Dell Shannon - Mark of Murder

"Oh, God, I wish I was," she said.

"Did a Sergeant Hackett of my office come to see you on Friday night?”

Elger turned away and sat down again. Mendoza couldn't see his eyes, read his expression. "Never heard of him. Was he supposed to? What about?"

"Where were you on Friday evening?"

"Where were we?" ruminated Elger. "Friday. What happened to Thursday? Oh, I remember, I had lunch with that guy from New York-that won't come to anything- and we had dinner at Sardi's. Friday. Friday, I spent mostly with Jeffie, coaxing him to sign that Stoner contract. God, that man. Why do I stay in this business? Thinks he can ask half a million guarantee because he's made one picture and sends the teens. Maybe he can, eventually. I was beat. And we were meeting the studio lawyers yesterday-was yesterday Saturday? I've got a dim recollection- Yeah, so I came straight home. Didn't I, Ruthie?"

"Friday," she said vaguely. "Yes, that's right. You said you needed a quiet night for once, on account of the lawyers next day. We had dinner here and didn't go anywhere."

"You were both here alone all that evening. And Sergeant Hackett didn't come to see you?"

"Nope, never heard the name. Why?" Elger cocked his head at Mendoza. "Now I look at you a second time-Knight Productions is doing a rehash of the Joaquin Murrieta thing, and you're just the type. You ever done any acting?"

"Only," said Mendoza, "in the line of duty, Mr. Elger. You were both home alone all Friday evening and no one came to see you."

"I said so," said Elger. He stood up again, towering over Mendoza, suddenly motionless, hands on hips. The only man Mendoza had run across in quite a while who would be capable of putting Art Hackett down and out.

"What's it all about?" he asked.

"Oh, God, I feel awful," said the woman.

When he got to Federico's out on North Broadway he called the hospital. He was passed around a little, until an annoyed nurse told him that the patient's condition was unchanged, and while they realized that people were concerned, it would be helpful if they'd refrain from calling in more than once an hour. There had been four calls in the last twenty minutes, she said crossly.

Mendoza deduced with no difficulty men going off duty for lunch and taking the chance to call in. He didn't apologize, but thanked her. He went on into the restaurant, found Palliser at a table alone, and joined him.

"Hospital says no change," said Palliser. "They still won't say yes or no."

"I know. Who'd you get, the nurse?"

"No," said Palliser. He looked very tired and grave; he spoke deliberately, looking at his cigarette. "I got a chatty young intern who's very interested in the case. He said that at this stage there's no way to be certain that even if he lives he won't have some permanent brain damage."

Mendoza didn't say anything to that. There wasn't anything to say. The tall Jamaican waiter came up and he said, "Bring me a drink, Adam. A double rye.”

"Scotch and water," said Palliser.

Adam didn't remonstrate with Mendoza for drinking in the middle of the day; he said softly, "Yes, sir. We were all mighty sorry to hear about Sergeant Hackett's accident, Lieutenant. They know yet whether he'll get better?"

"Not yet," said Mendoza.

Adam shook his head. "I'll do some earnest praying for him, Lieutenant. I'll fetch your drinks."

Mendoza took Nestor's appointment book out of his breast pocket and laid it on the table. "Last Wednesday morning," he said, "the call came in on Nestor, and you and Art went over to look at it. While Art talked to the wife you looked around the office, as the Prints boys finished with things. You looked at this appointment book. Carefully?"

"Well, I looked at the last filled-in page to see if his Tuesday evening appointment was listed, to give us a lead. It wasn't. Then I just riffled through it."

"Look at it again, please." Adam brought their drinks; Mendoza swallowed rye and lit a cigarette.

After a minute Palliser said, "Somebody's added a good deal to this, I think. As I remember it, it hadn't much written in it-big gaps on the few pages that had anything on them.”

" Soy del mismo parecer," said Mendoza, and swallowed more rye. "And right under Art's nose too. He had the glimmering of an idea about it, and once I'd thought over what he'd written down in his notebook, I had more than a glimmering… Small steak as usual, Adam. You'd better have a substantial lunch, John, we've got an afternoon's work ahead of us."

"Same for me, medium. What are we going to do?"

"Try to break down the Corliss woman. After I went through that office I thought any finesse would be wasted. I called Jimmy-Scarne and Bert will meet us at her place with a search warrant. I'm not gambling that we'll find anything, but you never know.”

"And what did you see in your crystal ball about her?" asked Palliser.

"Where the money was coming from," said Mendoza.

"And she's a very levelheaded, cool, shrewd female, is the Corliss woman, and something to tackle. The way she took that gamble-my God. And nearly brought it off too, because Art hadn't seen through it all the way… That, I'll lay you any money, was a very high-class abortion mill, and I'll bet Nestor was getting some fancy prices."

"For God's sake," said Palliser. "How do you make that out? Any evidence?"

"A little, maybe. Short way round if we can induce Corliss to talk, but on that I'm not taking any bets… Details later. What did you find out on the legacy?"

"Nothing, because there's nothing to find out. Nestor never had a legacy in California. But I've been back into his bank records, and it makes a funny kind of picture. About the time he told his wife he had that legacy he paid in five thousand bucks in cash-"

"It fell out of the sky on him, maybe?"

"He said, all gratuitous, he'd had some lucky windfalls at Santa Anita. Now listen to this. For roughly the last two and a half years Nestor's been paying some nice round sums into his account every month. Paying some out too, but we know where that went-the Buick, the office, et cetera. It's run all the way between one and two thousand a month; lowest it ever fell was eight hundred. And about ninety per cent of it in cash."

"Yes, naturally," said Mendoza. "He'd ask for cash. He'd spread it out over each month, not to pay in a suspiciously large sum all at once. There'll have been a few checks for small amounts--he had some genuine innocent patients, the ones still on file."

"That's right," said Palliser. "And a couple of times when he did deposit a large amount told the teller-all very garrulous-he'd picked a lucky horse or had a lucky poker session. It does look as if you might have something. But what about this appointment book? When I looked at it before it didn't have a tenth of all those names in it-”

"Can you swear to that?"

"Yes, I can."

"Good," said Mendoza. "Right under Art's nose, by God. The nerve of the woman-I tell you, I don't think we'll shake her. I think we'll have to go the long way round to prove it."

"If Nestor was in that trade it'd be pretty certain she was in it with him, I see that."

"Almost without question. Because the money was coming in hand over fist-he must have been doing a roaring trade-and it's not the kind of business you put box ads in the Times about. Some woman helped him build up that trade. You notice it took a little while-about six months-and then the profits started rolling in. I could tell you a little story about it."

"You always tell interesting stories," said Palliser..

Mendoza looked at his steak meditatively. "Well, Clay said Nestor was out to get his, however it came. Also said that he'd probably have been very competent at his profession. I can see him, when he started in practice, envisioning possibilities in a mill, a first-class one, absolutely safe and reliable. Everything guaranteed. Aiming to draw the high-class females who could afford to pay a stiff price for the super service. I don't know where he picked up Corliss-she's not in our records but I think she may be in somebody's, because on all the evidence she's tough and experienced. I'll tell you what I think. I think that, round about three years ago, word began to get round here and there in the suitable places, about what number a girl should call if she was in the market for the super service. Around all the places where there'd be innocent daughters of wealthy fathers, any kind of money in combination with the kind of girls and women apt to find themselves in the market-married or not. In other words, he was trying to corner the market in that field, and I'd say he made a pretty good stab at it, judging by his income."