Richard Deming: Tweak the Devil’s Nose

Irritably he glanced from me to Mrs. Knight, who sullenly waited beside him, then back at me again. “Or a woman in man’s clothes. For that matter, who said it was a man? The only person who saw the poisoner was the waiter, and he’s dead. Also, poison is a woman’s weapon.”

I grinned at him. “That’s an old wives’ tale. At least half the famous poisoners in history were men.”

“And at least half the famous women in history were poisoners,” he snapped back, allowing his opinion of womanhood in general to shade his recollection of history.

I said, “Just remember our agreement, Inspector. Twenty-four hours.”

He gave me a sour look, but nodded his head. “It’ll be at least that before we’re ready to lodge a formal charge anyway.” Turning to his prisoner, he said, “Let’s go, lady.”

Since we had come in my car, Fausta and I dropped Day and Mrs. Knight at Headquarters, then proceeded on to the nearest bar, where Fausta had a plain Coke, but I, lacking her prejudice against drinking before lunch, ordered a rye and water.

When over our drinks I had explained developments to Fausta, she asked, “You think perhaps I am in no more danger then?”

“You’ll continue to have me around as a bodyguard until they get a confession out of Mrs. Knight,” I told her. “There’s a better case against her than any we’ve had yet, but I don’t like her reaction.”

“How do you mean, Manny?”

“She’s not scared enough. Oh, she’s scared all right, but no more than any innocent person might be when suddenly accused of murder. And she exhibits just the right amount of indignation. I don’t think she’s smart enough to put on a good act, and if she were acting, I have a feeling she’d overdo the indignation.”

“Then you think she isn’t the killer after all?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t say that. I just said I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re sure.”

It occurred to me I had not yet made my promised call to Laurie Davis, and now was as good a time as any. From the barroom booth I called the private number in Carson City Davis had given me, but it was a wasted thirty-five cents. The male secretary who answered sounded surprised when he learned who was calling.

“I thought Mr. Davis was with you,” he said. “He left your number to call in case I needed him.”

Hanging up, I phoned Murdoch, the manager of the apartment house where I live.

“Yes, Mr. Moon,” he told me. “Mr. Davis and a friend are here now. I recognized Mr. Davis from his news pictures and took the liberty of letting them in your apartment to wait. Was that all right?”

“Quite,” I said. “Mind telling Mr. Davis to hang on and I’ll be there in ten minutes?”

Murdoch said he didn’t mind.

We found Laurie Davis and Farmer Cole quietly waiting in my front room. They were better behaved than my usual run of guests, neither having his feet on my cocktail table as one of the previous night’s callers had, and neither having taken the liberty of sampling my rye.

I offered some of the latter item, but got polite refusals from both. Beyond a friendly but formal greeting to Fausta, Laurie Davis paid no attention to her, his mind apparently being strictly on business.

“I had expected to hear from you before now, Mr. Moon,” he started mildly.

I told him I had just called his private number in Carson City, which was how I had learned he was here.

“I’m not used to chasing after the people I hire,” he commented heavily, but still in a mild enough voice.

“I figured you were getting regular reports on my activities from the Farmer,” I said with equal mildness. “I was afraid if I duplicated his efforts, he might end up out of a job.”

Farmer Cole turned his flat eyes toward me, and Laurie said without humor, “You two seem to rub against each other. If you tried to get better acquainted, I have an idea you’d find you have a lot in common.”

The suggestion stirred no emotions whatever in my heart, and the Farmer’s expression indicated the thought pained him.

Davis, as on his previous visit, occupied my favorite chair, his big body relaxed to the point of inertia and his sleepy eyes half shut. He asked slowly, “Have you made any substantial progress?”

“Possibly,” I said. “Warren Day has made an arrest, but I’m not certain he has Lancaster’s killer. It’s Mrs. Knight, Willard Knight’s widow.”

“Oh? And her supposed motive?”

“Willard Knight had been playing the stock market with company funds. Walter Lancaster threatened to make public certain irregularities in a corporation where Knight owned seventy thousand dollars’ worth of stock. Mrs. Knight knew all about it, and the theory is she bumped Lancaster to save her husband from bankruptcy and prison, then bumped her husband because he was playing another woman.”

In a sleepy sort of way the big man looked pleased with me for some reason. “But you’re not enthusiastic about this theory?”

“I’m not unenthusiastic about it. I’ve still got an open mind. I think it’s quite probable the motive for murdering Lancaster was to prevent his making his knowledge public, but any number of people may have had that motive.”

Laurie’s eyes were almost drooping shut as he asked idly, “What was the name of this precarious corporation?”

As though I had not heard the question, I said, “Knight may have been killed for the same reason your lieutenant governor was, the killer assuming he was the only person aside from Lancaster who knew the corporation was unsound.”

The big man let his eyes open half way. “And who would be the killer with that motive?”

“Whoever was responsible for the corporation’s fix. Maybe a member of the board of directors.”

When no one said anything for a few moments, I added brightly, “You’re on all sorts of corporation boards, aren’t you, Mr. Davis?”

The closest thing to a smile he had yet managed in my presence appeared on Laurie Davis’s face. It was not actually a smile, for that would have required too strenuous use of his facial muscles, but it definitely was an expression of amusement. He looked over at Fausta.

“Your friend fully comes up to your recommendation, Fausta. I’m glad I hired him.” Then his eyes swung back to me. “You consider all possible suspects, don’t you, Mr. Moon? Including your own client.”

“The possibility occurred to me,” I admitted. “Though now I’m inclined to scratch you off my list of suspects.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly. “What did you say the name of this corporation was?”

“I didn’t say, Mr. Davis. The reason I’ve scratched you as a suspect is that I’ve figured out why you hired me. And it wasn’t quite the reason you gave.”

Heavy-lidded eyes centered on my face, but he made no comment.

“You didn’t actually fear any political scandal in connection with Walter Lancaster’s death,” I said. “The guy was so honest, there wasn’t a chance in a million he’d be tied up with anything unsavory. You did suspect he might have been killed to shut him up about a financial swindle he’d uncovered, however, and you weren’t sure just how that swindle might affect your own finances.”

I waited a moment for verification, but when none was forthcoming, went on. “Apparently Lancaster’s motive in calling on Knight before he made his public disclosure was to justify his action to his old college chum. From what Knight’s secretary overheard of the conversation, Knight tried to blame Lancaster for getting him involved in the company. Lancaster hadn’t recommended the stock, and seemingly had a clear conscience insofar as Knight’s jam was concerned, but they had discussed the stock previously, and apparently Lancaster anticipated Knight might blame him. Obviously he had no intention of giving Knight a special break, so his visit must have been inspired by the hope he could convince his friend of the rightness of his decision in advance of the announcement, and save their friendship. I suppose he thought there would be a better chance of this if he told Knight what he intended to do in advance, rather than letting him read it in the papers.”