Exploit of Death - Dell Shannon (15 page)

"He told you how worried he'd been," said
Hackett.

"I let him keep track of everything. I just
hadn't any idea."

"Well, maybe it's been a lesson for both of
you."

She said, emphatically, "It sure has been,
Sergeant. And I guess I'll feel guilty the rest of my life. It's
partly my fault Ricky'll be getting a prison record—but maybe it
won't be so bad at that. I talked to his boss this morning, Mr.
Willard, and he's always liked Ricky and he said he'll let him have
the job back afterward. We'll both just try to use more sense and do
better." She stood up. "Thanks, Sergeant. I'll be moving
back in with Mother and try to save up all I can so we'll have a
little backlog when he gets out, and we'll both watch it. And I'm
going to get rid of those credit cards," she added vigorously.
"They just make it too easy."

Hackett grinned to
himself, following her out. Maybe it had been the necessary lesson
for both of them. Sometimes the stupid kids grew up a little and got
some sense.

* * *

MENDOZA AND LANDERS had talked to the Overmans in
Pasadena and Dan Alisio and his family in Long Beach, stopped for
lunch on the way back and found Mrs. Rosa Nicolletti at home in West
Hollywood. They had some idea now who had been at the hospital at
what time. Mrs. Nicolletti said her husband was at work, he owned a
sporting goods store in Santa Monica. Joe had called to tell her what
the police said about Carl and she just couldn't believe it, it must
have been a crazy person. She was better-looking then her brothers,
with graying black hair and a figure slightly too plump.

"What time did you leave the hospital?"
asked Mendoza. "Was anyone else with your brother then?"

"Well, as I recall we left together. Bill and I
and Randy. Mary's expecting a baby and she hasn't been feeling too
good, the doctor says she has to take it easy, that's Randy's wife—so
she didn't come. It was about a quarter past four, and they like all
the visitors to be out by around four-thirty, they bring the dinners
around a little after five. I think we left together. No, I'm wrong,
but it came to the same thing—Randy left his cigarettes in Carl's
room and went back to get them, and we all went down to the elevator
together. Randy's all broken up about Carl. He was Carl's favorite
nephew. They thought a lot of each other."

"Your brother didn't have any family of his
own?"

"No, he and Annie never had any children. They
were sorry about it. It was a shame because Carl did a little better
than the rest of us, in a money way I mean. Not that he was awfully
rich, but he built that drugstore into a good business, he was a
pharmacist, you know, and I guess he had a nice savings account. He
was always a great one to save and watch the pennies. Oh, dear God,"
she said suddenly. "We knew he was dying—he was the oldest of
the family—the first to go. But to have it happen such a way—"

She told them where to find her son Randy. He worked
at a big tax-accountant's office in Glendale. There they talked to
him at his desk in a big communal office on the third floor of a new
high-rise building. He was a good-looking dark young man about
thirty, and he said wretchedly, "I feel terrible about Uncle
Carl. I nearly didn't come to work. And when Dad called about
noon—Oh, hell, I couldn't believe it—to think of—Well, that's
right, I guess Mother and Dad and I were the last ones to leave. I
went back after my cigarettes and came back out and—no, I didn't
notice anybody in particular near the door. There were quite a few
people in the hall, the elevator was crowded. Yes, Uncle Carl was
alone in the room then, except for the other two patients."

What with all the driving, they'd spent the whole day
finding out that much and it still looked shapeless. Anybody could
have gone into that hospital room between four-fifteen and five
o'clock when Alisio was found dead. They drove back downtown to
Parker Center nearly in silence. When they came into the office, only
Hackett was there, and he was on the phone. He was looking amused,
and when he put the phone down minutes later he said, "The
things that happen. That was that Peabody woman from the Social
Services Department. You'll be interested to hear that when the
Health Department went to look at Ben Leach's house they found a
hundred and four thousand dollars in cash hidden away at the back of
a closet."

"
Maravilloso
,"
said Mendoza. "So the county won't be paying for his board at a
nursing home."

"The court will appoint a conservator and it'll
probably take care of him the rest of his life. It's funny,"
said Hackett, starting to laugh again. "People—those young
Davies. There doesn't seem to be any happy medium between the ones
who throw it away and the misers. What have you picked up?"

"We've sorted out who
saw him last," said Mendoza. "And damn it, it's still all
up in the air. My next thought, we take a good look at the hospital
staff—at backgrounds—something suggestive may show. Hell, there
must be a couple of hundred people on that staff—more—and anybody
in a uniform could saunter down that hall without anybody paying any
attention—and we haven't talked to those nurses on this shift
again. Damnation. We'll be doing some overtime tonight."

* * *

THE OFFBEAT 0NE at the hospital took up time. There
were a lot of people to talk to, to question. Palliser was off on
Monday, Grace on Tuesday. Even with Glasser back they were
shorthanded. And with all the answers they got, it was still a
shapeless thing. All the comings and goings—anybody at all could
have gone in and smothered the old man. Nobody had seen anything,
anybody out of the ordinary. It was just a lot of tiresome legwork
for nothing.

Galeano and Higgins landed back at the office about
three o'clock on Tuesday afternoon and found that the autopsy report
on Rose Eberhart had just come in, and also a report from the lab.
Galeano looked them over. She had, of course, died of a fractured
skull, between six and midnight Friday night. They kicked it around a
little and looked at the photographs.

"That table by the door," said Galeano.
"There was just a smidgen of blood on it. She wouldn't have bled
much when she fell."

"Got knocked down," amended Higgins. "By
these shots, she was a good-sized woman and she must've hit with some
force to do herself that much damage, Nick. What it adds up to is,
with the open door, she was talking to somebody in the hall, somebody
she wasn't going to let in, and the somebody knocked her over
backwards. A sudden violent argument over something? And the only
thing you've turned up about any little trouble she'd had lately
was—"

"This Arvin woman. Not sounding like much of
anything," said Galeano. "Some woman she'd worked with.
Hadn't seen in a while, and ran into at the corner market."

"And no lead on locating her," said
Higgins.

"Well, I had a thought or two," said
Galeano. "Jase always saying he's got a simple mind. I've got a
fairly simple mind, too, and I thought of the phone book first. But
if Eberhart hadn't seen her in a while and then met her again just
recently, it could say that the woman had just moved into that area
recently, too. A corner market, not a big supermart. It sounds like a
place they'd both walk to. A local independent store—handy to where
they both lived. And if she'd just moved, she wouldn't be in the
phone book. She could also have an unlisted number. A lot of women
living alone do."

"True," said Higgins. He massaged his jaw
thoughtfully. "We can give it a try."

"That's what I thought," said Galeano. He
looked in the phone book for Central L.A. and there were only five
Arvins—four more who spelled it with a y. None lived any closer to
the Echo Park area than Alhambra, City Terrace, Monterey Park,
Lincoln Heights. He dialed the information operator, introduced
himself, invited her to call back to verify that she was really
talking to police.

"I'm looking for an Arvin— I'm not sure just
how it's spelled. Somewhere in the downtown area. The number may have
just been changed to that name or it may be unlisted. No, I don't
have any first name."

"You don't want the ones listed in the Central
book, sir?"

She sounded like an intelligent girl. .

"Anything else you've got, please."

"Just a moment sir. There's an unlisted number,
Linda Arvin, on Cadillac Avenue."

"I don't think that's it."

"A J. Arvin, Durango Avenue. Oliver Arvin,
Langford Street—that's just been listed."

"Keep going," said Galeano.

"Myra Arvin, Santa Ynez Street—that's a new
listing too. There's a D. Arvin on—"

"O.K., thanks. If I want that I'll get back to
you." Galeano put the phone down.

"Bingo, maybe," he said told Higgins.
"Santa Ynez. That's right in the middle of that area. Let's go
take a look."

They took his Ford and after a little hunt found the
address. Santa Ynez was an old narrow street in that old residential
area, and the address was a small apartment house dating back to the
twenties. In the little uncarpeted lobby, they found Myra Arvin
listed, by the mailbox, in apartment 4-B, upstairs. They climbed worn
old wooden stairs and found the door. It was the right front
apartment. Galeano pushed the bell. In a moment the door was opened
by a short stout woman with suspiciously black hair and snapping
black eyes, a sallow complexion, innocent of any makeup. She was
wearing a flowered cotton houserobe and ancient bedroom slippers.
Galeano showed her the badge and she stared at it.

"And what would the police want with me?"
she asked sharply.

"Do you know Mrs. Rose Eberhart, Mrs. Arvin?"
asked Higgins.

Her mouth went tight and she looked very angry. "For
the Lord's sake, has that damned woman sicked the police on me?
That's just like her nerve! I don't know what the police would have
to do with it, if anybody's got reason to call the police it was me,
and I'm not sorry I knocked her down either. Her trying to tell me
that lie about Bert! She had it coming. I'll never see that fifty
bucks again, might as well forget it."

 
Galeano said gently, "I think you'd
better let us in, ma'am." She marched across the room and
plumped herself down on the couch, and Galeano and Higgins took the
couple of chairs opposite. This was a typical furnished apartment,
nondescript furniture, a T.V. in one corner, glimpse into a kitchen
at one side, a bedroom at the other.

Galeano said, "Suppose you tell us your side of
the story, Mrs. Arvin."

She lit a cigarette with an angry snap of the
lighter. "I suppose she's claiming that I tried to rob her or
swindle her or something. And I thought she was a nice woman when I
first knew her. You bet I'll tell you my side of the story, and if I
can't prove it, she can't prove that damn lie about Bert."

"When did you first know her, Mrs. Arvin?"

"When I had that job at McClintock's. I was only
there six months, it was three years back. She worked there, too, I
don't know if she still does." She was smoking rapidly. "Damn
it, I was sorry for her then—the reason I loaned her the fifty. She
was married to a drunk, she wanted shut of him, can't blame her for
that—and she needed the money to hire a lawyer. She said it was
just temporary till payday, and I let her have it. And she never paid
it back. Well, I had reason enough for it going out of my mind for a
while. Bert died of a heart attack about a month later—my
husband—and it was a big shock to me. After the funeral I quit my
job and moved up to Fresno to live with my son and his wife—them
saying it was the sensible thing to do—all over me that snippy
little girl was, and didn't I find out why, all they wanted was an
unpaid housekeeper and baby-sitter!" She snorted. "I never
did get on with that girl, anyway, don't understand what Roy sees in
her." It was possible that there were quite a few people Myra
Arvin would not get on with.

"When I remembered the money, I wrote Rose at
the restaurant, I didn't know her address, but I never got an answer,
and I know she must've got the letter. I was mad about it but there
wasn't anything I could do up there, and I don't know why I stuck it
out as long as I did, but I finally had it with that girl and her two
spoiled brats, and I came back down here a couple of weeks ago—found
this apartment got a job at Denny's—the one on Santa Monica, I'm on
the night shift—and when I got settled I was going up to
McClintock's, see if Rose was still there, only I ran right into her
at that little market on the corner. I didn't know she lived around
here. So I asked her about the fifty and she tried to put over this
damn lie. She said she paid it back, she gave it to Bert when he came
to pick me up one night at the restaurant. She said I was back
getting my coat, and Bert thanked her and put it in his pocket. I ask
you!"

"You didn't believe her?" asked Galeano. I

"Listen," she said, "I was married to
Bert Arvin for thirty-two years. You think I didn't have him trained
to hand over all the money to me? He wasn't just so smart about
handling money and I'm a good manager, I always handled all the
money. He wouldn't have held it out on me. And anyway, she knew he
was dead and couldn't speak up for himself—just a plain lie to get
out of paying me back."