Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Smoking Chimney

“No. I don’t think Mr. Pressman confided in his wife — particularly of late. No one knew about it, except Karper and myself.”

“And Mr. Pressman, of course?”

“Oh, yes, naturally.”

“Tell me more about what they had in common,” the district attorney commanded.

“Pressman had let Karper in on a quarter of those oil rights. No one knew anything about it. Ostensibly Karper hated Pressman. In reality, they were partners to the extent of a quarter interest in this oil business.”

Duryea thought that over. Abruptly, he said, raising his voice so Eva Raymond could hear every word: “All right, Stanwood, I’m going to be frank with you. There’s evidence indicating you may have been short in your accounts. There’s also evidence indicating Mr. Pressman may have found out about that shortage, and may have been preparing to do something about it unless you made restitution. What have you to say to that?”

Stanwood became properly indignant. “Mr. Duryea! Are you accusing me of embezzling money?”

“Not yet,” Duryea said patiently. “I’m asking questions. But make no mistake about it. The accusation may come later — unless those questions are satisfactorily answered.”

Eva Raymond’s voice came from the inner office. “Well, I can tell you the answer to that, Mr. Duryea. Every penny that you think was short was deposited—”

“Wait a minute, Eva,” Harvey interrupted, moving forward to stand in the door. “Let me answer this question. I’m afraid there are some things which even you don’t know.”

“Go ahead and answer it,” Duryea said.

Stanwood said: “Because the transactions between Mr. Karper and Mr. Pressman were so highly confidential, the financial matters were handled in an irregular manner. Such expenditures as Mr. Pressman made on behalf of the joint venture were taken out of the business without any form of voucher or any record whatever. The funds were simply lifted bodily out of Pressman’s business.”

“And then?” Duryea asked.

“And then,” Stanwood said, “when the amounts became large enough, I would get in touch with Mr. Karper, tell him how much we had expended, how much his contribution was to be, and Mr. Karper would give me that amount in cash. I’d take it and deposit it, in such a way that there would be no real record of that transaction as a deposit... In other words it would simply balance the money which had been lifted from the business without vouchers.”

“A highly irregular procedure,” Duryea said.

“It was necessary in order to preserve absolute secrecy.”

“And your conversation with Karper had to do with getting the books balanced?”

“No,” Stanwood said, “it didn’t. As a matter of fact, it happened that I had taken up the matter of Karper’s balance with him the day Mr. Pressman died. Although, of course, neither of us knew of his death at that time. In fact, as I understand the matter, our adjustment was made several hours before Pressman’s death.”

“And what happened?”

“Mr. Karper gave me quite a large amount of cash. I used that cash to balance the shortages which had been incurred because of joint expenditures.

“The way Mr. Pressman insisted upon this business being handled would have made it appear I was short — during the intervals between the expenditures and the receipt of Karper’s remittances — although that hadn’t ever occurred to me until just now. You see, since Mr. Pressman knew all about it, and wanted it handled that way — but in the event of his death — well, I can see how you were misled, Mr. Duryea.”

“Can you make me a list of those joint interests?” Duryea asked.

“I could,” Stanwood said with proper hesitancy, “but I don’t see any reason for doing so.”

“I want to have them.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Duryea. I’d have to have a written authorization from both Mrs. Pressman and Mr. Karper before I could do that. You’ll appreciate my position. I’m a subordinate, an employee. I have no right whatever to take the responsibility of making decisions.”

“And I think you understand my position,” Duryea said. “I’m a district attorney investigating a murder, and I’m not going to be stalled off.”

“Yes, I can appreciate your position.”

Duryea said: “Very well then, get busy and make out a list of those expenditures. If you need permission from Mrs. Pressman and Mr. Karper, get that permission, but get me the list.”

Stanwood said: “Very well, Mr. Duryea,” and then to Eva, “I don’t think I’ll wait for you, Eva. I’ve been on the go all day, and I’m about dead.”

“You’d better wait,” Eva called. “I won’t be very long. Will I, Mr. Duryea?”

“I don’t know,” Duryea said. “It depends on how truthful you are,” and closed the door.

Jane Graven regarded Gramp Wiggins with the suspicion reserved for salesmen, reporters, and income tax auditors.

Gramps smiled back at her, and the twinkle in his eyes, the friendliness of manner, and that slight air of wistfulness which was at times so characteristic of him, softened the shell of her reserve.

“Just wanted to find out one or two things about Mr. Pressman,” Gramps said. “Just a question or two.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t answer questions about Mr. Pressman’s affairs... You aren’t connected with the police, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Ain’t exactly just snoopin,” either,” Gramps explained. “Sort of interested.”

“Just what did you want to know?”

“How long’s he been married?” Gramps asked.

“About five years.”

“Hmmm... Wife younger than he is?”

“Yes.”

“Much?”

“Quite a bit.”

“Got along all right, didn’t they?”

Jane Graven’s delicately arched eyebrows rose perceptibly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Just wanted to know if they got along all right,” Gramps said.

“I’m afraid, Mr.—”

“Wiggins.”

“I’m afraid, Mr. Wiggins, that I can’t help you at all. You’ll have to ask Mrs. Pressman anything you wish to know about her domestic affairs. I am merely Mr. Pressman’s secretary.”

“How long had he had that cabin up there at Petrie?”

“I can’t answer that question. Mr. Pressman didn’t see fit to confide in me. He merely gave me instructions about the matters he wanted handled.”

“Tell me somethin’ about Pressman. Had he ever been poor an’ lived in a cabin?”

“He was a prospector for several years — before he struck oil.”

“I sorta thought so. When you see a man take as good care of a cabin as that — bet he got kinda homesick at times, wantin’ to be out somewhere all alone, bachin’ it in a cabin.”

She didn’t say anything.

“And how about Stanwood?” Gramps asked.

“What about him?”

“What does he do? Where does he have his office?”

She smiled, motioned toward the open door. “That’s his office. He isn’t in. He is an accountant and auditor for the business.”

Gramps’ eyes twinkled friendly understanding. “Well now, p’r’aps you could tell me just a little about Stanwood.”

“Why should I?”

“I’ll put it to you the other way,” Gramps countered. “Why shouldn’t you?”

“Just what business is it of yours?”

“Well now,” Gramps said, “I’ll tell you. My granddaughter married the district attorney up in Santa Delbarra County, and I’m just sort of tryin’ to give the boy a hand.”

“Does he know it?” Jane Graven asked, her eyes softening somewhat.