Ellery Queen - Cat of Many Tails

Nowhere in this classified heterogeneity had a recognizable clue been discovered.

In a sharper tone the Inspector said, “Have you?”

Ellery said, “Maybe.”

The Inspector opened his mouth.

“Don’t ask me any more. Dad. It’s something, but where it may lead...” Ellery looked unhappy. “I’ve spent forty-eight hours on this. But, I want to go over it again.”

Inspector Queen said into his phone, “Get the Mayor. Tell him Ellery Queen.”

He sounded at peace for the first time in twelve weeks.

The news burst upon the City with a roar that soothed even the Police Commissioner. The noise was largely jubilant. The Mayor’s mail increased fivefold and the City Hall switchboard was unable to handle the volume of telephone calls. Commentators and columnists approved. It was noted that within twenty-four hours the gross number of false alarm police calls had been reduced by half and the strangulation of alley cats all but stopped. A small section of the press scoffed, but its collective voice was too feeble to register against the applause. As for the New York Extra, Ellery’s appointment caught it with the issue containing its editorial blast all but run off; and although in a followup edition the paper excoriated the Mayor for “undermining the morale of the finest police force in the world,” the Mayor’s announcement took the sting out of the charge.

“Mr. Queen’s appointment,” the Mayor’s handout had said in part, “in no way conflicts with, weakens, or is an expression of lack of confidence in, the regular police authority. The homicide record of the New York Police Department speaks for itself. But in view of the rather peculiar nature of this particular series of homicides, I have felt it advisable to enlist the aid of an expert who has specialized in unusual crimes. The suggestion that Ellery Queen be appointed Special Investigator came from the Police Commissioner himself, with whom Mr. Queen will work in the closest co-operation.”

The Mayor repeated his statement over the air the same night.

At City Hall, after the swearing-in ceremony, punctuated by flashlight shots of the Mayor and Ellery Queen, of Ellery Queen and the Police Commissioner, of the Police Commissioner and the Mayor, and of the Mayor, the Police Commissioner, and Ellery Queen, Ellery read a prepared statement.

“The Cat has been at large in Manhattan for almost three months. In that period he has murdered six people. The file on six homicides weighs just about as much as the responsibilities I have accepted in taking this post. But while I have a great deal of catching up to do, I am sufficiently familiar with the facts to feel justified in stating even at this time that the case can and will be solved and the killer caught. Whether he will be caught before he commits another murder remains, of course, to be seen. But if the Cat should claim another victim tonight, I ask everyone to bear in mind that more New Yorkers are killed by automobiles in one day on our streets than the Cat has killed in three months.”

Immediately he finished reading the statement, Ellery was asked by the reporter for the Extra if he was not already “withholding information”: “Did you mean by saying ‘I am sufficiently familiar with the facts to feel justified in stating that the case will be solved’ that you’ve got a hot lead?”

Ellery smiled faintly and said: “I’ll stand on my statement as read.”

In the next few days his course was puzzling. He did not act like a man who has found something. He did not act at all. He retired to the Queen apartment and remained invisible to the public eye. As for the public ear, he took his telephone off the cradle, leaving Inspector Queen’s direct line to Headquarters as his sole contact with the City. The Queen front door he kept locked.

It was not quite what the Commissioner had planned, and Inspector Queen heard rumblings of his discontent. But the old man merely continued to lay reports before Ellery as they came in, without comment or question. One of these concerned the marijuana-smoking trumpet player detained in the Beatrice Willikins investigation: the musician’s story had been substantiated and he had been released. Ellery scarcely glanced at the report. He balanced on his coccyx chainsmoking as he studied the lunar topography of his study ceiling, that epic issue between the Queens and their wily landlord. But the Inspector knew that Ellery was not thinking of the unattainable calcimine.

During the evening of August 31, however, Ellery was back at the reports. Inspector Queen was about to leave his office after another day which had contrived to be both full and empty when his private line came to life and he picked up the phone to hear his son’s voice.

“I’ve been going over the reports on the cords again—”

“Yes, Ellery.”

“I was thinking of a possible way to determine the Cat’s manual preference.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“The technique worked out years ago on the Continent by the Belgian, Goddefroy, and others.”

“With rope?”

“Yes. The surface fibers will lie in the direction opposite to that of the pulling or other motions involving friction.”

“Well, sure. We’ve settled a few hanging cases that way where the question was suicide or murder. What of it?”

“The Cat loops the silk cord around his victim’s neck from behind. Before he can start pulling and tightening the noose, he’s got to cross the ends over each other. Theoretically, therefore, there ought to be a point of friction where the noose crosses itself at the nape of the neck.

“In two of these cases, O’Reilly and Violette Smith, the neck photos show that during the stranglings — before knots were tied — the two ends of the cord did make contact in crossing.”

“Yes.”

“All right. He’s pulling with both hands, one to each end of the cord, in opposite directions. But unless he’s ambidextrous, he’s not pulling with equal force. One hand will tend to hold, while the other — his favored hand — will tend to pull. In other words, if he’s right-handed the end of the cord held by his left hand ought to show a point of friction, and the end of the cord held by his right hand ought to show a line of friction. Vice versa if he’s lefthanded. Tussah silk is coarse-fibered. There may be observable effects.”

“It’s a thought,” muttered the Inspector.

“Call me back when you find out, Dad.”

“I don’t know how long it’ll take. The lab’s been overworked and it’s late. You’d better not wait up. I’ll stick around here till I find out.”

The Inspector made several telephone calls, leaving word that he was to be notified the moment a finding was made. Then, because he had a couch hauled into his office several weeks before, he stretched out on it thinking he would close his eyes for just a few minutes.

When he opened them, the September 1 sun was pouring in speckled splendor through his dusty windows.

One of his phones was ringing.

He tottered over to his desk.

“What happened to you?” asked Ellery.

“I lay down for a cat nap last night and the next thing I knew the phone was ringing.”

“I was about to call a policeman. What about those cord findings?”

“I haven’t... Wait, the report’s on my desk. Damn it, why didn’t they wake me?” After a moment, the Inspector said: “Inconclusive.”

“Oh.”

“Their opinion is that O’Reilly and the Smith woman thrashed about from side to side during the attacks just enough to make the Cat alternate his pull from one hand to the other and back. In a sort of seesaw movement. Maybe O’Reilly was only stunned and fought back. Anyway, there’s no point of friction determinable. What slight friction areas are detectable in the silk are about equally divided between right and left.”