Хорас Маккой: Trapped By Silver

Nickel Detective, August 1933

Death saddles many strange steeds that murder may ride — but none as strange as this.

"THIS IS the kind of a thing," Donovan said, "that makes me wonder whether I got promoted to the homicide squad or demoted to it. Here's the case of that Rushing guy who's been buried a week and I got to find out if he died according to Hoyle."

"I thought the newspapers said it was heart disease," I said.

"They did. So did the medical examiner and a whole raft of doctors. Chances are, that's what it was, too. But it seems the old guy left something in his will that's made somebody suspicious."

"What was it?"

"That's what I got to find out. Wanna come along?"

On the way to the attorney's, Donovan told me about Dr. Sidney Rushing. He said it proved that fable about bread cast upon the waters.

When Dr. Rushing came out of medical school he settled in a small town in Texas and it wasn't long before he had built up a practice. Which wasn't hard, Donovan said, what with him treating people for what they could afford to give him, potatoes, pigs, chickens and sometimes nothing but a prayer and a thank you. He took himself and his work and his Hippocratic oath seriously and if anybody was sick and needed a doctor he went, treating black and white and rich and poor alike. Over a period of years he had acquired in payment for services rendered a miscellany of things, including several plots of barren land which had been worthless for five generations. But three thousand feet under that whole country lay an ocean of oil.

"They say one company paid him $600,000 cash for a little piece of ground," Donovan said, "which is big-league dough in anybody's language. After that he mixed business with doctoring and from then on it reads like a fairy story. They say he finally quit with fifty millions. That sanitarium he built in Brooklyn cost a million-"

"I remember reading about that," I said.

"Sure, you remember it. Well," Donovan went on, "he had enough dough to go haywire. He did. He got married. He got married and came East. That's all I know about him."

We reached the attorney's office. His name was Morton. He greeted Donovan by name, shook hands with me.

"There is no doubt in my mind that Dr. Rushing's death was due to natural causes," he said. "For many years he had been suffering with heart disease, but he was a bit eccentric and one of the stipulations in his will was that the Police Commissioner should testify in writing that everything was regular before I could administer the estate. I suppose the commissioner told you that?"

"He gave me a list of names, and told me to have a look around," Donovan said, "but I don't see how I can do much looking a week after he's buried. How come we started so late, Mr. Morton?"

"To tell you the truth, Sergeant," Morton said, "I forgot about that stipulation in his will until last night when I read it over again." He smiled flatteringly. "Then I telephoned the commissioner for his best man.""And they were all so busy playing pinochle the inspector gave it to me," Donovan said. "Who got the most of his money?"

"Much of the estate went to charity," Morton said. "Dr. Rushing was the supporter of half a dozen welfare organizations. But two millions in cash and the Petroleum building on Seventy-fourth street were left to his son, Thomas."

"You were one of the old guy's closest friends, Mr. Morton. Ever hear him say anything about anybody having it in for him?"

"You mean someone might have killed him?" Donovan nodded. "Heavens no," Morton exclaimed.

"Everybody loved him. Oh, no, nothing like that, Sergeant. It won't be necessary for you to spend a lot of time investigating. Everything was regular enough. But just to clear my own conscience, make it legal-" "Sure, sure, I know. Mind reading me the exact part of his will that asks you to do this?"

Morton picked up the will which was opened to the page he wanted. He read:. . and in the event of my death, irrespective of the diagnosis of my physicians and their report of the conditions and causes, I stipulate that my estate will not be filed for administration until the Commissioner of Police shall attest in a signed statement that said death was due to natural causes."

"Anybody else know about that paragraph?"

"No, of course not."

"Now whatever do you suppose he put that in there for?" Donovan asked.

"Dr. Rushing was a bit eccentric," Morton said.

"That part of it's eccentric enough. Well, I'll have a look around," Donovan said, going out.

NEXT WE WENT to Dr. Strube's, the physician who had attended Dr. Rushing and who had signed the death certificate. When Donovan explained what he was doing Dr. Strube laughed and asked him what he expected to find.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Donovan said, unruffled, "but I got a report to make to the Commissioner and it would be a hell of a report unless it said I visited you."

"I suppose it would," Dr. Strube admitted, "but the police have undertaken quite a healthy job if they're going to investigate all the angina pectoris deaths in this town."

"Just what is that in plain English?" Donovan asked.

"A sudden and severe contraction of the chest. In this case it meant suffocation of the heart."

"Were you there when he died, Doctor?"

"No, but I went immediately on being telephoned. He had been dead no more than an hour. That his death was perfectly natural admits of no doubt."

"Who telephoned you?"

"Jenkins. He-"

"Jenkins. Would that be the butler?"

"It is," Dr. Strube replied.

"Well, it's regular enough up to that point," Donovan said dryly, "even the butler's name was Jenkins."

Dr. Strube seemed suddenly to realize that the police were investigating a case wherein he had signed a certificate of natural death. He was plainly concerned with his professional reputation.

"What's this all about, Sergeant? Why is the homicide squad interested in Dr. Rushing?"

Donovan patiently explained the stipulation in the will. Dr. Strube was much relieved.

"Dr. Rushing was very eccentric," he said, feeling better.

Donovan said yes, he understood that was the general opinion. He apologized for disturbing Dr. Strube and we left. I complained to Donovan I couldn't see the sense of all this. "Neither can I, but that's what a man gets for being on the force," he said. "There are a lot of things I'd rather be doing but as long as I work for a living I guess I got to do what I'm told." "But why drag me along?"

"For no good reason," he said, "except I wanted somebody to do the chauffeuring. You'd ought to remember what I told you about bread cast on the waters."

The mortuary was next. The chief undertaker was as much surprised to see Donovan as the others. He asserted that he had a copy of the death certificate and that everything was regular and normal and that Donovan could put that in his report.

Donovan said he'd do that little thing. "Now we only got one more place to go," he said, when we were outside. "We'll visit the old guy's house and then we're finished."

I drove to Dr. Rushing's house on Long Island, a none-too-pretentious estate which certainly gave no obvious indications of the owner's tremendous wealth. It was a modest Georgian house which sat back fifty feet from the highway in a grove of trees and shrubbery. A graveled driveway swung in a wide S to a roomy porte-cochere. It was clean and orderly.

Jenkins met us at the door and escorted us into the drawing room, saying he would get Mr. Thomas. I moved around the room, admiring some fine prints on the wall while Donovan just sat and stared at the floor.

In a minute or two Thomas Rushing came downstairs. He was twenty-three, neatly-dressed, a not unhandsome boy. He did not seem greatly surprised to see Donovan. He offered a drink, which Donovan refused, and sat down.