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

Her eyes blazed in anger. “He had it coming.” She told what happened after they persuaded Leland to leave the party. Outside, he encountered Charlene and insisted that she come along. They couldn’t talk him out of it. “We were playing it by ear,” Dana said. “Nothing definite, we just thought we’d start some kind of rumpus at the store. But all we had to do was encourage Leland. He pounded on the door until the watchman let us in, and then he began playing around with the dummies. He started the escalator and ordered us to send some mannequins down from the second floor.”

After a while Dana slipped away to a phone booth in a corner of the store and called the newspapers. When she returned, Leland was still laughing and shouting as he shifted the dummies about. Edwards, nervous, said, “Let’s get out of here. The reporters will soon arrive.” When she looked around for Charlene, he grabbed her arm and said, “She’s wandered off some place. Come on — there’s no time to search for her.”

“We sneaked away,” Dana said, “and Leland never noticed. He was busy climbing in and out of the window.” She was astonished the next day when she saw nothing about the escapade in the papers. Later, the murder came as a terrible shock to her.

Gerber looked puzzled. “You left Leland’s car. How did you get home?”

“We walked about a block from the store. Then Edwards hailed a cab.”

“Oh, yes,” said Corey, “the so-called ‘Mr. Edwards’. Can you tell us more about him?” He exchanged grins with Gerber. “I believe the same name has popped into our minds.”

“He was a man that Leland had mentioned several times before, always with a kind of contempt,” she said. “I only heard his first name. He was called Ronnie.” She reflected. “At the party, when Leland saw him, he said, ‘Well, dear old Ronnie,’ in a sneering tone.” Her description brought nods from the detectives.

“Mr. Nasty, himself,” said Gerber.

“Yes,” Corey agreed, “old Leland’s friendly secretary — Ronald Eliot.”

Gerber considered. “The motive fairly shouts. There’s a lot of money involved.”

“Eliot wanted to disgrace Leland, to keep him from inheriting. But why?” Corey sighed. “Sounds like financial hanky-panky. I think we’ll need an audit of all the funds.” He turned to Dana. “Did our friend Ronnie mention his motive to you?”

She shook her head. “All I know is that he was eager to have his scheme succeed.”

Corey probed for other information. The girl had spent time with Leland; they’d had conversations. What names were mentioned? She couldn’t recall any, but wait — he did refer to a lawyer, claimed the man had influenced old Leland, making him think that his grandson was too immature for any responsibility. “When I talked to him,” Leland had said, “he put on an act — you know, the old friend of the family. But I knew what he was up to. I told him he was two-faced, and that if I had a chance, I’d pay him back for his conniving.”

Dana gazed at Corey. “I’ve told you everything. And I swear it’s the truth. Do you believe me?”

He hesitated. “It’s not important whether I believe you. I think I do. But I must discuss this matter with the district attorney. After all, you did help lure Leland to the store — where he was murdered. I’d suggest that you keep your present address. And perhaps you should consult a lawyer.”

She appeared white and shaken. “I didn’t want him killed, even though he was a murderer, guilty of my brother’s death.” She challenged the detectives, her voice bitter. “I was entitled to some kind of revenge, wasn’t I? What would you have done?”

Neither Corey nor Gerber answered.

Within a few days one of the puzzling aspects of the case was cleared up. Through the mayor’s office Corey was granted a conference with Walter Leland. The old man, immediately suspicious, ordered an audit of the company and Foundation books. The figures revealed that Eliot and the lawyer Isner had collaborated in diverting funds to their own accounts. With old Leland’s reign almost at end, and the prospect that control might pass to his grandson, Eliot had evidently devised the scheme to have young Arthur disinherited. With him out of the way, the two men could continue to juggle the money without any danger of discovery.

“I’m sorry to say,” Corey told Gerber, “that we’ve succeeded in giving Eliot an air-tight alibi. He was the man in the car, but he and Dana left in the same cab. She can testify to that. And Leland was alive when they left. So where are we?”

Gerber threw up his hands. “Nowhere.”

“Well, there has been a process of elimination. The question now is what or rather who do we have left? Our suspects might be listed as A and B: Lawrence, the watchman, or some unknown person. Not much help, right?” Corey leaned forward. “Three people accompanied young Leland to the store, and all three are innocent of murder. That forces an obvious conclusion, doesn’t it?”

Gerber looked blank. He could find nothing obvious.

Corey and Charlene spent that evening in a small, cosy restaurant, returning late to her apartment. He had avoided any discussion of the case, even though he knew she was curious. But now, sitting across from her, he noted the question in her eyes and grinned. “All right, I might as well confess. We’re hopelessly lost. I doubt that we have a real suspect. Lawrence is about the closest.”

She shook her head ruefully. “If only I could remember more.” He probed again. What had frightened her in the store? Had she seen someone or been near at the moment when Leland was struck? She couldn’t answer. She could see herself, alone in the dark store, terribly afraid, and somehow groping through the blackness toward the front door — and escape.

He explained his theory to her. Leland, clowning around, removed the dummy from the bench and sat there himself, hands above the keys, pretending to play piano. At that moment he was struck on the temple with a heavy instrument.

“I believe you either saw the arm striking him or you heard a cry of pain,” said Corey. “You were still dazed by the drug, but it was beginning to wear off. Then, only sensing that something terrible had happened, you moved to the door, found it open and went out. There, you became aware of the store window, realized you were alone downtown, but had no memory of events.”

When Cory returned to his apartment, close to midnight, he could hear the sharp ring of the phone as he inserted his key. Listening, he recognized the voice as that of Lawrence. The watchman was almost incoherent, his words tumbling out. “...must see you... right away... something important I’ve got to tell you...”

Lawrence, waiting at the door when Cory arrived, let the detective in. Before Corey could ask any questions, the watchman said nervously, “Not here.” He moved out of the stream of light from the window into the dim shadows that covered the floor. “I think we’d better go to my office,” he said.

Corey followed him across the floor, feeling his way around the counters and circling the displays and racks. At a corner of the floor Lawrence stopped at a small room, flicked on the switch and gazed around carefully before entering. Once the detective had come in, Lawrence moved quickly to close the door.

“All right,” said Corey. “Suppose you tell me what this is about. What are you afraid of?”

Lawrence stood tense and silent, his head tilted as though listening for sounds. He finally spoke. “I made a mistake — a bad mistake. I should have told you the last time.”

“I had an idea you were holding out,” said Corey.