Vice Cop Page 9

  I said to Whittier, “If you recognized her in the center hall, you must have cat eyes. It was as dark as an abandoned coal mine.”

  “I didn’t recognize her there,” Whittier said. “I just saw her there first. When the study door opened, she was outlined in the doorway. The moon was shining in the side window of the study, so that room was light compared to the hall. I didn’t know it was Miss Manners, but I knew it was a woman without any clothes on. Then I caught the glint of steel in her hand. I didn’t recognize her until she passed the front-room windows on the way to the stairs. Moonlight was pouring through them, so she was fully illuminated. I could even make out her red hair. She was moving like a sleepwalker, carrying the blade thrust straight out before her.”

  George Apple chimed in, “He’s telling the truth about that. I saw her outlined against the windows. I didn’t know who it was at the time, because we were clear across the room over by the bar. But I could tell it was a nude woman carrying something that glittered. I caught the silhouette of Whittier following along behind her, too. I didn’t realize who it was, but I remember thinking it funny that he was wearing a hat.”

  Lieutenant Wynn said to Whittier, “You followed her clear upstairs?”

  “Well, not exactly. I went up after her, but I wouldn’t say I was right behind her.”

  Wynn said sourly, “Maybe you’d better clarify that.”

  “I stopped at the foot of the stairs for a few moments, trying to decide what to do. I had already seen all I wanted to and had been about to leave when Miss Manners came from the study. The foot of the stairs is right across from the front door, and I was making up my mind whether to walk out or go upstairs to see what Miss Manners was doing.”

  When Wynn frowned without understanding, I explained, “Mr. Whittier wasn’t a guest at the party, Lieutenant. He dropped by uninvited, then left before things really got underway. He sneaked back in the front door after the lights went out to check on what was going on. Apparently he hadn’t been aware of the type of parties his ex-wife was throwing.”

  Whittier nodded. “As I said, Lieutenant, I had seen all I cared to. It would be an understatement to say I was disgusted and horrified by what I saw. My immediate desire was to get out of the house. But I was disturbed by Miss Manners’ actions. When she passed the front-room windows, I recognized what she was carrying. Actually the letter opener belonged to me, so I was quite familiar with it. I bought it years ago, long before Mrs. Whittier and I were married. It didn’t occur to me that the girl planned murder, but I was afraid she might have suicide in mind. As much as I wanted to get out of the house, I didn’t want a young woman killing herself if I could prevent it. So, after standing there undecided for a time, I finally climbed the stairs after her. But by that time the upper hall was empty. At least it seemed to be. It was pitch black, so I couldn’t have seen anyone there, but I think you can sense another presence in the dark, don’t you? The hall felt empty.”

  Wynn asked, “What did you do?”

  “I opened the first door on the right. I heard sounds which indicated—” He paused, then went on delicately, “I realized she wasn’t in that room, so I closed the door again. Next I tried the room across the hall, but it seemed to be empty. I can’t swear it was, because it was pitch dark and I didn’t turn on the light. But again I couldn’t sense anybody there. The room next to it felt empty too. The last door on the left had light showing under it, so I didn’t try it.”

  “Why not?” the lieutenant asked.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be in the house, Lieutenant. I didn’t want to chance anyone seeing me.”

  Lieutenant Wynn grunted. “What next?”

  “Isobel’s room is right across from the room which had the light in it, but I didn’t try it either.”

  “Why not?” Wynn asked again.

  “I didn’t think it likely Miss Manners would be in there. I thought it probable that Isobel was in the room herself. I knew she wasn’t downstairs, because I’d covered the entire first floor.”

  “As long as you were snooping around, weren’t you interested in knowing what your former wife was doing?”

  Whittier reddened, then said in a low voice, “No. If anyone was with her, I preferred not to know it.”

  The lieutenant examined him curiously, an expression approaching contempt forming on his face. But his tone was matter-of-fact when he asked, “Then you checked the rest of the rooms?”

  Whittier shook his head. “There was only one more, but I didn’t get to it. I heard someone else in the hall. I couldn’t tell who it was, because the hall was absolutely black. But I got the impression the person came from the room which connects by a bath to Isobel’s. I slipped into the room right across from that one.”

  “Why?” Wynn asked.

  “It used to be my room.”

  “I don’t mean why did you pick that particular room. I mean why did you want to avoid whoever was in the hall?”

  Whittier considered, apparently trying to figure it out himself. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “All of a sudden I was frightened. It occurred to me that if any of the men at the party found me snooping around, I might be beaten up. If it hadn’t been so dark, probably I wouldn’t have hidden. But I couldn’t see at all. I suppose it was fear of the unknown.”

  “Uh-huh,” Wynn said. “Then what happened?”

  “Nothing. I stood in the dark in my old room for a while, brooding about the horrible things Isobel was allowing to take place in our house. When I finally eased the door open, I saw that lights had gone on downstairs. Then I heard the footsteps of two men coming upstairs. I didn’t realize it was a raid. I thought they were party guests, and I was afraid to be caught in the house. So I pushed the door closed and hid in the closet. I thought that once everyone went downstairs again, I could sneak down and run out the front door before anyone could catch me, even if I was seen from the front room or dining room. But that police officer over there found me in the closet.” He pointed to Carl Lincoln.

  Lieutenant Wynn fixed his gaze on Sharon, who looked back at him dully.

  I said, “Don’t jump to conclusions, Lieutenant. Whittier here could be telling only part of the truth. Maybe he lifted the weapon from Miss Manners’ hand and used it himself. She was in no shape to resist anybody taking it away from her.”

  Both Whittier and Wynn stared at me.

  Howard Farrell said, “Sharon had a motive, Rudd.”

  Wynn looked at him.

  “Jealousy,” Farrell told him. “Anybody at the party can tell you she hated Isobel’s guts.”

  I looked steadily at Farrell until he flushed. “Well, you know it’s true,” he said defensively. “It’s not my fault the girl is so nuts over me, she’s ready to kill any other woman I look at.”

  I said coldly, “You sonofabitch.”

  Wynn said sharply, “Whoa, Sergeant! I won’t have that kind of talk addressed to witnesses.”

  “You object to the truth?” I asked recklessly. “Maybe it isn’t his fault that the girl’s nuts over him. But it is his fault that he’s sonofabitch enough to want to crucify her for it.”

  Wynn’s face reddened. “Can it, Sergeant. That’s an order.” After glaring at me for a few seconds, he asked, “Why are you being so defensive of Miss Manners?”

  “The whole thing stinks,” I told him. “The girl was in no shape to kill anybody. She was out on her feet.”

  Red-haired Hank Carter put in the first comment he had made since the investigation started. “Doesn’t the room she was found in connect to Mrs. Whittier’s by a bath?”

  “Sure,” I shot at him. “But the bathroom door was locked on Isobel’s side. Anyway, if Sharon had killed the woman, do you think that in her goofed-up state she would have had sense enough to wipe off fingerprints?”

  Wynn said, “After all, Miss Manners did carry the weapon upstairs, Rudd. You can’t deny the testimony of four witnesses.”

  “You also can’t deny that Farrell a
nd Whittier and Mr. Greco were all upstairs. At least two of them with motives as strong as Sharon’s. Whittier admits he was horrified at what he saw here tonight. He was still in love with Isobel. He spent half his time pleading with her to take him back. Maybe he went off his rocker when he saw the kind of parties she threw. And how about Joe Greco over there? He was as jealous of Farrell as Sharon was of Isobel. Ask anyone at the party about that.”

  Lieutenant Wynn didn’t like my bringing Greco into the discussion. He threw a quick look at the politician to see how he was taking it. He couldn’t tell from Greco’s expression, which remained blank.

  Wynn looked back at me. “Does this girl mean something to you, Sergeant?”

  The question caught me flat-footed. What was I getting so riled up about, I wondered? I certainly wasn’t acting like a cop participating in a murder investigation. I was acting more like an attorney for the defense. One of the cardinal rules of police investigation is to maintain an open mind, and that doesn’t mean you should act as though you had a hole in your head.

  I said a trifle lamely, “I just don’t like to see anybody take a bum rap, Lieutenant. I realize a little evidence points at Miss Manners, but three other just likely suspects were upstairs at the same time she was.”

  “A little evidence!” Wynn said. “She had motive, opportunity and was seen carrying the murder weapon. What more do you want?”

  “Explain the fingerprints being wiped off the handle of the letter opener,” I said doggedly. “And the position of the body. Mrs. Whittier wasn’t killed on that bed. She was arranged there afterward. Sharon was in no shape to think of fingerprints. And she certainly was in no shape to pick up a woman weighing as much or more than she does. She could hardly stand up herself.”

  The lieutenant emitted a derisive snort. “You’d make a better defense lawyer than a cop, Rudd. Here’s what I think of your arguments.”

  Walking over to Sharon, he said formally, “You’ll have to come along with me, Miss Manners. You’re under arrest for suspected homicide.”

  CHAPTER XIV

  IT WAS after midnight when we got away from the place. The coroner’s wagon had come for the body, Lieutenant Wynn had dismissed the lab man and photographer and had released all the witnesses in their own custody with the stipulation that none leave town without his permission. He and Hank Carter had driven away with Sharon.

  I gathered my crew on the front lawn for final instructions.

  “Turn those sticks, the reefer butts and the contents of that bowl over to the lab in the morning,” I said. “Not that it will do much good. I think the vice and narcotics charges will be quashed because Joe Greco was there.”

  Carl said, “We’ll be lucky if that’s all that happens. How come you didn’t recognize him, Matt?”

  I gave him a cold look. Ignoring the question, I said, “Futhermore, Lieutenant Wynn instructed me to warn you guys not to sound off to any reporters about the raid. So you’re warned. That’s all. You can take the rest of the evening off.”

  I got a muttering of sardonic thanks, then they all started to move off toward the F cars they had come in. Carl called to the driver of the felony car he had come in, “Don’t wait for me, Ed. I’ll bum a ride with Matt.”

  As I pulled the rented Ford away from the curb, Carl asked, “What got into you tonight, Matt?”

  “Look,” I said patiently. “I’ve repeated a half dozen times that the guy was going under a fake name.”

  “I’m not talking about Greco. Are you going overboard for this little redhead?”

  “Don’t be a damn fool,” I snapped at him.

  “Well, you certainly went to bat for her. Lieutenant Wynn was right. You weren’t acting much like a cop.”

  “How’s a cop supposed to act when he thinks somebody’s being framed?” I inquired.

  “You are overboard for her,” Matt said.

  “Oh, soak your head,” I told him. “You saw what kind of affair that was tonight. Do you think I could get steamed up over a girl with her social habits? I just feel sorry for her.”

  “Why? There wasn’t a guest there worth feeling sorry for.”

  “Now you’re not acting like a cop. You don’t send people to the gas chamber for loose morals. She’s so mixed up, it would probably take a psychiatrist to straighten her out, but I don’t think she killed Isobel. Basically she’s a nice kid in spite of her social habits.”

  “I’ll concede she has a nice figure,” Carl said cynically. “I noticed you didn’t much like me admiring it.”

  I said, “If you’re trying to get me sore, you’re succeeding. I haven’t got a crush on the girl. I admit I like her. But most of the time I feel more like spanking her than kissing her.”

  “I’m just trying to be a buddy,” Carl said in a soothing voice. “You don’t have to get sore. Can’t a buddy offer you advice for your own good?”

  “A buddy should know the difference between offering advice and sticking his nose in your private business,” I said shortly.

  Carl shrugged. “Go ahead. Throw your life away on a little tramp who will sleep with anybody.” He eyed me expectantly.

  I knew what he was doing. He was risking my stopping the car and batting him. Then he’d know I was serious about the girl. What can you do with a guy concerned enough over you to risk a bat in the nose?

  I slowed for a stop sign, causing a wary look to appear in his eyes, then gunned the car through it. “No takers, Carl. I know she’s a tramp. I still like her.”

  “Okay,” he said in a relieved tone. “I just didn’t want to be best man at a wedding where the bride might expect me to drop by to see her when you were on duty.”

  “That would be safe enough,” I growled. “When I’m on duty, so are you.”

  After dropping Carl off and driving back to the hotel, I had one more chore for the evening. I thought that since Martin Manners had financed the operation, he at least ought to be informed that his daughter was in jail for murder. And I doubted that Homicide would bother to phone him.

  It was past one A.M. by then. I got Manners out of bed.

  “Matt Rudd,” I told him when he sleepily answered the phone. “We hit tonight.”

  He came wide awake. “What happened?”

  “More than we bargained for. When we moved in, we discovered somebody had murdered Isobel Whittier.”

  He let out a gasp. “Murdered her! Who?”

  “Brace yourself,” I said. “They’ve arrested Sharon.”

  “Sharon!” he said on a high note.

  “It’s strictly on circumstantial evidence,” I said rapidly. “There’s a good chance she didn’t do it. There isn’t a thing you can do tonight, but I suggest you get a lawyer down to the women’s section of the jail first thing in the morning.”

  He wanted to know all the details, but I brushed him off by telling him he could get them from Homicide in the morning.

  “The case is out of my hands now,” I explained. “Lieutenant Robert Wynn of Homicide is in charge of the investigation. I doubt that he’ll be there in the morning, because he’s on the night trick, but somebody in Homicide will be able to brief you. Go in and ask for the day-watch commander in the morning. And do me a favor.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t mention I called you tonight. Homicide might consider it interference in their case.”

  “All right,” he said.

  “When you’re through at Homicide, will you drop by to see me? I want to settle our finances.”

  “Who cares about that now?” he asked fretfully.

  “I do. I want to get it off my mind.”

  “All right,” he agreed with reluctance. “Do you think I ought to call a lawyer right now? Maybe I could get a writ of habeas corpus.”

  “You’re going to make a lot of people sore if you try it,” I said. “Judges don’t like to be routed out of bed in the middle of the night. Sharon needs the sleep anyway. She’s so full of liquor and smoke, she’s out on her
feet.”

  “All right,” he said in a subdued voice. “Thanks for calling. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I hung up and went to bed.

  I was up early to check out of the hotel and move back to my own apartment. I phoned the car-rental agency to come get the rented Ford, left the keys with the apartment manager, hung up all my new clothes in the closet, put on my old gray check and drove my own car down to headquarters. When I signed in at eight-twenty, there was a note in the log book that the captain wanted to see me. Just me, it said, not Carl and me together, as is usual when the captain has something for our detail.

  Captain Spangler was sitting behind his desk looking grim. He waved me to a seat without greeting and eyed me heavily for a few moments.

  Finally he said, “Rudowski, if I thought you were trying to be cute last night, I’d have you transferred to the sticks.”

  Some general once said that the best defense is attack. I said, “Captain, I’m tired of explaining that the guy was going under a fake name and I’d never seen him before in my life. Have me ransferred to the sticks if you want to, but I’m not making any more apologies.”

  He glowered at me. “His picture’s been in the papers dozens of times. Don’t you read?”

  “So has Tito’s, but I doubt that I’d recognize him at a party if he was introduced as Wither spoon. Cops would have swarmed all over the place anyway after the murder.”

  “Not until people had a chance to get their clothes on,” Spangler said drly. “Greco is raising hell.”

  “Next time maybe he’ll use his own name,” I said with indifference.

  The captain made a dismissing gesture. “I guess it was an honest mistake. What did you do with the evidence you confiscated?”

  “Had it turned over to the lab. There were four whole sticks, eight butts and about a pint of punch spiked with Spanish fly or something equivalent.”

  Captain Spangler made a face. “Better tell the lab to dump everything. There won’t be any vice or narcotic charges brought. The case is strictly under the jurisdiction of Homicide now.”