The Kill-Off (15 page)

Sheriff Jameson and a couple of his deputies were inside. I talked to Jameson, and then I went into the living room and talked to Ralph Devore. He appeared a little stunned, but not greatly upset. He answered all my questions promptly and lucidly. And—I should add—most satisfactorily. I clapped him on the back, offered him my condolences and told him not to worry about a thing. Then, I went back out into the hall.

Luane Devore lay at the foot of the stairs in her nightgown. Although she was sprawled on her stomach, her legs back up on the steps, her head was twisted completely around so that her face was turned upward. Her lips were bruised and swollen, smeared with drying blood. There were several other bad bruises on her face and, of course, her neck was broken.

Jim finished his examination, and we stepped into the dining room to confer. I told him about Ralph, why Ralph had to be completely above any suspicion. He was pretty startled, naturally—I had been myself when I saw the proof of Ralph’s innocence. But, then, he shrugged and nodded.

“I’d call it an accident myself,” he said. “That’s a long fall from the top of those stairs. A fall like that could easily have bruised her up much more than she is. Of course, when someone has lived in hot water all her life, you hardly expect her to die of chilblains, but…”

I laughed. I said it was odd that an accident should get her when so many people had motives for doing so. But there it was, wasn’t it? He said it was an accident. I said it was. So did the sheriff. That made it an accident, and anyone would have a hell of a time proving that it wasn’t.

I laughed again. He gave me an odd, searching look. I hesitated—my laugh had sounded pretty loud, I guess—and then I asked him what was on his mind.

“Well—uh—nothing.” He frowned uncomfortably. “You were…the sheriff reached you at home tonight?”

“Why, yes,” I said. “What of it?”

“Nothing. Lily was there with you, I suppose? Well—” He shook his head. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. And Bobbie’s out with the Pavlov girl—and I’m glad of that, for once. But…”

“Oh,” I said slowly, as if I was just beginning to see what he meant. “Look, Jim. Don’t take this the wrong way, but where were you—”

“Quiet!” he said sharply. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“But, look,” I said. “The time of death can’t be fixed absolutely. So whether you—”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it here!” he snapped. “Can you meet me down in front of the courthouse in about fifteen minutes?”

“Why, sure,” I said. “Even sooner. But—”

“Good! Do it, then.”

He left. I went back out into the hall.

The nearest undertaking service was thirty miles away, so it would be some time before Luane’s body could be removed. Sheriff Jameson agreed to stick around until the job was over; also to see that Ralph was taken care of comfortably for the night. He had one of his deputies put a couple of things of Ralph’s into my car—things I was taking custody of temporarily—and then I left for town.

Jim Ashton was parked in front of the courthouse. He got out of his car as I drove up, started talking while I was still climbing out of mine.

“You asked me a question about fixing the time of death, Hank. Here’s the answer. When a fatality is discovered as quickly as this one was, you can come damned close to fixing the time it occurred. Oh, you can’t pin it down to a matter of minutes and seconds, but you can place it within a very narrow period. And, Hank, I can’t account for my time during that period in this case!”

“But it was an accident,” I said. “Anyway, you’re not the only one who—”

“Who else is there? My son is in the clear. You and Lily are. Ralph is. There’s that girl he’s been chasing around with, of course, but if he’s out of the picture she just about has to be, too. Anyway, she’s in a lot better spot than I am. And, damn her, it’s her fault that I’m—but, let it go. The time of Luane’s death can be placed within a certain period, and everyone but me can—”

“Just a minute.” I put a hand on his arm. “Calm down, Jim. You were the one who examined Luane. What’s to stop you from saying she died during a period that you can account for?”

He looked at me blankly. Jim’s supposed to be a very intelligent man—and I’m sure he is—but he certainly couldn’t keep up with me tonight. No one could have.

“Oh,” he said, at last. “Why, yes, I guess I could, couldn’t I?”

“Why not?” I winked and nudged him. “What’s to stop you?”

A relieved smile spread over his face. Then he glanced over my shoulder, and the smile went away.

“There,” he nodded grimly, and I turned around and looked. “That’s what’s to stop me!”

I’d expected Kossmeyer to be tipped off, and I knew he’d move fast as soon as he was. But I hadn’t thought he would move this fast. And I hadn’t planned on his doing what he had done—or, rather, what he was preparing to do.

His convertible was just about in the middle of the block, opposite us. Just passing under a streetlight. We could see him plain as day, and the man he had with him. The doctor who sometimes came here from out of town.

They passed on by, took the road that led toward the Devore place. Jim sighed and said, well, that was that, he guessed.

I told him I was sure everything would work out all right, but it didn’t seem to help much. He drove away, still looking mighty sickish, and I took the stuff out of my car and carried it up to my office.

I was feeling a mite let-down myself. Kind of, you know, like someone had given me a little punch in the stomach. And it wasn’t because I was worried about Jim. Jim hadn’t killed Luane, I was positive of it. So unless he confessed—and I doubted if even Kossmeyer could break Jim Ashton down—he couldn’t be convicted. He could be put to plenty of grief, of course; so much that he might just about as well be guilty as innocent. But—

Dammit, he almost deserved to be. If he hadn’t been so careless or unlucky or dumb or something, I’d have had Kossmeyer against a stone wall. I could have put that little louse in his place, and made him like it.

I cussed, and took a kick at my wastebasket. I got busy on the telephone, trying to make the best of the situation. About thirty minutes passed. I’d just hung up after a call when the phone rang.

It was Jim. He had an alibi for the time of Luane’s death, after all. Not only that, but the Lee girl also had one! They were each other’s alibi!

I almost let out a war whoop when he told me the news. I think I would have if I hadn’t glanced out the window and seen Kossmeyer coming up the walk.

I hung up the phone, thinking by God that this made everything perfect—hell, better than perfect!

I listened, grinning, as Kossmeyer came up the steps and down the hall. As he neared the door, I wiped off my grin and stood up.

I was very polite to him. Oh, extremely. I said it was a great honor to have such a distinguished visitor, and that I would feel privileged to assist him in any poor way that I could.

He looked a little startled, then embarrassed. Then, as he sat down across from me, he laughed sort of shyly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just supposed that since we knew each other so well, and since it’s pretty common practice to call in an outside doctor—”

“I’m delighted that you did,” I said. “Nothing could have pleased me more. Now, as long as you’re taking such an extraordinary interest in the case—”

“Extraordinary? It’s extraordinary to be interested in the death of a client?”

“If you please,” I said. “Perhaps if you will not interrupt we can conclude our business quickly. Now, I have here a canvas sack containing approximately fifty-seven thousand dollars. It belongs to Ralph Devore, and here is conclusive proof in the form of a ledger. I think you’ll agree with me that—”

“Sure, I will,” he nodded. “I’d sure as hell agree anyway that the guy could never be convicted. Luane couldn’t have kept him from leaving her. He had no monetary motive for killing her. He was on the scene right about the time of her death, but—Yeah, counsellor? Go right ahead.”

Go right ahead? Hell, there was hardly anything to go ahead with! I’d been all set to surprise him; I’d had it all planned. Just how he’d look and what he’d say, and what I’d say and—and everything. And then that damned stupid Jameson or one of his deputies had had to spoil it all.

“Well,” I said, “as long as you’ve already been told…”

“Ought to have known without being told.” He shook his head. “Ought to have been able to guess how things stood. On the other hand, who’d’ve ever thought that a guy like Devore would have that kind of dough? Or any considerable sum?”

“What’s the difference?” I said. “It was his money. He certainly wouldn’t have had to kill her to get his own money, would he?”

“You’re quite right,” he said gravely. “He would not have had to. I have no grounds for thinking that he did kill her—or, for that matter, that anyone did.”

“You—” I paused. “You don’t think that anyone did? You mean, you think it was an accident?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “why not? There’s that broken telephone line, of course, but you can’t make anything out of that. Yeah, I’d be willing to let it go as an accident.”

He looked at me, frowning a little. I looked down at my desk, feeling my face turn red, hardly knowing what to do or say next. He’d spoiled everything. Everything I’d planned to say, why—why, now I couldn’t. All I could do was just sit there, like a bump on a log. Looking like a damned fool, and knowing that he thought I was one.

He cleared his throat. He murmured something about not envying me my job, and a prosecutor’s really having a hard row to hoe.

“Used to be on that side of the desk myself, y’know,” he added. “Guess a lot of trial lawyers start off as prosecutors. Gives ’em all around experience, and the longer they stick to it the better they get. You know what I always say, Mr. County Attorney? I say, you show me an experienced prosecutor, and I’ll show you a topflight lawyer!”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t even make myself look up at him. He cleared his throat again.

“I’m afraid I’ve interrupted you so much that I’ve broken your chain of thought. Were you going to—uh—May I see that list?”

I shoved it toward him, the list of people who had a good reason for wanting Luane dead and who they had been with at the time of her death. He went down the double-column of names, murmuring aloud, kind of talking to himself but also speaking to me:

“Bobbie Ashton and Myra Pavlov…Lily and Henry C. Will—Oh, now, really. I hope you don’t think that was necessary on my account…Doctor Ashton and Danny Lee. Hmm, hmm. Well, what the hell, though?”

He laid the list back on my desk. He murmured that I had certainly done a first-rate job of investigation; then, after a long awkward pause, he suddenly laughed.

My head came up. It was such a warm-sounding, friendly laugh that it was hard for me to keep from joining in.

“Y’know, Mr. County Attorney,” he chuckled, “sometimes I feel like one of those characters in a Western movie. The guy that gets such an exaggerated reputation for toughness that he can’t hardly tip his hat without someone thinking he’s going for a gun. Sure, I try to take care of my clients, and maybe I’m overly conscientious about it. But I certainly don’t go hunting for trouble. I don’t like trouble, y’know? There’s too damned much of it already without creating any.”

He laughed again, giving me a sidewise glance, trying to draw me into his laughter. I looked back at him coldly—letting
him
squirm for a change, letting him feel as foolish as I had.

“Well—” He stood up awkwardly. “I guess—uh—I guess I’d better be going. See you around, huh? And my compliments on your thoroughness in handling this investigation.”

He nodded, and started for the door. I let him get halfway there before I spoke.

“Just a moment, Mr. Kossmeyer…”

“Yeah?” He turned around.

“Come back here,” I said. “I haven’t told you you could leave yet.”

“Wh-aat?” He laughed, kind of frowning. “What the hell is this?”

I stared at him silently. He came slowly back and again sat down across from me.

“You complimented me on my thoroughness,” I said. “It suddenly occurred to me that I haven’t been thorough enough. Where were you at the time of Luane Devore’s death?”

“Where was—? Aw, now—”

“Luane said a great many ugly things about you. Whether they were true or not I don’t know, but—”

“Then maybe we’d better stick to your question,” he said quietly. “I was with my wife at the time.”

“Oh? Your wife, eh?” I shook my head, kind of grinning down my nose. “Just your wife? You have no one else to support your story?”

“No one. There’s only the one person. I’m in the same boat with those other people on your list—with you, for example.”

“Well,” I shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to accept that, then. I can’t say that I’m completely satisfied, but—uh—”

His face had gone white. The pale had pushed up, spread over the summer’s tan; and all his color seemed concentrated in his burning black eyes.

“Why ain’t you satisfied?” he said. “What’s there about me or my wife that makes our word less reliable than that of these other people?”

His voice was kind of a low, quivering purr. A kind of wound-up, coiled-tight undertone. He spoke again, repeating his question, and the quiver became stronger. The tenseness, the coiling seemed to extend to his body.

I began to get a little nervous, but I couldn’t stop now. Not the way he was looking at me, the way he sounded: the way, in so many words, he was threatening me. If he’d just laughed again or even smiled a little; given me an opening to say, oh, hell, of course I was just joking…

“You’ve been kicking me in the teeth all evening,” he said, “and I took it. But I ain’t taking that last. When you tell me that my wife’s word is no good—that she and I ain’t as decent and upright as other people—then you throw the door wide open. You got a hell of a lot more tellin’ to do then, buster, and by God you’d better not clown around when you do it. Because if you do—”

“Now, w-wait a minute,” I said. “I—I—”

“What are you trying to cover up, Williams? Why did you go to such lengths to
prove
that this was an accident? You felt you had to, right? You had a guilty conscience, right? You knew—you sit there now, knowing that it was not an accident but murder. And knowing full well who the murderer is. That’s right, isn’t it, Williams? Answer me! You know who killed Luane Devore, and by God, I think I do, too! You’ve as good as admitted it. You’ve put the finger right on yourself! You’ve—”