Richard Deming - Gallows in My Garden

I cocked one eyebrow at him. “We haven’t a shred of evidence, and I can’t afford to be sued for scandal-mongering. At least till I collect the reward money on Garrity and Sommerfield.”

“If you get any,” he said shortly.

“What do you mean, ‘If I get any’?”

“Most of the rewards were ‘for information leading to arrest and conviction,’ ” he said impatiently. “Besides destroying the only evidence we had, you cost yourself at least eight thousand bucks by being trigger-happy. So far we have only three bulletins offering rewards dead or alive, and they come to only twenty-one hundred dollars.”

I shrugged. “So what’s wrong with twenty-one hundred dollars?”

He lowered his glasses and gazed at me forbiddingly over them. “It’s customary in the department for at least half the reward money to go to the family of any cop killed during the operation. Two were killed in this one.” His lips pursed, and he said more slowly, “Of course you’re not in the department, and can be a heel if you want to.”

I felt myself flush. “Were both the cops who were killed married?”

“Sure. And with a total of five children.”

“All right,” I said irritably. “Whatever there is, divide it between them.” To Fausta I said, “For those dates we have, you just fell out of the formal-clothes league. You can wear what you have on.”

Her beautiful shoulders lifted and fell. “I do not care. I am used to hamburgers and beer when you take me out, anyway.”

Warren Day said, “Listen, Moon, I want a word with you privately.” He turned to Grace and Fausta. “Do you ladies mind stepping out in the main office a few minutes?”

Both ladies indicated they would not mind. When we were alone, the inspector said, “Now we can talk without using code. Listen, I got an idea.”

“What?”

“If we pull Mrs. Lawson in without evidence, Jonathan Mannering will slap us with a writ of habeas corpus before we can even question her. Suppose we drop out to her home and throw what we got at her without making an arrest? Just possibly she might break wide open.”

“Suits me,” I said.

The inspector cleared his throat. “Listen, Manny—” His voice trailed off.

“What?” I asked cautiously. When Warren Day wants a favor, my name becomes “Manny.” When he gives orders, it remains “Moon.”

He turned his nose toward the window, watching me from the corners of his eyes. “I know this is a little irregular, but would you mind doing the talking to Mrs. Lawson?”

“Why? I have no official police position.”

“Well,” he said, flushing slightly, then ended lamely, “I’ll deputize you and make it official.”

“No, thanks.”

He turned his face from the window to face me. “Listen, Manny, it’s not often I ask you a favor.” I didn’t say anything.

“We’ve known each other a long time. Why, I practically regard you as a brother—”

“Son would be more appropriate,” I interrupted.

“As a son, then,” he said agreeably. “It’s not very much to ask. It’s not that I’m afraid to tell her, understand. But you’ve got a knack at that sort of thing. I’ve often said to the chief, if there’s one guy who knows how to worm a confession—”

“Cut it out,” I said boredly. “I’ll confront your ladylove.”

“She’s not my ladylove!” Day shouted.

“All right. She’s not your ladylove. She’s just another suspect. But if I do it, I want to do it my way.”

“Sure, Manny,” he said, relieved. “Any way you want.”

“Then I want everyone involved in this thing out to the Lawson estate this afternoon. That means Jonathan Mannering, Gerald Cushing, Abigail Stoltz, and Arnold Tate. I’ll get Grace there, and the rest are already there.”

“You mean you’re going to jump Mrs. Lawson in front of everybody?” he said in astonishment.

“I mean I want everyone there.”

“What you intending to pull?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” I said, rising. “Go beard the lady yourself, if you don’t like my way of doing it.”

“I like it fine,” he said hurriedly. “Don’t be so touchy. I’ll have everybody lined up in the drawing-room at three p.m. How’s that?”

“Make it the veranda,” I suggested. “It’s cooler out there.”

Since it was nearly noon, my two female satellites and

I took a cab to El Patio and had lunch there. Grace hardly ate a thing, being too concerned over the identity of whoever had been trying to kill her.

“Is it one of the servants?” she asked for the fifth time, then added quickly, “I mean besides Maggie or Edmund or Jason?”

“That leaves Kate and Karl,” I said. “Stop asking questions and eat. You didn’t have any breakfast to speak of, either.”

Just before three we had Mouldy Greene drive us over to the Lawson house in his convertible. I left him on guard over the several cars parked in the garage and on the courtyard, in the remote event that our killer might try an escape by automobile.

“Don’t let anyone at all drive out of here without an okay from me first,” I instructed him.

“Check,” he said, eying the police car parked in front of his convertible dubiously.

“Except Inspector Warren Day,” I added quickly.

We found Inspector Day, accompanied by Hannegan, impatiently awaiting us on the front porch. All the people I had requested were gathered there, also.

Ann Lawson and Douglas Lawson sat side by side on the canvas porch swing. Abigail Stoltz reclined in one of those canvas lawn chairs which let back until you are lying nearly horizontal. Gerald Cushing and Jonathan Mannering sat on straight canvas-backed chairs with wooden arm rests. Arnold Tate was seated on the railing, facing inward, but jumped to his feet when he saw Grace.

The four remaining servants stood, as did the inspector and Hannegan, also, though there were two more canvas chairs and a wicker settee still vacant.

“We’re not late, are we?” I asked, glancing at my watch.

“Not very,” the inspector said sourly. I glanced around at the group, noting nothing but polite curiosity on any of the faces except that of Gerald

Cushing. Cushing seemed to be impatient, glancing at his watch twice in rapid succession, as though the first time he looked by habit, but forgot to note the time.

“Well, get on with it,” Day said testily. To the group he explained, “Moon here is temporarily in charge.” His eyes touched Ann, then shifted to the space between her and Doctor Lawson, and his tone disclaimed responsibility for anything which might now happen. “I don’t know what Moon intends to do, but for the moment he has the backing of the police department.”

Arnold Tate had led Grace over to the wicker settee, and they were seated together holding hands. I partially seated myself on the veranda rail, with my feet still flat on the floor, and Fausta perched on the rail by my side.

I said, “We’ve called this gathering for a specific purpose. Inspector Day and I finally know who is responsible for young Don’s death and for the attempts on Grace.”

From the corner of my eye I could see the inspector flush, then his expression faded into a strained grimace of agreement.

“However, we haven’t any proof,” I went on. “If we made an arrest, I have no doubt the criminal could successfully beat the case in court, for there isn’t a shred of evidence. The whole solution is based on logical deduction — largely by Inspector Day.”

No one said anything. Twelve faces were merely attentive. Hannegan’s was inscrutable, and Warren Day’s indicated a struggle between a desire to take a bow and the wish that his name had been left out of things entirely.