Том Годвин: Ed McBaines 87th Precinct Mystery Magazine. Volume 1, No. 4. April, 1975

“But Leland’s has eight floors. Do you realize what kind of job you’ve got?”

“We won’t have to search the whole store,” said Corey. “If we find anything, it’ll be on the first floor or basement, in some storage room or out of the way place.”

Some twenty minutes later Corey entered a small room in a corner of the main floor. Through a narrow window a beam of light focused downward like a spotlight. Two white faces offered a startling reflection. Corey drew in his breath. He leaned out the door and called to Gerber. “Come here and take a look.” His hand lifted toward the switch and stopped. “Don’t touch anything.”

“My God,” said Gerber. “Are there two of them?” He moved nearer and then spoke in relief. “One’s a dummy. Weird... how lifelike it seems in the shadows.”

“They inspected the body huddled against the wall. It’s him all right,” said Corey. “I’d recognize him in any condition. I’ve seen his picture in the papers often enough. He’s been in about every escapade under the sun.”

Death had been caused by a blow on the left temple. They noted the dried blood on the forehead. “Hard to believe,” said Corey, “but that’s what the girl saw — trickling down.”

Gerber rubbed his chin. “The window. What the devil was he doing there — and on a piano bench?”

“Notice his pants and shoes,” said Corey. “He was dragged or half-carried some distance along the floor.” He turned to study the female mannequin sprawled nearby. The two men exchanged glances, their eyes lighting up. “I’ll bet...” said Gerber. “Of course,” said Corey. “Black hair — Raymond’s missing mannequin. This is our original pianist.” He felt as though the eyes, filled with urgent appeal, were seeking his. She’d witnessed everything, he thought. Shame she couldn’t talk. What a story she could tell!

Young Arthur Leland, whose antics had created numerous headlines when he was alive, produced the biggest and boldest type with his bizarre death. The papers blared the story: the grandson and heir of old curmudgeon Walter Leland, who at seventy-eight still held an iron grasp on all his enterprises, had been murdered, his body discovered in a back room of the family department store. Most of the scandalous episodes in young Leland’s past were referred to again.

At the detective bureau Corey meditated over the available information. “No answers here,” he told Gerber. The weapon, obviously a heavy one, had not been found. Although they had a puzzle with no clues, the next steps were apparent. Three persons must be prodded and probed until they supplied some real answers. Corey jotted down names: 1. Charlene 2. Leland’s landlady 3. Lawrence, the watchman. Corey was aware also of new questions that had arisen, but these might lead to lengthy investigation. He would concentrate on them later.

Charlene had finished dinner when he arrived, and they sat in the living room, sipping coffee. He made small talk at first, careful to avoid the case, but he knew by the amusement in her gaze that she understood his stratagem and was waiting for the probe to begin. After an awkward silence they laughed simultaneously, and then he said, “All right. First, I’ll offer you an apology — on behalf of the department. You did see what you described and it wasn’t wild imagination or...”

“Liquor?” she inserted. “But I did have two drinks.”

He mentioned the idea that he’d considered for some time. “Your actions were strange. You felt so funny. Could it be that your drinks were drugged?”

She was astonished. “I never thought of that. Do you mean — deliberately?”

“I’m only speculating. I was thinking of what has happened before. You know, some crazy prank. A person puts LSD or some other drug into a drink.”

The idea still amazed her; she could offer no reason why she might have been chosen. Corey turned to the questions that were plaguing him most. First, he wanted more details of the party.

She knew the host, who gave the kind of parties where dozens of people were invited. They milled about, came and went, and one recalled familiar faces but never remembered names. Oh yes, there was a girl whom she had known in her high school days; she told him about Dana Hoffman.

His disappointment over her vague descriptions of the people in the car was quite evident. She believed that the man who sat in the back with her was the same one who had hung around at the party. Who else was in the car? Possibly two people in front. She had an impression of a dark-haired woman but could recall nothing about the man.

Corey’s persistent questions could produce no real information about happenings inside the store. No, she didn’t know how they got in. She was certain about the loud laughing and the fooling around with dummies. “I’m afraid I’m unable to draw the line between fantasy and reality,” she confessed. She told him about her dream with the descending escalator and the mannequins riding grotesquely down. “Would you believe... I think it really happened?” She watched his face. “All right, I’m cracking up. But I can see that escalator gliding down with the dummies perched on the stairs.” What had frightened her? Had she seen a man being struck? She couldn’t reply. She remembered a sudden panic and believed she ran out the door. Perhaps the damp night air shocked her into awareness.

“You’ve seen young Leland’s pictures in the papers,” he said. “Does his face seem familiar?”

She hesitated. “In a way — yes. Something about the wide eyes and the smile. You’re wondering if he was with me in the car. Or... the man in the window.” She shuddered. “I’ve thought about it. I believe he was.”

At the door their glances met, both understanding that there was something more than official about their relationship. “I’d like to know,” she said. “You’ll keep me informed?” It was taken for granted.

Gerber’s task had been to interview Mrs. Weiss, the landlady who occupied an apartment adjacent to Leland’s. She had cried and insisted he was not a bad boy, just careless and wild. She mothered him and he confided in her. Leland was reforming, especially since the last incident. “It was time he reformed,” said Gerber. “Did you know he was thirty-one?”

Corey listened and waited, knowing from Gerber’s manner that important information was forthcoming. The “last incident” was a car smash-up, with Leland, obviously drunk, responsible for the death of the other driver. There had been earlier citations for drunken driving, and this time his license was cancelled. Gerber paused significantly. “Mrs. Weiss said that Leland hadn’t driven his car at all. She knows — the car just sat in front of the building. He was taking no chances on anymore trouble. In fact, he asked her to drive it around the block to keep the battery up.”

Corey’s mind raced over the possibilities. “The question is, what to believe? Let’s say that Leland took a few drinks. Then, forgetting his resolution, he decided to drive the car.”

Gerber shook his head. “Not according to Mrs. Weiss. She insists he was absolutely sober — said goodbye to him in the hallway.”

Corey stared. “Well, what did she see? Who was driving?”

Gerber threw up his hands. “It was too dark to see anything except some shadowy figures in front of the building. She heard a car drive off but didn’t know it was Leland’s. The next morning she discovered his car was missing, and then she was really worried. There is one thing. She thought she heard a woman’s voice.”

“She thought.” Corey’s voice was edged with impatience. “Not very helpful. Is that all?”

“No, it isn’t.” Gerber grinned. “This’ll cheer you. Leland was an impulsive young man. He had a habit of telling other people how he would do things. You might call him the voice of inexperience. Well, anyhow, several days earlier he got into a quarrel with King, the department store manager.”