The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 23 Classic Mystery Stories
- Автор: Деминг Ричард
- Год: 2016
- Язык: английский
- Год: Wildside Press
- ISBN: 9781479423507
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 23 Classic Mystery Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
“You are,” she told him. “Mother’s not feeling well. She asked me to spend the night with her.”
Phyllis’ father had died about six months before, and her mother wasn’t in very good health. With increasing frequency the old lady asked her only daughter to spend nights with her. Barney could hardly object, but he often wished Phyllis would be as conscientious about his welfare as she was about her mother’s.
His first night back he had to sleep alone.
The front for the combine’s business ventures was the Drennan-Nash Realty Company in downtown St. Vincent. Mark Drennan didn’t show up the next morning, and as operation costs was something in Drennan’s province instead of Nash’s, Barney phoned his home at noon. Drennan sounded as though he had been awakened from a sound sleep.
“I was in an all-night poker game,” he informed Barney. “Tell Johnny I won’t be in today. Want to drop by here tonight to make your report?”
“All right,” Barney said. “See you about nine.”
Phyllis didn’t make her usual objection to his going out at night when she learned his business was with Drennan instead of Nash. Barney arrived promptly at nine and found Mark Drennan at home alone.
“Come in,” Drennan said cordially, and led Barney back to the play room. “Drink?”
“A little bourbon and soda,” Barney said.
Drennan went behind the bar to mix two drinks, then rested his forearms on the bar.
“Any success?” he inquired.
“Some. They’re willing to split the difference. They claim rising printing costs.”
Mark Drennan pursed his lips. “Everything’s going up,” he conceded. “But how do we know they won’t hike the price again a month from now?”
“I got a two-year contract.”
Drennan’s expression cleared. “That’s pretty good work, Barney. I guess you were worth developing. I told Johnny when you first came to work for us that you were a sharp kid.”
Barney merely smiled modestly.
By the time he had explained the new contract in detail, their glasses were empty and Drennan mixed another drink. “Long as you’re here, Barney, want to do me a favor?”
“Sure, Mark. What?” Coming from behind the bar, Drennan disappeared into the other room. He returned carrying a German Borchardt-Luger. Drawing back the slide to lock it open, he checked to make sure it was empty and handed it to Barney.
“Just picked this up,” he said. “Isn’t it a beauty?”
After examining it, Barney clicked the slide shut. “Sure is.”
“Mind dropping by police headquarters and registering it for me tomorrow?” Drennan asked. “Have my permit switched over from my thirty-eight to this too.”
The combine was careful not to lay its members open to possible concealed weapons charges. With its political influence, it didn’t have to risk such minor infractions of the law. Every member of the combine who was authorized by Drennan and Nash to carry a gun had it registered and had a gun permit.
“Sure,” Barney said, dropping the gun in his pocket.
The phone rang and Drennan went into the front room to answer it.
At that moment the plan Barney had been seeking for took shape in all its details.
His tentative idea had been to gun Drennan and let Johnny Nash take the blame. But now he realized that the jealousy motive would fit just as well if Drennan was framed for Nash’s murder. And he had just been handed the means to frame the kill that way.
In the front room he could hear Drennan talking on the phone. Quickly rounding to behind the bar, he placed a fresh glass on it, took out his handkerchief to avoid leaving fingerprints and poured Drennan’s drink from the old glass into the new. Three steps took him to the French doors. Easing one side open, he slipped outside and set the glass containing Drennan’s fingerprints on the grass to one side of the doorway.
He was back inside again, leaning against the bar, when Drennan returned.
“Johnny Nash, giving me mild hell for goofing off today,” Drennan said with a grin.
When Barney finished his second drink, he said, “I’d better run along, Mark. I’ve hardly seen Phyllis yet since I got back. Thanks for the drinks.”
Outside he slipped around the side of the house, carefully staying close to the building so that he couldn’t be seen through the French doors, and retrieved the highball glass, again using his hand kerchief.
At home he concealed the glass in the same place as the one containing Nash’s fingerprints. He was pleased to note that the glasses were identical in size and shape.
The following morning Barney dropped by police headquarters, handed over the Luger so that the record clerk could copy off the serial number and had the gun registered in Mark Drennan’s name. He also had the carrying permit changed to the new gun.
When he left headquarters he drove to a sporting goods store and bought a Borchardt-Luger exactly like the one he had just registered. When he got to the Drennan-Nash Realty Company, he delivered the second Luger to Mark Drennan. The one which was registered was locked in the glove compartment of his car.
He had to wait two more weeks before the precise set of circumstances necessary to carrying out his plan developed. Two factors were necessary: Johnny Nash had to be home alone and Mark Drennan must have no alibi.
Both circumstances developed on a Friday. Johnny Nash announced that his wife’s mother in Chicago had died, and that Nina had flown to Chicago that morning. She planned to be gone a week, Johnny said. Hardly fifteen minutes later Mark Drennan told Barney he intended to spend the weekend at his cabin on Mud Lake.
“Alone?” Barney asked.
“Sure. I always fish alone. Every once in a while I need the solitude. You have the phone number up there in case you have to get in touch with me, haven’t you?”
Barney nodded. “Yeah, I have it. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Things worked out even better than Barney could reasonably have expected. Saturday afternoon Phyllis announced that her mother was again ill and that she was spending the night with her. Barney didn’t figure he would need an alibi, but it was convenient not to have a witness who could testify that he was away from home at the time of the killing.
He said, “Okay, hon. I’m kind of bushed anyway. I’ll hit the sack early and get a decent night’s sleep for a change.”
The Nashes employed two servants, but neither lived in. To make sure they would be gone for the evening, he waited until ten p.m. before phoning the Nash home. Johnny Nash answered.
“You going to be home for a while?” Barney asked.
“I was planning to go to bed. Why?”
“A little business. I’ll stop over in about a half hour.”
“Okay,” Nash said. “I’ll wait up for you.”
Barney hung up and dialed station-to-station to Drennan’s Mud Lake cabin.
When Drennan’s voice said, “Hello,” Barney said, “I get you out of bed?”
“Oh, hello, Barney. Yeah, but I wasn’t asleep yet.”
“Anybody listening?”
“No. I’m all alone.” Barney’s sole motive in phoning was to make sure Drennan had no alibi witness, but he had to give some excuse for the call. He said, “Hank Brassard, who runs the book at Fourth and State has been holding out, I just found out. I planned to run over and lean on him a little, but I thought I’d better check first.”
“Couldn’t you have checked with Johnny?”
“He seems to be out.”
“Oh. Well, use your own judgment. You’re a big boy. You don’t have to check stuff like that with me.”
“Okay,” Barney said. “Hope you catch a fish.”
Carrying a briefcase, he arrived at the west-side mansion where Johnny Nash lived at ten thirty. Nash, wearing a robe and slippers, admitted him and led him into the huge front room.