Bill Pronzini - Deadfall

“When did you find the two thousand missing?”

“The day after the… after Leonard’s death. The police asked me to make an inventory to find out if anything was missing.”

“ Was anything missing, other than the cash?”

“No. The safe hadn’t been touched; there was still five hundred dollars left in it. No one but Leonard and I had the combination. No one but Leonard could have taken the money.”

“And you think he took it to pay this mysterious caller. For the name of the person who allegedly murdered his brother.”

“Yes,” Washburn said. “He had absolutely no other reason to take that much cash out of the safe.”

“What about for gambling purposes?”

“That’s what the police think. Leonard sometimes gambled here in the city-just poker-but he never used house money unless he asked me first, and then only if it was for a Nevada trip. Besides, the most he ever risked at one sitting was two hundred dollars. He had an ironclad rule about that.”

“Did he tell you when he took house money for other reasons?”

“Usually.”

“Why not this time? Why would he buy information that way without confiding in you?”

“You’d have to have known Leonard,” Washburn said, and there was something different in his voice now: a kind of sadness seasoned with hurt and a touch of bitterness. “He was a very private man. We loved each other, and yet when it came to his family and his business, he… well, sometimes he shut me out. Particularly where his brother was concerned.”

“Why is that?”

“Kenneth didn’t like me, didn’t like anyone who wasn’t straight. He told Leonard once that he didn’t want anything to do with his faggot boyfriend, and Leonard didn’t stand up to him. It was as if, underneath, he… he was ashamed of me.” Washburn looked away, over at Eberhardt’s empty desk. He seemed very small, sitting there-and very alone. “Anyhow,” he said after a time, “that was why I wasn’t invited to the party the night Kenneth died.”

“Was Leonard invited?”

“Oh yes. And he went, even though he knew it hurt me.”

I was beginning to get a picture of what kind of man Leonard Purcell had been. And I didn’t particularly like what I saw. I watched Washburn finish what was left in his cup, put the cup down carefully on the edge of my desk. Watched him hunch a little inside his jacket. Damn Sam Crawford and his mandates about the heat.

I said, “More coffee, Mr. Washburn?”

“No, thank you. It’s a bit too strong for me.”

“I can add some water…”

“No, really, I’m fine.”

I got up and poured another half-cup for myself. When I sat down again I said, “About Kenneth. How did he feel about Leonard being gay?”

“I don’t really know. I suppose he ignored it, as if it were a temporary aberration on Leonard’s part. Leonard was married once, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“For five years. Ruth divorced him when she found out he had male lovers.” A faint smile. “I was one of them.”

“Do you know his ex-wife?”

“No, not really.”

“Was the divorce bitter or amicable?”

“Not as bitter as it might have been, I guess-Leonard didn’t talk about that much, either. She did let him have the house.” Pain moved through his expression again, like something dark and restive just beneath the surface of his features. “He really loved that house. So did I, until… well, now it’s as dead for me as he is.”

“How long had you been living there with him?”

“Two years, ever since Ruth moved out. It was a permanent relationship.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“We were going to be married one day,” he said.

I knew that gays sometimes had unofficial wedding ceremonies, without benefit of marriage licenses, presided over by ministers from the Unitarian church or some other liberal congregation. But I did not want to discuss that sort of thing with Washburn. It was a private matter, and painful for him now-and I was still old-fashioned enough to feel uncomfortable with some of the more open and iconoclastic attitudes of the homosexual community.

I said, “Let’s get back to the man on the telephone. Do you have any idea who he might be?”

“No, none.”

“Was he young, old?”

“Young-twenties or thirties, I’d say.”

“Black, white, Oriental?”

“I’m not sure. Latin, perhaps.”

“Did he have an accent?”

“A faint one. I couldn’t quite place it.”

“Anything else distinctive about his voice?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Did he sound educated?”

“Well, he used proper English. But he didn’t seem very well-spoken.”

“Any other impression of him?”

“I’m afraid that’s all.”

“If what he said to you is true he must either have been at Kenneth’s house that night and witnessed what happened, or he’s close to someone who was there and witnessed it.”

Washburn worried his lower lip for a time. Then he said, “He didn’t strike me as the type Kenneth would invite to one of his fancy parties. His friends were mostly rich people.”

“An acquaintance of one of the guests, then?”

“Kenneth’s daughter,” Washburn said musingly. “She’s the wild type.”

“Wild in what way?”

“Oh, you know, drugs. The whole scene.”

“Where does she live, do you know?”

“With some fellow on Mission Creek. She has a houseboat there. At least she did a few months ago.”

“‘What’s the fellow’s name?”

“I don’t remember Leonard mentioning it.”

“What’s her name? Purcell?”

“Yes. Melanie Purcell. Kenneth’s daughter by his first marriage.”

“Would you know if she was at the party that night?”

“I’m not sure. I think she might have been.”

“What can you tell me about the other guests?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. Alicia is the person to ask.”

“Kenneth’s widow?”

“Yes. She’s his second wife.”

“What happened to the first one?”

“They were divorced.”

“Where would I find Alicia?”

“Well, I think she’s still living at the house.”

“In Moss Beach, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“Did Leonard handle his brother’s legal affairs?”

“No. He didn’t feel it was proper.”

“Who did?”

“An attorney here in the city. I don’t remember his name.”

“I can get it from the police. Did Kenneth leave a will?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Who inherited the bulk of his estate?”

“Alicia, Melanie, and Leonard.”

“How much was the estate worth?”

“I don’t know exactly. Quite a lot.”

“What was Leonard’s share?”

“I don’t know that either,” Washburn said. “Talking about it was so painful for him; I tried not to pry.”

“Do you know if the will has cleared probate yet? If the inheritance has been paid?”

“I’m sure it hasn’t. I’d know if it had been.”

“Let’s assume Kenneth was pushed off that cliff,” I said. “Who do you think did the pushing?”

He spread his hands. “I just have no idea. Someone he was involved with on one of his real estate deals, possibly.”

“Quasi-legitimate, some of those deals, according to the papers.”

“Yes. So I understand.”

“In what way?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

“Did Leonard know?”

“I suppose he did.”

“But he wouldn’t discuss it?”

“No. He didn’t approve, I can tell you that.”

“Did Leonard happen to say anything about his brother’s missing snuff box?”

“No, nothing.”

“Kenneth collected snuff boxes, didn’t he?”