Skulldoggery (11 page)

I
T HAD BEEN
ever so much easier than she had thought it would be. Indeed, the ease with which things had developed had quite restored her old self-confidence in such matters, and it just showed you that there really wasn’t much difference between what you could do successfully at forty-two and what you had done at twenty, except that you were naturally compelled to do it with older men. Not that it had gone as far now as it sometimes had then, but it was clearly not a question of intent or objective. It was merely a question of time. One simply slowed up a bit as one grew older.

The time, Flo thought, might be at hand. And she wondered, if it was, what she should do. Hester had assured her that it would be unnecessary to reduce old Brewster to his underwear, but nothing had been said, conversely, about being reduced by old Brewster to hers. He was, to be sure, a lively old shyster. It made her wonder what he had secretly been up to all these years. Because he did not drink or smoke or swear, she had assumed that he wasn’t interested in other forms of entertainment either, and this had been a mistake at best, and might turn out to be a tactical blunder.

It had all started, after she was goaded into it by Hester, with an invitation to lunch, insitgated by Flo. In the beginning, Brewster had been the same cranky old devil as always, as sour and suspicious as an owl at noon, but he relented a little with the corned beef and cabbage, and by the time they had come to coffee, he was as loquacious and oily as if his cup were filled with gin. It was positively astonishing, the change in him. Or, if not the change, the revelation of his secret self. The man was, she saw, an absolute menace. Anyhow, she was into it, and had to go on, and after the luncheon there were other dates for this and that, and finally there had been, just day before yesterday, a trial assignation in his quarters, a sort of dry run to see how things might go with live ammunition. Or had it been? Brewster had made the supreme concession of serving her martinis while he had grape juice, and this had the effect of making her drunk while he remained sober, which was, as anyone could see, a risky situation. She did not wonder until later if he had arranged it on purpose, the sly old rake, and the big question was what had happened along toward the end when everything had gone foggy and couldn’t be remembered exactly afterward. Well, whatever it had been, it was all for the children, as well as for herself, and there was even, when you stopped to think, a kind of nobility in it. At any rate, Hester certainly couldn’t accuse her again of being a slacker.

Especially, she thought, after tonight Tonight there was a little dinner in Brewster’s quarters, and anyone with half a brain knows that little dinners in such circumstances frequently last until breakfast. She had thought twice about coming, but far too much had been gained to be lost now by an excess of propriety, and it wasn’t so much propriety, anyhow, as a reasonable fear that Brewster, abed, left his teeth on the dresser. Oh, well, it was too late now. She had just left the cab at the curb, and now she was in the elevator, which was stopping at the proper floor, and down the hall, just around the corner, was Brewster’s door.

At the door, she rang, but no one came, which was exasperating. Under the circumstances you would think that old Brewster would be eager, and consequently prompt. Perhaps, though, he was off somewhere in the apartment with a door closed, and did not hear the bell. She had suspected several times that he was somewhat deaf, and once, in a movie, had practically had to shout a diplomatic intimacy that she had meant to whisper. After ringing again without response, she turned the knob and opened the door, expecting to see soft lights and drawn drapes and other licentious arrangements. Instead, she saw nothing. The room was dark.

Reaching around the door jamb, she found a switch and turned on the ceiling lights. And now she was really exasperated, for it was instantly apparent that Brewster had made no arrangements at all, licentious or otherwise. It looked, in fact, like Flo would even have to do without her dinner. But her exasperation was not unqualified. Her feelings were, to be exact, ambivalent. She didn’t know whether to feel reprieved or offended.

Where could Brewster be? Obviously, wherever he was, it was elsewhere. Could he have forgotten about their date for dinner? Well, hardly. Flo was not ready by at least a decade to admit any such radical diminishment of her powers. Could he have been unavoidably detained somewhere by important legal business or something? This was possible, but surely, in that case, he would have phoned. Could he, being a deceptive and ornery old curmudgeon, have deliberately stood her up after craftily leading her on? Pride answered no. So did eros. Hers in the first instances, his in the second. He was not likely to abandon a program in which she was prepared, at some sacrifice, to perform in a style he had not known since when, if ever.

Should she, she asked herself, wait? She decided that she shouldn’t, and old Brewster could damn well whistle for his dinner, and for anything else he wanted and wasn’t going to get. One sacrifice was more than enough, even though it hadn’t actually got beyond a good intention. Before she left, though, she had better make a quick tour of the apartment, just to be sure that he wasn’t around somewhere after all. It would be just like him to have gone off for a nap, anticipating an exhausting evening, and to have slept right on without waking. Men as old as Brewster, while capable of periodic vitality, were notoriously short-winded in the long run.

With this in mind, she began her tour in the bedroom, walking there directly from the door, but Brewster wasn’t on the bed, or under it, or anywhere else in the room. Just to be methodical, she looked next in the bathroom, hoping earnestly that Brewster wasn’t lurking in there nude, which would have been, all in all, a more horrific and astonishing sight than it was to find him lying on the floor behind the sofa, which is where he was and where she found him when she returned to the living room.

It was a very queer place to take a nap, she thought.

She prodded him in a thigh with her toe, and decided that he was not napping, but dead.

It was unfortunate and somewhat sad, she thought, that he had died just when she was making life a little more interesting for him.

She bent closer, seeing the back of his head, and decided that he had not died at all, at least not without assistance, but had been killed.

She was naturally somewhat confused by this unexpected development, and she didn’t quite know what to do. Should she call a doctor? Or the police? Or both? Or neither? The first seemed unnecessary, and the second inadvisable. What seemed advisable, now that Brewster’s whereabouts had been established, was to put herself somewhere else as quickly as possible, and that’s what she did, or started to do, turning off the lights on her way out.

On the street, she found a cab and was going home in it when it occurred to her that she ought to be going, instead, to Hester’s. If anyone were at home, it would probably be only Lester, and Lester, although a dear boy, would be of no value in a crisis like this, and might actually, on the contrary, be a positive hindrance. Hester, however, was another proposition entirely. Hester was cool and clever and thought of things. Flo was about to lean forward and give the driver new directions, but she realized then that there was no justification for assuming that Hester would be at home this time of night, since she rarely was, and it would be better, on second thought, to call and find out before going there. If Hester were at home, she might even be prevailed upon to come to Flo’s instead of the other way around.

Hester, as it developed, was not at home. She was right at Flo’s all the time, which just shows you that it is possible for things to break good right in the middle of breaking bad. Hester and Lester, neither having anything better to do, were drinking gimlets and listening to recordings on the stereo. This wasn’t much to be doing, admittedly, but Hester, who had been busy, had simply neglected to make proper arrangements, and Lester, who had been in communication with King Louie again, couldn’t think of any other place that would be safer under the circumstances. When Flo entered, Hester rolled off her stomach and sat up on the floor, where she had been lying.

“Mother,” she said, “where have you been?”

“Hello, darling,” Flo said. “You can’t imagine how glad I am that you are here. I’ve been to dinner with a man.”

“In that case, why are you home so early? You must have eaten and run.”

“I ran without eating, to tell the truth, and that’s what I want to talk with you about!”

“There’s no good in talking with me about it. You simply have to run from some men, that’s all. Unless, of course, you choose to be agreeable. I must say, however, that most of them can at least wait until after dinner.”

“That’s not what I mean, Hester.” Flo sat down and took a deep breath and held it several seconds, which was a little trick she practiced to calm her nerves. “This man was hardly in a condition to make advances.”

“Why not? He must have been dead.”

“That’s exactly what he was. How on earth did you know?”

“Oh, come, Mother. Why must you exaggerate everything? Tell me the truth.”

“Hester, you can’t exaggerate death. It’s impossible.”

“What man are you talking about?”

“Willis Brewster.”

“Brewster!” Lester, who had been brooding silently to the accompaniment of a piano and a clarinet and a bass fiddle, turned his head and stared at Flo owl-eyed. “You mean you went to dinner with
old Brewster!
“

“That’s what I said. Lester, why don’t you listen? I’m not in a humor to repeat everything.”

“By God, it’s incredible. Why would you go to dinner with old Brewster? For that matter, why would anybody?”

“Well, it’s all the fault of you and Hester. You kept egging me on to corrupt him for the good of the family, and I’ve been trying. With surprising success, too, I might add.”

“We didn’t egg you on to have dinner with him. That’s a bit too much to ask of your own mother.”

“Oh, he wasn’t too bad, really. Quite lively and full of interesting ideas. Anyhow, Brewster is dead. I went to his apartment to have dinner, and there he is at this instant lying behind the sofa with his head knocked in.”

“His head knocked in!” said Hester. “Killed?”

“That’s what I said. Didn’t I? At least, I meant to say it.”

“Mother, don’t you have any restraint whatever? You didn’t have to go to the extreme of having dinner with old Brewster, as Lester said, but what’s more to the point, you didn’t have to kill him.”

“I didn’t kill him. Why should I?”

“For the same reason anyone else might have,” said Lester. “Because he was a sour old devil who frequently needed it.”

“However that may be, I didn’t do it.”

“If you didn’t,” Hester said, “who did?”

“I don’t know. Someone else.”

“I wonder,” Lester said, “if it could have been Uncle Homer? He was always threatening old Brewster with some kind of violence.”

“If so, Homer will simply have to get out of it the best he can. I am concerned with getting out of it myself.”

“You’re already out of it, aren’t you? Did anyone see you there, or anything?”

“I don’t think so. After I decided not to call the police, I just came away. Was it the right thing, Hester?”

“We will see in good time whether it was or not. Mother, I wish you wouldn’t get into such difficulties. I have enough to think about as it is.”

“I was only trying to help. It’s unkind of you, Hester, to criticize me for doing what you and Lester kept urging me to do.”

“Well, you might have used a little more discretion about it. However, there is no good in crying over spilled milk.”

“What I want to know is what else I should do. Is there anything?”

“Not that I can think of. Old Brewster will be found after a while, and we will see what develops then. What worries me is that everything seems to be getting out of hand. In the beginning, Senorita Fogarty was the only one we wanted eliminated, but everyone else is being eliminated, one by one, instead. It’s all very confusing, I must say.”

W
HILE
F
LO
did nothing, the police were doing something. If they did not actually get started until the next morning, it was only because Brewster was not brought to their attention until then. Their attention was requested by the superintendent of the apartment building, whose own attention had been dramatically requested by a maid who was part of a housekeeping service offered for a fee to interested tenants. Armed with an electric sweeper, a bundle of rags and a bottle of furniture polish, she had entered Brewster’s quarters at nine o’clock, expecting him to be abroad on his business, and had found him, instead, still lying behind the sofa where Flo had left him. The maid, once comprehension set in, abandoned her equipment and took off down the hall making a noise very much like a siren. She was intercepted by the superintendent, who was on patrol in the hall, and it was only a short while thereafter when an official squad under the command of Detective-Lieutenant Sylvester Bones appeared on the scene. Two hours later, following a preliminary investigation that culminated in the removal of Brewster to more appropriate quarters, Lieutenant Bones, like a bird dog on a scent, was ringing the bell at Flo’s.

As a matter of observation, Bones
looked
somewhat like a bird dog. He was long and lean, and he had sad brown eyes lined up between a pair of generous ears that appeared to be constantly on the verge of flapping. In addition, his nose had a disconcerting habit of twitching periodically. This was really a kind of tic, but it looked like sniffing, and the tendency was to give him credit for sensory skills that he did not in fact have. The bell was answered by Flo, summoned by it from the kitchen, where she had been in the act of spooning coffee into a pot to start her day.

“Mrs. Jarbelo?” said Bones.

That was Flo’s last name, carried over from her departed husband, and she acknowledged it.

“If you’re selling something,” she added, “there is nothing I want to buy, and besides, there’s a rule against salesmen. There’s a sign in the lobby that says so.”

“I’m not a salesman. I’m a policeman. My name is Lieutenant Bones. May I come in and talk with you?”

“What about?”

“If you’ll let me come in, I’ll explain.”

There was nothing to do but let him in. Flo already had an uncomfortable notion of what he wanted, of course, but she couldn’t imagine what had brought him to her door so soon when she had just about convinced herself that he wouldn’t come at all. Things were not going as well as she had hoped, that was obvious, and she would have to be careful. Policemen were notoriously tricky, and it would never do to admit anything that should be denied, or to deny anything that should be admitted. Fortunately, Hester had stayed the night and was available as counsel.

“What is it that you want?” she said, after Bones had sat down, section by section, in a proffered chair.

“Do you know a Mr. Willis Brewster?” he said.

“Certainly I know him. He’s the family lawyer. Why? Has he embezzled some money from an estate or something?”

“No. Not that I know of.” Bones’ nose twitched, and his ears seemed to swing forward into a more favorable listening position. “Why should you ask that?”

“Well, one naturally suspects lawyers of the worst, doesn’t one? They know all sorts of ways to do things and get out of it.”

“Do they? I wouldn’t know about that. Anyhow, Mr. Brewster hasn’t committed any crime, unless dying is one.”

“Dying? Old Brewter dead? Who killed him?”

“I didn’t say he was killed. What makes you think he was?”

Well, she’d done it. The very thing she’d resolved not to do. She’d made an egregious error right off, just when she was feeling clever about sounding properly surprised, and now it was necessary to think quickly and correct it if possible.

“Because you’re here,” she said. “Are the police interested in deaths that aren’t the result of killing? I didn’t think they were.”

“You’re right. They aren’t. Not usually.”

“Besides,” said Hester, coming out of the bedroom at that moment, “it was the most natural thing in the world to assume that old Brewster, if dead, was killed. He was exactly the sort that everyone wants to do in.”

“Is that so?” Bones swung his head around and sniffed at Hester. “Who are you?”

“This is Hester,” Flo said. “She’s Lester’s twin.”

“Who’s Lester?”

“I just told you. He’s Hester’s twin. And here he is now.”

Bones swung his head the other way and verified the fact that there, indeed, Lester was. He had emerged from his own room to join the group, and Bones began to feel surrounded. He was also beginning to feel somewhat confused and a little desperate. He had a sudden conviction that he had wandered innocently into a nest of queer birds, to put it mildly, and the conviction grew stronger by the second.

“Siblings?” he said to Flo.

“No,” said Flo. “They’re my children.”

“What are siblings?” Lester said.

“Siblings are children,” Bones said.

“Oh,” said Flo. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“That’s an unusual word for a policeman, isn’t it?” said Hester. “I wouldn’t think a policeman would know a word like that.”

“Darling,” said Flo, “you mustn’t be rude. I’m sure that Lieutenant Bones is not an ordinary policeman by any means. He probably knows lots of words.”

“Did I hear someone say that old Brewster is dead?” Lester said.

“Yes, darling,” Flo said. “That’s why Lieutenant Bones is here. Isn’t it, Lieutenant?”

“It is,” said Bones.

“Why?” said Hester.

“Yes,” Flo said. “I didn’t think to ask that. Why should you come here to see me just because old Brewster is dead?”

“Because someone killed him, as you have guessed, and I’m supposed to find out who did it.”

“That’s no answer,” Hester said. “Why don’t you go off somewhere and find out instead of bothering Mother?”

“I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.” Bones had clearly lost command of the situation, and he was desperately determined to regain it. “Sit down, please.”

“No, thank you,” said Hester. “I don’t care to.”

“Neither do I,” said Lester.

“As you see,” said Flo, “I already am.”

“Ask any questions you please,” Hester said, “but in my opinion it would be no more than courteous if you answered ours first.”

“All right,” Bones said. “Mrs. Jarbelo, where did you spend yesterday evening?”

“That’s easy,” Hester said. “She spent it right there with Lester and me.”

“We were all together,” said Lester.

“I asked your mother. Let your mother answer.”

“Well, I suppose you must be humored, however unreasonable you wish to be.” Hester sat down, after all, looking scornful. “Go ahead, Mother. Tell him you were here with Lester and me.”

“That’s right,” said Flo. “I was.”

“All the time?”

“Yes. Wasn’t I, Hester?”

“Never mind that. I’m not asking for verification. Not yet.”

“Anybody has the right to counsel,” Hester said. “I’m her counsellor.”

“Hester’s clever,” Flo said. “I always ask her about things.”

“If you need counsel, you can call your lawyer.”

“How can she?” Hester said. “According to you, our lawyer is dead.”

“Yes. So he is. Knocked in the head by someone yesterday evening. Perhaps yesterday afternoon. The autopsy may tell us more exactly. Mrs. Jarbelo, didn’t you have a dinner date with Brewster in his apartment yesterday evening?”

“She had one,” said Hester, “but she didn’t keep it.”

“Mrs. Jarbelo?”

“I didn’t keep it.”

“Why did you break it? Isn’t that rather odd?”

“Odd?” Lester hooted derisively. “Obviously you never saw old Brewster until he was dead, but he was not much better alive. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure that rigor mortis wouldn’t have improved him.”

“Mother was cultivating old Brewster for a particular purpose,” said Hester, “but we didn’t dream that she would go to the extreme of making a dinner date with him. When we found out, we refused to let her go.”

“What purpose?” said Bones.

“It was a family matter,” Hester said, “and has absolutely nothing to do with anyone knocking Brewster in the head.”

“Yes,” said Flo, “I only did it for my children. Lieutenant, if someone said he saw me at Brewster’s, he’s simply mistaken, that’s all.”

“No one’s said that. Not yet. It’s just that Brewster was apparently a meticulous man. He kept an appointment book, and he noted that you were expected last evening for dinner. He was going to prepare the dinner himself, and he even made a note of the entree. You were going to have veal cutlets.”

“I don’t like veal cutlets,” Flo said.

“Good God!” said Lester. “Mother, it’s the best of luck for you that we wouldn’t let you go. The old shyster might have poisoned you, fooling around in his filthy kitchen with veal cutlets.”

“It seems to me,” Hester said, “that the least he could have done was hire a catering service or something like that.”

“What makes me most upset about the whole matter,” said Flo, “is that he had to make a note of it. Why should he have needed a note to remind him of a dinner date with me? If that’s not insulting, I’ve never heard anything that was.”

“Oh, well,” Lester said, “the man was practically in his dotage. Probably his mind was slipping.”

Bones slapped his knee, stood up, then sat down again very deliberately. He clasped both knees with his hands and stared intently at a spot on the wall. His nose was twitching with exceptional violence.

“What’s the matter?” Hester said. “Are you about to sneeze?”

“Hold a finger under your nose,” Flo said. “That works wonders.”

“It’s much better just to go on and sneeze,” Lester said. “Holding back sneezes leads to all sorts of emotional disturbances.”

“I am not about to sneeze,” said Bones, taking out a handerchief, nevertheless, and wiping his nose with it. “I am just trying to think of a way to put a semblance of order into this interview. This is impossible. It’s absolutely impossible. Mrs. Jarbelo, do you want to come downtown with me?”

“Certainly not. Why should I want to go downtown with you?”

“Then I must insist that you answer my questions personally, without assistance from your son and daughter.”

“Do you hear that, children? If you don’t keep quiet, Lieutenant Bones will take me downtown.”

“Oh, all right,” Lester said. “I certainly don’t want to intrude.”

“Neither do I,” Hester said, “but I’m going to look it up about taking Mother downtown. I don’t believe he can do it without a warrent or something like that.”

“Now,” said Bones. “Now, then, Mrs. Jarbelo. I’m going to ask you a few simple questions, and I expect categorical answers. Do you understand?”

“No,” said. Flo. “What does categorical mean? Hester, do you know what categorical means?”

“I’m not allowed to speak,” Hester said.

“Direct and truthful answers is what it means,” said Bones, “and I’d advise you to give them to me.”

“There’s no problem to that,” Flo said, “if you would only say what you mean once in a while.”

“To begin, then. Do you drive a car, Mrs. Jarbelo?”

“No, I don’t. Isn’t it absurd? I tried, but I kept running into things.”

“Then I’ll assume that you went to Brewster’s, if you went at all, in a taxi. I put that out as a fair warning. Taxis have drivers, you know. Drivers can be found and questioned. You are a striking woman, if I may say so, Mrs. Jarbelo. Chances are you would be remembered.”

“I’m not allowed to speak, either,” Lester said, “but if I were, I would volunteer the information that I took Mother in my MG.”

“What?” said Bones. “What’s that?”

“What he means,” said Hester, “is that he
would
have taken her if she had gone, but she didn’t go. Lester, I’m not sure it wouldn’t be better if you went off somewhere and did something.”

“Let him stay,” said Bones. “He may be helpful. Mrs. Jarbelo, I warn you again. If you were in Brewster’s apartment yesterday evening, we’ll find out about it. Even if no one saw you, there will be fingerprints.”

This gave Flo quite a turn, for it was the truth that she had not given a single thought to fingerprints before. She had not touched anything in the apartment, except old Brewster with her toe, but she had touched the door knob and the light switch going in and out. That was all right, though, come to think of it, for being a proper lady properly dressed, she had been wearing gloves. It was a great relief to remember the gloves.

“There may be fingerprints,” she said, “but they won’t be mine.”

“Let us hope not. Mrs. Jarbelo, let us hope.”

With this ominous remark, expressing just the right degree of skepticism, Bones rose with the apparent intention of taking himself off.

“Are you going so soon?” said Flo.

“Yes. There is, however, a definite possibility of my coming back.”

“I thought you might have a cup of coffee with us. I was just making some when you came. Lester, darling, see if the coffee is ready.”

“No, thank you,” said Bones, edging toward the door. “I have work to do.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hester said. “You mustn’t keep Lieutenant Bones from his work. He has to go investigate things.”

“Speaking of investigations,” said Lester, “do you happen to know that King Louie Oliver operates several gambling houses?”

“No,” said Bones, who did.

“That’s odd. There’s no great secret about it.”

“Gambling is not in my division.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. I thought it might be to my advantage if I could get King Louie arrested.”

Bones, who had kept on edging toward the door, turned and departed hurriedly without ceremony. Flo had risen to see him out and close the door after him, but now, seeing him go, she sat down again.

“Well,” she said, “that went very well in spite of Lester. In my opinion, Leiutenant Bones is quite charming, for a policeman. Imagine him saying that I’m a striking woman who would probably be remembered. Wasn’t that nice of him?”