Jonathan Craig - The Case of the Petticoat Murder

Acting-Lieutenant Barney Fells is a Department tragedy, a tough, wiry, graying, dedicated cop who had become so good at his job that he lost it. He had wanted to remain a working detective for the rest of his career; instead, he had, against his protests and threats of resignation, been promoted to acting-lieutenant, a rank he had never wanted, and elevated to squad commander, a desk job he hated.

And so now he sat in his cubbyhole, prevented by his rank and command from doing the work that had been his entire life, forced to watch other men trying to do his old job only half as well as he had.

“Quarter past five,” Barney said, glancing at his watch. “The Ellison girl was killed about twenty-four hours ago.”

I nodded.

“A long time, twenty-four hours,” he said. “Hard grind. Takes the starch out of a man.” He sighed. “Another thing,” he added quickly. “You and Stan are always splitting up. Why do you think we set up detective teams in the first place? So you two heroes can…” He broke off. “Oh, screw it. You're hopeless, Pete. Give you another five years and you'll end up in the same damn fix I'm in. And you know something, smart-ass? It'll serve you right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So smart. So brave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Stan, too,”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long's it been since you ate?”

“I'm never hungry when there's time, and there's never time when I'm hungry.”

He stared at me pityingly for a moment, then sighed again and sank back in his chair. “God, I'd liked to have caught this one,” he said. “In the old days, it'd have been my special meat.”

“These girl-murders are tough,” I said.

“That's what I mean,” he said. “Gives a man something to really tear into.”

“And the newspapers, too.”

“You seen them?”

“I don't have to.”

“They're calling this one the 'Petticoat Murder,' Pete. Of course, she actually died some other way, but 'Petticoat Murder' sounds sexier.” He shook his head. “First time I ever saw them fail to come up with a picture for the first page.”

“The snapshot Stan snagged off her dresser was the only one around.”

“Stan filled me in pretty well, all in all. That Nadine must have been a natural-born little liar.”

“Either that, or having the kind of baby she did, and having it the way she had it could've triggered something in her mind.”

“What are you, now? A psychologist?”

“Well, look at what happened to her. She had the kind of baby that would tear any mother's heart out. And she not only had it, Barney, she had it beside the road out in the middle of nowhere, with not a soul around to lift a finger to help her. And then her husband goes insane right before her eyes, and runs, and she lies there all night with this baby dying beside her and maybe she goes a little crazy herself.”

Barney shook his head. “The wonder is that she didn't go all the way.”

“And when she gets out of the hospital, up jumps her husband and tries to kill her with his fists. He was stupid enough to think she was to blame for it. God knows what he thought. He must have figured she'd been sleeping around with a grown-up mongolian idiot or something.”

“A guy like that's the most dangerous kind of man there is,” Barney said. “As for myself, I'll take an honest gunman, every time.”

“He beat her up twice,” I said. “He came pretty close to killing her both times; and even after Nadine left St. Louis, he kept swearing that he'd get her if it was the last thing he ever did.”

“And he may have done it, too,” Barney said. “That phone call he made about getting whoever killed her — that could be just so much manure.”

“It's pretty hard to make a guess about anybody as crazy as Burt Ellison.”

“He didn't come to New York for the World's Fair, because we don't have any,” Barney said, ignoring me. “Ellison's a psycho. He's a standout suspect all the way; and with me, he's number one. How about you?”

“I'm trying not to play any favorites,” I said.

“You mean you don't want to put down any bets until the horses pass the finish line?”

“I just don't like to look so hard at Jack I can't see John”

“Or Jill,” Barney said. “Never rule out the ladies, Pete. It's the one sure way to end up sad, sick and sorry,” He picked up his pencil again, wrote Burt Ellison's name at the top of a scratch pad, and then sat staring at it broodingly for a moment. “Funny how these psycho cases can be so shrewd, isn't it? They've got some very hotshot detectives in St. Louis, and yet Ellison gives them the slip.”

“Just like he's doing us,” I said.

“Don't remind me. All right; so much for Ellison. Next we've got this character with the lousy manners.”

“Meaning Albert Miller?” I said.

“Yes. Men with the right kind of upbringing don't jump out bathroom windows and leave their company standing in the middle of the floor with his mouth hanging open. Now, do they?”

“Not often,” I said.

“Okay. Albert Miller. No police record, and BCI is checking him in all departments. I know they are, because I made damn sure of it right after Stan told me how he left you standing around to admire his furniture. That telegram you got said Miller had evidence in a drawer of his desk. There was no evidence in the desk, or anywhere else, and now there's no Miller either. We don't know whether he has motive, but we can assume opportunity; and if ever flight was an indication of guilt, Miller is guilty of everything since Cain. He was so anxious to get away from a cop that he dived twenty feet into six inches of concrete. That, Pete, is what I call flight.”

“Almost literal, in fact,”

He wrote down Miller's name. “You put a stakeout in his place?”

“Yes.”

“Probably a waste of manpower. A guy that anxious to leave somewhere sure doesn't figure to come back.” He thought for a while. “We got anything else in his favor?”

“No.”

“Okay; so much for Albert Miller. Now we've got this Dr. Clifford Campbell and his wife, Susan. We know Nadine threatened him with something, but we don't know what. He admits the threat, but says he's never seen her, doesn't know what she was talking about. What have we got on him beside the threat from Nadine?”

“Nothing,” I said. “BCI is still running an all-out check on him.”

“Nothing negative on him so far?”

“No. So far, he's a model citizen.”

“All right. Now we've got Mrs. Campbell. Susan.”

“Mrs. Campbell, Barney?”

“Stan says she's an eighteen-year-old beauty with a pretty fair temper and a shape that'd charge up a truck battery. Right?”

I shrugged. “Right.”

“And her husband's a man twenty-five years or so older than she is.” He paused. “From what Stan says, this Nadine Ellison was one of the most beautiful women he ever laid eyes on. If she and Campbell were up to any hanky-panky, and Susan tumbled to it, she might've decided to kill her. After all, how could she be sure Nadine wouldn't do her out of her meal ticket?”

“If she married Campbell just for dough, Barney, she wouldn't worry about Nadine one bit. In fact, she'd love her. All she'd have to do is get a little proof, and then she could just sit back and let some lawyer go to work for her. In a very short time she would be dragging in a lot more money in alimony than she ever knocked down as a wife. And even if she took a cash settlement, she'd get a potful.”

“You going to tell me you buy this May-and-December business, Pete?”

“Oh, come off it, Barney. Clifford Campbell is only forty-two or-three years old.”

“All right. Then maybe Susan wanted to keep the money she was getting as an honest wife plus the prestige and position that go with being the wife of a big-wheel medico. Lots of girls go for that other stuff even more than they go for the cash loot. Right?”