Die, Little Goose: A Bret Hardin Mystery. David Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ found a gun on the fire escape where I was standing. I didn’t see the gun. You know I wouldn’t own a gun.”

      The fat, sweaty policeman said, “The gun was up against the rail of the fire escape, like somebody had tried to kick it off but hadn’t pushed it far enough.”

      The white-haired policeman said, “Tell them about the door, Mrs. Mattingly.”

      The plump landlady bit her lips. Finally she said in a faint voice, “When James told me the door was locked, I tried it. The key was on the outside but it hadn’t been turned. It wasn’t locked.”

      Bart said, “In this humid weather doors are warping and sticking all over the city. Jim tried the door and it stuck and he thought it was locked, so he rushed out on the fire escape, that was all.”

      “Did the door stick when you tried to open it, Mrs. Mattingly?” the white-haired detective asked.

      Mrs. Mattingly looked despairingly at Lennox. “Oh, James,” she said, “I hate to do this to you. I know you’re no murderer. I know you loved Daphne as we all did.” She looked at Bart. “James Lennox is one of my oldest friends, Mr. Hardin. You know that. We trouped together in Mantell’s Repertory more than thirty years ago. But I have to tell the truth. The door wasn’t stuck. It opened quite easily.”

      The precinct officer addressed Romano. “The body’s upstairs, Lieutenant,” he said. “Along with an assistant M.E., and an assistant D.A. and I.D. men and some more plain cops. Maybe you want to take a look.”

      Romano nodded. Grierson and Hardin followed him up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, the door to Lennox’s room stood open. Policemen were ransacking it. It was a fair-sized room and it was comfortably furnished. The window opened on a fire escape and an airshaft and faced the blank wall of the next buliding, but Bart knew that a peculiar downdraft in the areaway made it airy except in this still, hot weather. The old man who had endured grim poverty for many years had found a haven here with Bart’s help. The walls were covered with theatre programs, framed pictures of himself and other actors in scenes from forgotten plays.

      The next room, much larger, was the one occupied by Adrian and Daphne Temple. It had windows on both the front and side of the house. In front was a bath and Elsa Travers’ room and a large linen closet.

      Even in the pallor of death, Daphne Temple seemed petite and childish. She lolled in her chair now, her back to the wall behind the bed, her profile to the window on the fire escape. She had been shot at close range through the heart. There was a great dark stain drying on the blue silk robe which she wore over a lace nightgown. Her eyes were closed as if she had been sleeping when a murderer’s bullet blasted her life away.

      An identification man held up the gun on a peg board for Romano’s inspection. “Army forty-five,” he said, “with the serial number filed off. It was warm when the precinct man found it and the barrel smelled of cordite. Two shots fired. No sign of the other one. It might have been fired at some other time, of course. The slug went right through her and imbedded itself in the back of the chair.” He palmed a misshapen pellet, showed it to the lieutenant. “We pried it out. This is it. It’s a forty-five, that’s for certain. Ballistics can tell us more.”

      The assistant D.A. was a youngish, tired-looking man named Senber. He had deep, liverish circles beneath his eyes. “Well, you Homicide guys have got an easy one this time,” he said. “It’s too hot to work hard, anyway. They found the old man on the fire escape a second after he chilled her, and he told a lot of lies about locked doors to explain how he got there.”

      “You think you’ve got enough to ask for an indictment?” Romano asked.

      “Enough?” the D.A. said. “How much you want? This is what you cops call catching a criminal with the meat in his mouth. Don’t try to make it complicated. It’s too damned hot for complications.”

      Romano turned to the medical examiner. He was a spindly, middle-aged man who did not seem to be affected by the heat. His cord suit was crisply creased and his white collar wasn’t wilted. Romano said, “Anything to tell me, Dr. Grew?”

      Grew shrugged. “It’s pretty cut and dried,” he answered. “I never say too much about the probable time of death without an autopsy. That would be particularly hard because of the blood coagulation and so forth of a woman who is paralyzed. But it’s a cinch she wasn’t killed very long ago and the time of ten fifty-five that is set by the two women who heard the shot would be just about right, I’d think. Oh, there’s one queer thing.”

      “What?” Romano asked.

      The M.E. leaned forward and plucked a small object off the blue robe. “Feathers,” he said. “White feathers like this one. We found a few of ’em. Some were stuck to the wound. Some others were on the robe or scattered around her feet and a few were on the fire escape where the old man was standing.”

      Romano took the feather. “Feathers,” he said. He handed it to Grierson. “You make anything out of this feather, Grierson?” he asked.

      Grierson looked at the feather briefly.

      “I can tell you one thing,” he answered. “I can tell you what kind of feather it is. My brother-in-law runs a poultry farm on Long Island, and I go out there a lot.

      “This is a goose feather.”

      three

      Two young men in white coats arrived, and at a nod from the medical examiner they began to lift the small body from the wheelchair onto a canvas stretcher. Hardin turned abruptly and walked out into the hall. Romano followed him.

      Romano said, “Don’t take it too hard, honey boy. The jury isn’t in yet. Like I told you, I’ve known the old man a long time and I’ll give him every break I can.”

      Bart said, “Are you really going to charge this old man with murder, copper?”

      Romano shook his head despairingly. “Don’t make it so personal,” he said. “I don’t charge anybody with anything. I take ’em in, that’s all. You heard what the D.A. said. He wants me to take Lennox in. There won’t be any charge yet, not right away. At this stage we just say we’re holding them for questioning.”

      “No matter what you call it, you’re arresting him on suspicion of murder,” Bart answered. “That will kill him. You won’t need the services of the executioner up at Sing Sing. It’s not just his heart and his blood pressure and this heat will do it. All that he has left is the memory of a long and blameless life and you’re taking that away from him. You’re not only labeling him a murderer, you’re implying he’s a detestable old man who killed a helpless, crippled girl for a dirty reason. There couldn’t be any other kind of reason for a man his age to kill a girl the age of Daphne.”

      Romano regarded Hardin sadly. “You’re making me out a villain because I happen to have the rank and it’s my responsibility to take him in,” he said. “I’m not a villain. I’m just a cop and cops have to do nasty things sometimes. I can’t expect you to see it the way a cop has to look at it, but just the same I’m going to lay it on the line for you. Two women hear a shot fired. One of them is standing right outside the door of the room where the gun went off. Nobody comes out the door. There’s one other way out of the room—through the window and down a fire escape. They open the door and they find a dead body and they find a man standing on the fire escape just outside the window. The man is James Lennox. A few minutes later a cop finds a gun that probably fired the shot on the fire escape right where СКАЧАТЬ