Erle Gardner - Case of the Silent Partner

Tragg looked past Lawley, saw Bill Copeland cat-footing down the corridor, just a few steps away.

“I haven’t any time to talk now,” Lawley finished, and started to close the door.

Tragg put out a foot, nodded over to Copeland, and said, “All right, Lawley, you’re under arrest.”

The man recoiled, then, as Tragg pushed through the door, turned to run. The maneuver brought him up against Bill Copeland’s thick bulk. Copeland clamped his arms around Lawley, holding him as in a vise. “Okay, Lieutenant,” he said without emotion.

Tragg slid handcuffs from his hip pocket, and, as Bob struggled to free himself, snapped them about his wrists.

At the bite of cold steel on his skin, Bob Lawley flung into a wild, hysterical struggling, and Tragg, grabbing the chain of the handcuffs, gave it a jerk which brought a bone-crushing pressure to bear on his prisoner’s wrists.

As Lawley subsided, white-faced with pain and futile rage, Tragg said, “Let’s be reasonable about it, Lawley. Where’s your wife?”

“In... in the bedroom.”

“All right,” Tragg said, “let’s go talk with her.”

“What are you going to say to her?”

“I want to ask her some questions.”

Lawley was panting from his struggle. His eyes were sullenly defiant. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“She... she can’t talk with anyone.”

Tragg thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do with you, Lawley. I’m going to give you a break.”

Lawley’s face showed sneering disbelief.

“I’m going to take these bracelets off you,” Tragg went on, “and we’re going into that bedroom. You’re going to introduce Copeland here and me as a couple of buddies of yours you happened to meet while you were gone for the medicine. You’re going to tell her that I’m a man who can help you out of your scrape, and then you’re going to keep quiet, and let me ask questions.”

“What do I get out of it?”

“I’ll see that you get a square shake, no framing, and no rough stuff.”

“That’s not enough.”

“All right, I’ve offered you the easy way. I’ll do it the hard way if I have to.”

“How’s that?”

“You’ll find out. You aren’t in any position to drive a bargain.”

Bill Copeland stooped down to pick up the detective magazine which had fallen to the floor when he circled Lawley with his arms.

Lawley cursed, launched a savage kick at Copeland’s face. Copeland took the kick on his shoulder, started to straighten up, then changed his mind, picked up the magazine, and doubled his right fist.

Tragg stepped between them. “Not now, Bill. Just watch him. Keep him quiet.”

Copeland sighed, let his fist turn into fingers which brushed off the shoulder of his coat, and said, without rancor, “Okay, Lieutenant.”

He shoved Lawley back against the wall, hard. Tragg took the package of medicine from Lawley’s pocket.

“What are you going to do?”

“Shut up,” Copeland said, taking a handful of Lawley’s shirt near the collar, and twisting the cloth.

The second door Tragg tried opened into a bedroom. The drapes were drawn over the window, and it was dark. Tragg stood just inside the door waiting for his eyes to adjust themselves to the dim light of the room. He could hear the sound of labored breathing. A woman’s voice said gaspingly, “Bob.”

Tragg stepped forward. “Your husband asked me to rush this medicine to you,” he said.

“Where... where’s he?”

“He had to attend to some business which came up unexpectedly. He’ll be along directly, but he wanted you to have the medicine right away.”

“Yes... an emergency medicine... Took all I had last night...”

Tragg found a light by the bedside. He switched it on, and unwrapped the medicines. There were two of them, one an ampule to be crushed and inhaled, the other in capsule form. The directions said to take two and thereafter to take one every thirty minutes until six had been taken, then one every two hours.

Tragg got her a glass of water from the bathroom, gave her the capsules. She swallowed them one at a time. He found a towel in the bathroom, crushed the ampule, and held it under her nose.

For five minutes nothing was said. Tragg stood there watching her. She began to breathe easier. She smiled bravely up at him, and her mouth had the flabby-lipped look of weakness. She said, “It’s a complication of various troubles. I suppose a lot of nerves are mixed in with it. I feel better now. Thank you.”

Tragg helped himself to a chair, drew it up by the bedside. “I don’t want to bother you, Mrs. Lawley,” he said.

She looked at him in some surprise.

“I have to ask you a few questions. I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Who are you?”

He said, “I’m trying to get at the truth of what happened last night. I suppose you know that a warrant has been issued for your husband.”

“I–I didn’t know.”

“If your husband is guilty or if you’re guilty,” Tragg went on, “I don’t want you to talk. If you’re feeling too weak, I don’t want you to try. But if you can answer just a few questions, it will help a lot.”

“Help who?” she asked.

“Your husband, if he’s innocent,” Tragg said. “Your sister, you.”

She nodded.

“But,” Tragg hastened to assure her, “don’t misunderstand me. You don’t have to answer my questions.”

She moved uneasily on the bed.

From the hallway where Copeland was holding Lawley, there was the sound of a brief struggle, a half-articulate cry, then silence.

Tragg thought fast. “The furniture men moving in some things that your husband bought.”

“Oh,” she said, and settled back against the pillow, her eyes closed. “He shouldn’t have bought anything. He’s just an overgrown boy. Money burns a hole in his pocket.” Her face had a creamy tint to the skin, but beneath that was a faint bluish tinge which Lieutenant Tragg had seen before.

As her breathing grew easier, she seemed to sleep, and Tragg tiptoed from the room to where Copeland was holding Lawley. Lawley’s left eye was swelling shut. “Take him out to the car, Bill,” Tragg said.

Copeland took a tighter grip on the shirt collar. “Okay, buddy,” he said. “You heard what the boss said. On your way.” There was no more resistance left in Lawley. He permitted himself to be taken out to the car quietly.

Tragg went back to the room and sat down. He had been there some fifteen minutes when Mrs. Lawley opened her eyes. “I feel better now. Are you a doctor?”

“No,” Tragg said. “I’m an investigator.”

“You mean a private detective?”

“I work for the people,” he said.

She thought that over for a while. “You mean the police?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She started to struggle up to an upright position. Tragg said, “Take it easy, Mrs. Lawley. I’m only trying to find out the truth.”

“What do you want to know?”

He said, “How did it happen that you took that stock certificate from the scene of the murder, Mrs. Lawley?”

Her eyes closed again. “What murder?”

Tragg clenched his hands. He took a deep breath, hesitated for a moment, then said, “We’ve found that stock certificate in Mr. Mason’s possession. He says you gave it to him.”

She opened her eyes — coughed. “Did he say that?”

“Yes.”

“It was his own suggestion.”

“I know. Why did you take it?”

“It was mine.”

“Was Lynk dead when you walked into the house?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes opened, then fluttered closed. “I’m very tired,” she said.

“Suppose you rest for a few minutes,” Tragg suggested.