I don't know what you think I--
All I came down for was to call the patients and put them off."

"
So you said," said Hackett. "It's
now"----he looked at his watch--"getting on for two
o'clock. It seems funny there weren't any patients scheduled earlier
today, if he had such a large practice."

"But it's Wednesday," said Miss Corliss
instantly.

"Doctor always took Wednesdays off. It's the
patients for the rest of the week I want to--"

"I see." Something just a trifle wrong, but
he couldn't put a finger on it. Not worth a damn. "Could you do
your telephoning somewhere else? I'll be looking around in here. I
saw a desk in a little cubicle off the waiting room--"

"Yes, of course, that's my desk. Certainly,
Sergeant, and I surely do wish you good luck in finding out what
awful fiend did it. just a dreadful thing, poor Doctor only
thirty-six and doing so well. I expect it's all right to take the
appointment book?" She picked it up casually. Well, Palliser had
seen it. He got up after she'd gone out, and gently eased the door
open; she'd closed it after her. The little cubicle adjoining the
waiting room had only waist-high partitions on the sides that faced
the waiting room and the hall. He heard a chair pulled out, shoved
in, and after a short pause the little click as she lifted the phone
.... "Mrs. Vandenburg? This is Dr. Nestor's nurse, Miss Corliss.
I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid--"

On the level? Had she been putting something in the
trunk? Been in here already and taken away--well, what? Something
wrong about this setup. Those files--that was just damned silly,
suggesting that a burglar . . . Why would Nestor have lifted a whole
wad of file cards out? It made no sense. Mrs. Nestor wouldn't have
had a chance, the patrolman had been with her. And whatever the
Corliss woman might have taken out of here, if anything, it hadn't
been the file cards (if any), because Palliser had already commented
on that to Hackett. What the hell, he thought blankly.

He opened the other three drawers of the steel filing
case. They were all bare.

What could she have wanted to lift, here? Echo
answers what, thought Hackett irritably. Had she been putting
something in the trunk? Go and look. Sure, without a warrant, and get
hauled across the coals for it. Ten to one the trunk was locked
anyway .... Funnily enough, his sister' s Dodge had a trunk lid like
that. If she forgot to lock it, it was always flying up.

He walked down the hall, out the side door, and
around Miss Corliss' eight-year-old Plymouth. The trunk was locked.

As he came back she was saying into the phone, "Mr.
Weatherby? This is Dr. Nestor's nurse, Miss Corliss. I'm so sorry--"
She had the phone on her lap, the appointment book on the desk before
her.

Hackett sat down at Nestor's desk again. Nestor had
been doing right well indeed, for a chiropractor in practice only
three years. Of course, he gathered that some people swore by them,
wouldn't go to an M.D. on a bet. But he seemed to remember that they
were legally limited in certain ways, couldn't write prescriptions
except for vitamins or give shots.

He opened the desk drawers. There wasn't much in any
of them. A couple of prescription-form pads with Nestor's name and
office address printed on them, a couple of ballpoint pens, in the
top drawer. The next one down was filled with sample packages, mostly
of different vitamins. In the bottom drawer he found a half-empty
fifth of scotch, an expensive brand. The other drawers were empty. It
looked as if Nestor hadn't used his desk much.

He got up and walked round the little office. The
bookcase held mostly medical textbooks. But thrust carelessly on top
of the books on the middle shelf was a large scrapbook with simulated
leather covers. He took it out and opened it, and had a little
surprise.

Evidently, and maybe it figured, Nestor had been a
snob. Interested in high society. The book was half filled with
clippings from newspaper society pages, and quite a few pictures. Mr.
and Mrs. E. Montague Fairfield have announced the engagement .... The
Richard Priors and their twin daughters Jean and Janet were
entertained at a formal dinner by our charming visitors from Paris,
M. and Mme .... The well-known hostess and clubwoman, Mrs. Lyman
Haines, in her Bel Air home, displays Loper's new informal at-home
gown, while her daughter Sheila. . .

A little funny, thought Hackett. There were several
clippings not yet taped in; the uppermost one was quite a lengthy
article, and the name Marlowe caught his eye. He scanned it briefly.

Mr. and Mrs. William Maxwell Marlowe have announced
the engagement of their youngest daughter, Susan, to Baxter W.
Stevens III. Miss Marlowe . . .

High society, all right. Hackett put the book down
and did some more looking. Wandered down to the examination rooms.
This kind of equipment, he thought, was probably damned expensive,
and both examination rooms were fitted out the same. Both had tiled
sinks. The steel examination tables, with handles to tilt them in
various directions, and those gadgets for taking blood pressure, the
latest type, attached to the wall. Steel lockers against the wall.
Metal tables bearing glass jars of cotton swabs, tongue depressors, a
lot of bottles filled with tablets and capsules. He opened the locker
in the first room; it was empty. The other one had a padlock on it;
he had Nestor's keys, found one that fitted the padlock. Inside the
locker was a wrinkled white smock hanging neatly on a hook, and on
the little shelf, folded together, a pair of rubber gloves.