But He Was Already Dead When I Got There (10 page)

“Meow,” said Godfrey.

“That's what I thought,” Toomey sighed. “Rizzuto—anything?”

“Well, aside from the knick-knacks Mrs. Polk is lookin' for, I s'pose the blotter. Maybe the old man did have somethin' written on it.”

“There was something else on it. Blood. Look at that desk—not a drop of blood anywhere. The gash in Farwell's head was a nasty one. So where's the blood?”

Rizzuto stared at him. “That's crazy, Lieutenant. Why'd anyone get rid of the blood but leave the body?”

“Why indeed,” Toomey murmured. “Then there's the interesting fact of the elevator's ending up on the wrong floor.”

“That don't mean nothin',” Rizzuto said dismissively. “One of the visitors coulda taken it up last night. To use the bathroom, maybe.”

“I wonder why Mrs. Polk called the police before she woke up the other two. You'd think she'd tell the niece first, wouldn't you? We might as well see the niece now.”

Gretchen Knox turned out to be a tall woman in her early thirties with shoulder-length reddish-orange hair. A pleasant face, Toomey thought, marred by a rather pouty mouth. She wore pearls just about every place it was possible to wear pearls. Toomey observed the amenities, noticing she was nervous but not particularly grief-stricken. “Were you close to your uncle?” he asked.

“I lived with him for ten years,” Gretchen said.

Translation: No
, Toomey thought; she wouldn't have avoided a direct answer if they'd been close. “Mrs. Knox, let me get a few business matters out of the way first. Do you inherit Mr. Farwell's estate?”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “I never saw any will or anything, but Uncle Vincent told me I was his heir.”

“Who was Mr. Farwell's attorney?”

“Mr. Dann. Richard Dann—he's in the Crafton Building.” Sergeant Rizzuto wrote down the name and address in his notebook.

Toomey said, “Mrs. Polk told us there's a safe in your uncle's bedroom. Do you have the combination?”

“Oh—I'd forgotten about that safe. No, Uncle Vincent never told me the combination.”

“Does anybody know it?”

“Well, Mr. Dann might. The attorney.” Godfrey Daniel jumped up in her lap; Gretchen began to stroke him in an absent-minded way. Toomey noticed her hair was almost the same shade as the orange part of the cat's fur.

“All right, now I want to ask you about last night,” Toomey said. “You know your uncle fired his gun, don't you? Didn't you hear the shot?”

Gretchen made a vague gesture with her hands. “I was wearing earplugs, Lieutenant. I'm very sensitive to noise, and the night sounds were making me nervous. I couldn't hear anything once I put the earplugs in.”

“What time was that?”

“Oh, it was early—I didn't look at my watch, but it must have been before eleven.”

Rizzuto cleared his throat again, asking for permission to interrupt. “Mrs. Knox, that Degas on the wall—it's a copy, right?”

“It certainly is not! It's an original. Why do you ask?”

“An original Degas—and a burglar leaves it behind?”

“Maybe he didn't know anything about art. Then you think it was a burglar who killed Uncle Vincent?”

Toomey said, “We don't know for certain. But a few things seem to be missing from the room, and your uncle's money, credit cards, and wristwatch were taken.”

Her surprise was genuine, and perhaps greater than might have been expected. “I didn't know that,” she said faintly.

“You stayed here last night instead of going to your own home. Do you mind telling me why?”

It was obvious that she did. “I … my husband and I had a disagreement last night. It's a personal matter, Lieutenant, and I really don't want to talk about it.”

Toomey started to pursue it but then changed his mind and asked her if she knew why the elevator was on the second floor.

“Why shouldn't it be on the second floor?”

“How did it get there?” Toomey asked. “Your uncle certainly didn't take it up. Who did? You?”

A change came over her that was obvious to both policemen. She tensed up, clasping her hands so tightly around the cat in her lap that he wriggled free and jumped to the floor in annoyance.
My, my
, Toomey thought,
is the lady on the verge of telling an untruth?
Gretchen's voice was a full octave higher when she spoke. “No, I never use the elevator. I don't know how it got up there.”

“Perhaps one of the guests last night took it up?”

“Perhaps … I don't know … yes, that must be what happened.”

“Why was everyone here last night, Mrs. Knox? It couldn't have been a social evening. Mrs. Polk evidently served only one round of drinks and then went to her room. What was going on?”

Gretchen hesitated. “It was a business meeting. It didn't last very long.”

“How long?”

“Less than an hour, I'd say.”

“What kind of business did you talk about?”

“My husband's jewelry business. His and Dorrie Murdoch's—they're partners. Ellandy Jewels.”

“Spell it?” Rizzuto asked, pencil poised.

She spelled it. “For Lionel and Dorrie, ell and dee.”

Rizzuto grimaced. “Okay—you and your husband Lionel. Dorrie Murdoch and her husband Simon. Who are these other two people—Nicole Lattimer and Malcolm Conner?”

“Nicole is a designer at Ellandy's—they may make her a partner, if she gets her way. She usually does,” Gretchen explained a touch waspishly. “Malcolm Conner is Ellandy's attorney. He's also Dorrie's brother.”

Toomey asked, “What did your uncle have to do with Ellandy Jewels?”

“He lent them money.”

It was like squeezing water from a stone. “What about this loan, Mrs. Knox? What needed discussing?”

Again that vague gesture with the hands. “I don't know whether I should talk about business matters—”

Just then a door slammed and a voice called out, “Gretchen! Gretchen—where are you?”

She rose quickly to her feet. “In the library!” she called back.

Lionel Knox appeared in the doorway—a large man, harried-looking, walking with a limp. Lionel took a tentative step toward his wife, and then she resolved his doubts by running into his arms. Gretchen buried her head in Lionel's shoulder and let loose a flood of tears she hadn't even known needed shedding.

But Lieutenant Toomey wasn't watching the touching reunion. His full attention was on Godfrey Daniel—who was standing with his back arched, hair on end, hissing and spitting like a jungle tiger ready to fight to the death.

6

“It's a hell of a thing to happen,” Lionel Knox was telling Lieutenant Toomey earnestly. He and Gretchen were seated together on the sofa, the very picture of a happily reconciled couple. “When Gretchen called and told me, I had trouble believing it. Was it a burglar who killed him?”

“Possibly,” Toomey said. “There are a few questions that still need answering before we'll know. Mrs. Knox, I know seeing your uncle like that this morning must have been distressing, but did you notice anything missing from this room?”

“I didn't see my uncle this morning,” Gretchen said. “Polka Dot wouldn't let me come in.”

“Polka Dot?” Rizzuto asked.

“Mrs. Polk, the housekeeper. Her first name's Dorothy. She told me I didn't want to see—and I wasn't much inclined to argue with her.”

“Yeah, she likes to take care of things her own way,” Lionel said. “She's already been hard at work even today.”

“What's that?” Toomey asked.

“Oh, I just meant she's already cleaned this room—in spite of what's happened.”

“Mrs. Polk hasn't cleaned in here yet. What made you think she had?”

Lionel had the look of a man who's just realized he's made a mistake, while Gretchen started nervously twisting her fingers and trying not to look at her husband. Lionel looked desperately around the room for a liferaft;
Here comes a whopper
, Toomey thought. “The glasses,” Lionel said in a rush. “We all had drinks last night and now the glasses are gone. I thought Mrs. Polk had cleared them away.”

“The men from the crime lab took them,” Rizzuto said.

Toomey looked daggers at his subordinate; Rizzuto had said nothing about glasses. Just then Godfrey Daniel jumped up in Toomey's lap, still bristling at Lionel. “This cat doesn't seem to like you, Mr. Knox,” the Lieutenant said.

Gretchen waved a hand dismissively. “Godfrey will spit at you one minute and then come beg to be petted the next. You never know what mood he's going to be in.”

Toomey placed a calming hand on the cat's back and said, “Mr. Knox, now that you're here, suppose you tell me about this loan for Ellandy's you were all meeting about last night.”

Lionel took his time answering. “Uncle Vincent had already made us the loan,” he said slowly. “We were asking him for an extension, for more time to repay.”

“Did he agree?”

Lionel licked his lips and shifted his weight edgily. Instead of answering, he glanced at his wife.

“He didn't decide,” she said suddenly.

“That's right,” Lionel said with relief. “He just put us off.”

“Mm. What time did the meeting break up?”

“Oh, I don't know—around nine, I think,” Lionel said. Gretchen nodded.

“Was the fire burning when you left?”

They both stared at him blankly. “It was burning when we got here,” Lionel said. “I remember Uncle Vincent told me to move, I was blocking the fire. I guess it was still burning when we left.”

“I don't remember,” Gretchen said. “Is it important?”

“If the room was overheated,” Toomey explained, “the onset of rigor mortis would have been delayed. I'm sorry to have to say this,” he added quickly, noting Gretchen's look of distress, “but it's necessary. Since your uncle's desk is so close to the fireplace, the heat would have made a difference.”

They both looked confused. “What does the desk have to do with it?” Lionel asked.

Toomey reminded himself that neither one of them had seen the corpse. “That's where he died. At the desk.”

“
At the desk?
” both Knoxes said, astonished.

“At the desk,” Toomey repeated, astonished at their astonishment. “The body was found slumped forward on the desk top. Why? Did you expect it to be found somewhere else?”

Gretchen shook her head vigorously while Lionel hemmed and hawed, “Uh, no, Lieutenant, not at all.”

“Where did you expect the body to be?” Toomey persisted.

“Nowhere in particular,” Gretchen said in a high voice.

“It was just a surprise,” Lionel said, “finding out
where
. I hadn't had time to think about that part of it, I guess. It's hard to imagine Uncle Vincent just sitting there quietly at his desk and letting himself be killed.”

“Yes, that's it!” Gretchen said eagerly.

Toomey and Rizzuto exchanged a look. “You think he would have fought back?” Toomey asked the Knoxes. “A man in a wheelchair?”

“He would have done
something
,” Gretchen said, her voice gradually coming back down to normal.

“He did do something,” Toomey said. “He pulled a gun on whoever was threatening him. He just wasn't fast enough.”

“Oh, poor Uncle Vincent!” Gretchen wailed.

At that moment Mrs. Polk appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me for interrupting, Lieutenant, but I can't find the missing things anywhere. The things that are in here belong in other places.”

“Just leave them where they are for the time being, Mrs. Polk,” Toomey said, “and thank you.”

The housekeeper gestured toward the double doors leading to the terrace. “Are you finished examining that broken glass, Lieutenant? Would it be all right if I called a glazier to come replace it?”

Toomey, who hadn't examined the broken glass at all, told her it would be all right. Mrs. Polk gave Gretchen an encouraging smile while ignoring Lionel altogether and left.

“What missing things?” Lionel asked.

“A few
objets d'art
that should be in this room but aren't. A jade horse, for one thing.”

“Then it was a burglar!”

Toomey made a noncommittal noise and pulled out his can of Redi-Whip. “Ever see this before?”

Gretchen blinked. “I've seen Redi-Whip before, yes.”

“Anything special about that can?” Lionel asked.

“We found it out on the terrace—right outside the doors.”

“Funny place to keep whipped cream,” Lionel shrugged. Neither of them seemed particularly interested.

Toomey tried a different tack. “Mr. Knox, did anybody use the elevator while you were here last night?”

“Uncle Vincent's elevator?” Lionel laughed. “Not on your life! Not if he wanted to live to talk about it. Nobody used Uncle Vincent's elevator but Uncle Vincent.”

Toomey noticed that Gretchen was doing her nervous hand-twisting routine again. “Perhaps someone used it without his knowing it? Can you hear the elevator from in here?”

“Yes, you can,” said Lionel, “and nobody used it. No one left the room, for one thing. Oh, Mrs. Polk was in and out a couple of times serving drinks, but the rest of us stayed in here the whole time. Lieutenant, do you suppose we could continue this later? I've got to get in to Ellandy's—my partner doesn't know about Uncle Vincent, and we're going to have to find out where we stand legally—on the loan, I mean.”

Toomey said that would be all right. “I'd like to drop in at Ellandy's myself—I'll need to talk to Dorrie Murdoch and Nicole Lattimer. Do you plan on going straight there?”

“I'm going to drive Gretchen home first.” In response to a question from Rizzuto, Lionel supplied Ellandy's address as well as his and Gretchen's home address and phone number. “I'll be at Ellandy's in forty-five minutes or an hour, Lieutenant.”