Agnes Lamb had not known Ruby Otter but did know Ruby's assistant, Gloria Daley, who had returned from vacation to find herself the new head housekeeper at the Hacienda Motel. Gloria had dropped out of the school Agnes graduated from and was from the neighborhood.
“I'm almost afraid to sit in that chair, Agnes. That's where he killed her.”
“Who'd want to kill you?”
“Listen, if Ruby had any enemies, I don't know them. That
woman was so good.” Tears glistened in Gloria's eyes. She had ballooned since the last time Agnes had seen her and the trouble with the chair in the office of the head housekeeper was if Gloria could fit in it.
“You were on vacation.”
“Ruby called it sick leave.”
“Where were you sick?”
“In Joliet mainly.” She meant the casino boats anchored along the banks of the Joliet River. “He won so we decided to go big-time and flew out to Vegas.”
And lost it all. Gloria had had to wire for money to get home. Her man had sold the return portion of their tickets and stayed on to win back what he had lost. Gloria got on a bus and saw parts of the country you wouldn't believe on the way home.
“So you heard nothing about Linda's death.”
“Uh-uh. She was a sweet thing.”
“Did you know the guy? Harry?”
Gloria whistled. “He acted like a cab driver.”
“He was a cab driver.”
“That's what I mean. Long hair, earrings, tattoos. What she saw in that freak show, I don't understand.”
“Ruby said she was trying to get rid of him.”
Gloria thought about that, then shook her head. “More like she wanted marriage if he had any big plans.”
“He says he didn't do it.”
“Uh-huh.”
Cy's assumption was that once they had Harry in custody, the witnesses who had gone from being sure to being vague would become sure again. But that wasn't happening. Agnes had been assigned by Cy to talk to the three that might have been any help in court, and they studied the photographs of Harry without having their memories refreshed.
“I may have seen him there, but I didn't see him push her.”
“Earlier you seemed pretty sure you could identify the man who pushed her.”
“I still think so. But this isn't the one.” That was Baxter, James, mail carrier.
Pettigrew, Phyllis, Mrs., shook her head as soon as she saw Harry's pictures. “I saw him in the paper and knew right away you had the wrong person. Mabel said I was wrong; that's the man,” she said. “It's so sad.”
“What's sad?”
“The way she died.”
“Mabel Wilson is dead?”
“They found her yesterday, at her kitchen table, oven door open, place full of gas.”
In the interview she had given at the time, Mabel had said she would never forget that man's face if she lived to be a hundred. She was fifty-nine when she died. With her went the case against Harry Paquette.
“He must have someone doing it for him,” Agnes said to Cy at that juncture. “Ruby, now Mabel Wilson.” Mabel's remark that she would never forget the murderer's face had appeared in the news stories after Harry was brought from Kansas City.
“All the housekeepers knew about Harry. Why kill Ruby?”
So Agnes had come to the motel with another photograph in a manila envelope to test out a hunch of Cy's.
“Gloria, Ruby mentioned what a hit Linda was with groups that held conferences at the motel, lawyers and such.”
“She told you that?”
“Isn't it true?”
“Well, it wasn't her fault he liked her so much. Lots of guests were friendly but this one was serious. I think they had a date, when she was on the outs with Harry.”
“You ever see this man?”
“Honey, we all made a point of seeing him. Ruby warned her about
it. That man was interested in only one thing and Linda wasn't that kind of girl. Ruby might have said something to him too.”
Agnes slipped the black-and-white photograph out of the envelope and handed it to Gloria.
“Is that him?”
“He looks familiar.”
“Is he the man who showed such interest in Linda?”
“Oh, no. That's not him. But he does look familiar. Who is he?”
“You might have seen his picture in the paper.”
“He got a name?”
“Gallagher. Timothy Gallagher.”
“He's not the one,” she told Cy.
“Definite?”
“Definite.”
There was no use expecting any explanation from Cy Horvath, but Agnes could see that his hopes that there was a connection between the two murders the Division was investigating had just gone up in smoke.
Cy went personally to Timothy Gallagher to tell him his father would be released from detention, though he must hold himself available for any further questioning. The son nodded. “Thanks, Lieutenant. He'll want to make a great exit.”
“I'm still trying to figure out why he would have claimed to have done such a thing.”
“Two reasons at least. First, he saw an opportunity that morning to play a role he had never played: Jack Gallagher, murderer. Besides, it
drew attention to the fact that the young lady had been infatuated with him.”
“Is that the second reason?”
“No, the second reason is he thought I did it.”
“Did he say that?”
“Not in words. It was the main point of the exercise.”
“Why would he think a thing like that?”
“Lieutenant, I know some of the things you've learned in the past few days. What you may have heard about Aggie and myself is true. My father became involved with her when he went to speak to her about me. My wife now knows of this, but of course I would appreciate as little publicity on the matter as possible. Unlike my father, I do not thrive on public self-laceration.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Aggie?” He had to think. “A week? At least a week, maybe more.”
“How could your father imagine you'd killed the woman?”
“You'll have to ask him that.”
“And you're assuming that he confessed in order to divert attention from you.”
“Technically, yes. I am assuming it. But I am certain that is the reason.”
Timothy Gallagher followed Cy downtown and in the courthouse there was an emotional, and media-recorded, reunion of father and sonâwho had spent the better part of the previous days in consultation. Jack beamed at the cameras without seeming to notice them; he looked around as if he was surprised to find anyone at all awaiting his appearance.
“I feel like Saint Paul being led out of prison by an angel.”
“That's better than being led in by one,” someone cracked, but
Jack ignored it. This was not a time for levity. He could not, in the understandable elation he felt on regaining his freedom, forget the wonderful young person who had lost her life three nights before.
“Why did you say you killed her?”
Jack acknowledged this question. “I confessed the guilt I felt. I considered myself to have been the occasion, if not the cause, of her death. Who could have exonerated himself if he were in my position? Mine may not be a guilt in reach of the law, but it weighs on me all the same.”
Father and son went arm in arm from the courthouse. Phil had come down to the rotunda to watch this performance.
“We should charge him rent,” he growled.
What Phil did not mention was that they were running out of suspects. Jack had never been seriously in the running, Austin had cleared himself, and now Timothy Gallagher seemed to have defused what they knew of him by a candid admission. Cy imagined the man telling his wife about the affair. What could he fear after that? And then he had heard from Agnes Lamb that his wild hunch had not paid off. Timothy Gallagher was not the lawyer who had shown more than a passing interest in Linda.
“So there's no connection,” Agnes said. “Between the two murders.”
“Apparently not.”
He should have known she would guess the implications of the test he had asked her to make. If Timothy had turned out to be a womanizer, Aggie only one episode ⦠if he had been the lawyer who took Linda Hopkins out at least once ⦠well, then the two murdered women would have been connected through him. Because if Agnes had gotten a positive response, Cy would not have ruled Timothy out as a suspect. Even so, he was not convinced that Timothy was completely in the clear.
“Want to get something to eat, Cy?” Phil asked.
Cy was due home but this was the time of day when Phil Keegan's loneliness closed in on him. He was not eager to go home to his apartment looking out at an artificial lake and other apartments overlooking the same lake. His wife was dead, his daughters settled elsewhere with their families; Phil's only interest was in his work. And shooting the bull with Father Dowling.
“I'll have a drink with you, anyway.”
They went across the street to Stub's where Phil ordered a Guinness, in the bottle, and Cy had a Coke. They huddled at the end of the bar.
“I suppose tomorrow we'll be escorting Harry Paquette out to the waiting media.”
“Skinner is the only one who thinks we have a case.”
“Skinner.” Phil drank deep. “Say, was there anything worthwhile in that stuff of Harry's you picked up from where he lived?”
Cy looked at him. “I haven't had a report on it.”
“You forgot it, didn't you?”
“I haven't looked into it yet.”
But Phil would not drop it. Most of the time he praised Cy to the skies so he probably had a right to make a lot of his flaws. The truth was that, what with one thing and another, Cy had forgotten the stuff of Harry's he had turned over to the lab.
“It will be worthless,” Phil said, letting up. “You can bet on it.”
Phil said he would eat at Stub's, then maybe give Father Dowling a call. Cy said good night. Outside, he crossed the street to the courthouse and went up the stairs to the top floor. Putting off until tomorrow the discovery that what Harry had left behind when he fled to Kansas City was worthless did not appeal after Phil's razzing. Coming toward him in the corridor was Dr. Pippen, the assistant coroner, and Cy's ticket to heaven or hell.
“Still here?” she asked brightly.
“I want to check something at the lab.”
“Me too. They've had more than enough time to go over the contents of Agatha's purse.”
Finley was on night duty and he looked dumbly if beatifically at them because of the plugs in his ears. He removed them. “Mozart,” he sighed. “What can I do you for?”
Cy let Pippen go first, politeness, of course, having the bonus of letting him just stand there and look at her. She was given the purse and a sheet listing its contents. Each item checked.
“She had the purse of a call girl,” Pippen said, turning her wide innocent eyes on him. Doctors, especially pathologists, knew dark secrets, but if they were like Pippen they did not take root in the soul. “Two sets of keys.”
“Two? Let me see.” They were both house keys. Was one to Jack Gallagher's condo? He dropped both sets in his pocket.
“You better sign for those.”
“Anything else interesting?”
“I thought you had another reason for coming here.”
“Finley, give me the Harry Paquette stuff.”
It still looked like a stack of dirty laundry, but the itemized list indicated the tests that had been run, without result.
“This one really shrunk,” Pippen said, holding up a T-shirt.
Cy did not say what he thoughtâthat the item belonged to Linda; that like the savings account, it was another proof of Harry's helpless love of the girl. But that was not all. There was a framed photograph of Linda Hopkins, and a bank statement. Dr. Pippen studied the photograph. “Pretty. Has his trial been set?”
“There may not be one.”
She tucked in her chin. “Really?”
“He denies it, the witnesses can't identify himâthose that are still aliveâand he intended to marry the girl.”
“But did he do it?”
“No.”
“But then who did? She was pushed, wasn't she?”
“She was pushed.”
Finley had his earplugs in and did not acknowledge their departure. In the hallway, Pippen stopped, and looked around, lost.
“Care to have a drink at Stub's?” Cy asked.
“Do you have time?”
“Just.”
Phil had left, probably having wangled an invitation to dinner with Father Dowling, but Cy did not let out a silent cheer. He had told himself it was all right if he took the beautiful Dr. Pippen for a drink if Phil could join them.
“You haven't had much of a week, have you? Jack Gallagher walks and Harry can't be tried.”
“That's the way it should be, if they're innocent.”
“I keep remembering the condition of that girl's body when we got it.”
“You chose an odd speciality.”
“I figured I couldn't harm anyone.
âPrimum non nocere.'
That's part of the oath we don't take anymore.”
“Hippocratic.”
“I suppose it became the Hypocritic. But I'm keeping you. You should go home.”
“When are you going to get married?”
She brightened. “You noticed!” She splayed the fingers of her left hand to show the diamond. Cy looked at her.
“Who is he?”
“A pediatrician.”
“Foot doctor.”
She kicked him. “You must come to the wedding.”
“I wouldn't miss it.”
Driving home he felt both relieved and saddened. He had imagined an unchanging Dr. Pippenâtall and beautiful and competent, unmarriedâas a fixture of his life, someone with whom he could just sit and talk and ⦠Oh, the hell with it.
“So who's left?” Gladys asked. She was watching television while Cy told her of his day. She did not really like to hear about his work. Who could blame her?
Mario Liberati was left. Cy had gotten the impression from Colleen that she and Mario thought Agatha had had something to do with his being let go by Mallard and Bill. Maybe revenge was a more promising motive than ruptured romance. But sitting on the couch, not watching the program his wife had on, he thought of Agnes's report on the witnesses to Linda's death. They seemed to have been disappearing one by one.