The Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 15 Classic Crime & Mystery Stories
- Автор: Деминг Ричард
- Год: 2015
- Язык: английский
- Год: Wildside Press
- ISBN: 9781479406159
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 15 Classic Crime & Mystery Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
“What’s that?” Nicholson asked.
“Simms here says the door was bolted from inside and the transom open only a sin.” He pushed a thumb toward Lydia. “She unscrewed some gadget to get the transom open and climbed through to unbolt the door.”
Nicholson looked at Lydia. She said, “I was the only one with small enough hands to get a screwdriver through the crack.
Nicholson looked back at his partner. “The guy left by the fire escape?”
“There isn’t any,” Carter informed him.
“Hmm. Then he must have still been there when they found the body. Maybe hiding in the bathroom. He must have sneaked out when they left the room to call us.” Carter shook his head. “Simms says they had the same thought, and checked both the bathroom and closet.” He looked at Weygand. “That right, mister?”
Weygand nodded. “I even looked under the bed.”
“You mean we got a locked room mystery?” Nicholson asked in a querulous voice.
“Nope,” Carter said. “It just narrows down to only one possible means of exit. There’s a foot-wide ledge that runs clear around the building just below the window. A guy who didn’t get dizzy could work his way along it to another room.”
“Who’s in the rooms either side of Hartman’s?” Nicholson asked.
Simms said, “They’re both vacant.”
“I looked at them,” Carter said. “The windows of both are closed, but unlocked. The guy could have pushed either up, then closed it again after he was inside. The doors have spring locks, so once he stepped out in the hall and pulled the door closed behind him, there’d be no sign of anybody ever being in the room.”
Nicholson asked, “What’s the doc say?”
“Dead three to five hours, which would make it three-thirty to five-thirty this afternoon. Probably closer to five-thirty.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Simms delivered the guy a pint of bourbon at noon, a second one at two-thirty. If it took him two and a half hours to kill the first, it probably took at least as long to kill the second, which would take him to five o’clock. And both are empty.”
Nicholson nodded. “That’s logical. Where do we go from here?”
“You can call the ice wagon and the fingerprint boys and stand by here to show them around. Have the fingerprint guys catch the windows in the rooms both sides of 714 too. I’ll take these people down to headquarters to get their stories—” Jules Weygand stood up. “I’d better move my car then, Sergeant. It’s parked in the hotel loading zone.”
Simms said, “I’ll move it for you, Mr. Weygand, and you can pick up the keys at the desk when you come back. I’ll put it on the hotel lot.”
Weygand handed over the keys and Simms said, “I’ll put Mrs. Hartman’s bag in her room too. It’s 521, Mrs. Hartman.”
“Thank you,” Lydia said.
“Okay, folks,” Sergeant Carter said. “Let’s take a ride over to headquarters.”
Police headquarters was only two blocks away, also on lower Pearl Street. Sergeant Carter ushered them into an elevator, and when they got off upstairs, led them to a door lettered: HOMICIDE AND ARSON. Beyond the door was a large squad-room with several desks in it. The only person in the room was a man in shirtsleeves talking on a phone at one of the desks. Carter seated himself behind another desk on the opposite side of the room and waved Lydia and Weygand to a pair of nearby chairs.
“Smoke?” he asked, extending a pack of cigarettes.
Both Weygand and Lydia shook their heads. Carter lit one for himself, leaned back in his chair and regarded Lydia from beneath his drooping lids.
“I understand the dead man was your husband, Mrs. Hartman. That right?”
Lydia nodded.
“And you’re here from Rochester?”
“That’s right. Jules here too.”
“Uh-huh. What was your husband doing here?”
“Just getting drunk,” she said, flushing slightly. “He’s been doing that recently. But up until this time he’s always holed up in some Rochester hotel.”
“This is just something recent? His drinking, I mean.”
“The last few weeks. He’s been depressed over business matters.”
“Oh? What was his business?”
“Jim and Jules, here, were partners in the Weygand and Hartman Realty Company. They filed for bankruptcy three weeks ago and the company is in receivership. It was all Jim’s fault, really.”
“How’s that?” Carter asked.
“He... he misappropriated some funds. Jules found it out too late to save the business. He’s been wonderful about it. He could have had him prosecuted and imprisoned.”
“That wouldn’t have saved anything,” Weygand said dryly. “It would just have sent Jim to jail.”
Carter turned his attention to Weygand. “Weren’t you a little sore at your partner?”
“That’s an understatement,” Weygand said in the same dry tone. “I would have sent him to jail if it weren’t for Lydia. I didn’t want to hurt her.”
“Oh? Why so considerate?”
“She hadn’t done anything,” Weygand said reasonably. “And I happen to like her.”
After studying him for a moment, Carter turned back to Lydia. “How’d you know your husband was here in Buffalo?”
“Jules phoned me about five P.M. I had asked him to keep an eye on my husband, because Jim’s been so depressed, I feared he might do something desperate. When Jules said my husband had registered here at the Redmill Hotel, and was having whisky delivered to his room, I took the six P.M. train here. I got in at seven-thirty and Jules met me at the train—”
“Hmm. If you were in Rochester at five P.M., I guess you’re cleared as a suspect.” He swung his gaze back to Weygand. “You verify her story?”
“Of course,” Weygand said in surprise. “You didn’t actually suspect her of doing this thing, did you?”
“The wife is always a routine suspect when a man’s murdered. Now about you. You tailed him here from Rochester, huh?”
“Not exactly. I watched him buy a bus ticket to Buffalo, drove here and picked him up at the bus depot again. When he checked in at the Redmill, I arranged with the desk clerk to let me know if he had any orders sent to his room. When I learned he was having whisky delivered, I phoned Lydia.”
“I see. Seems to me you went to an awful lot of trouble for a guy who’d made you bankrupt.”
Weygand flushed. “I wasn’t doing it for him. It was a favor for Lydia—”
“Kind of fond of her, huh?”
Weygand’s flush deepened. “What are you getting at, Sergeant?’
“I’ll spell it out for you,” Carter said. “Hartman’s wallet was in his hip pocket with sixty-three dollars in it, so the motive wasn’t robbery. He was a stranger here, so it isn’t likely he had any local enemies. You admit you had a grudge against him and you’re fond of his wife. You married, Mr. Weygand?”
After staring at him for a time, Weygand said hotly, “No. But if you’re accusing me—”
“I’m not accusing anybody, just yet,” the sergeant interrupted. “I’m just pointing out that you seem to have a couple of good motives, and you tailed him here all the way from Rochester.”
“But that was at my request,” Lydia protested, her face paling. “I was afraid Jim might try to kill himself.”
“Maybe your boyfriend was afraid he wouldn’t,” Carter said cynically. “Until we turn up a better suspect, guess we’ll have to hold you a while for investigation, Weygand.”
Jules Weygand puffed up with indignation. But before he could open his mouth, the squad-room door opened and Harry Nicholson walked in. He was carrying a small paper bag in his hand.