Dell Shannon - Exploit of Death

"Take it to the Lord in prayer," said Conway flippantly.

"Oh, don't think we haven't. If it's intended-" Piggott sighed.

"You're just the born pessimist, Matt," said Schenke kindly. "Hold the positive thoughts."

"You're not looking for a home with reasonable payments," said Piggott peaceably.

"Well, no. Maybe I was born to be a bachelor."

At least the day watch hadn't left them anything to do. They didn't get a call until nine-forty, from a squad out on Alvarado-a mugging. Piggott and Conway went out on it. The victim was D.O.A. and there were witnesses: people up the block, one elderly man, who had also been waiting for a bus at the corner like the victim.

"They just came up and-and attacked him. Slugged him and knocked him down-and I guess got his wallet and just ran off. It all happened pretty fast, and I got a pacemaker- I couldn't do much even if it hadn't been so fast-" The couple of people farther up the block hadn't seen the assault so clearly. There were, of course, no descriptions. Only that there were two muggers, both men and probably young.

About twenty feet up the street they found a worn old billfold. It was empty of cash, but there was identification in the plastic slots. At a guess, of course, homicide hadn't been intended. He'd been knocked down hard against the bus-stop bench and probably died of a fractured skull. His name was Vincent Carmody and he'd lived on Coronado Street in the Silver Lake area, by the driver's license. He was twenty-five and he had been good-looking. Piggott and Conway went up to break the news and tell the family about the mandatory autopsy, when they could claim the body.

"He was just going to see Judy," wept Mrs. Carmody, "the girl he was engaged to-such a nice girl-just waiting for a bus to come home, his car was on the fritz in the garage. Just coming home from seeing Judy-it doesn't seem fair- It isn't fair-"

Carmody had been a clerk at a Sears warehouse, with a blameless record. It didn't seem fair, but that was the way things went.

HACKETT WAS THE FIRST MAN in on Friday morning. The heat was getting to him. It had been consistently in the high eighties for weeks, but lately it had been a lot worse. He'd be ready for his vacation six weeks from now-they weren't going anywhere, they couldn't afford it and they couldn't take Mark out of school-and that monster of a dog Angel had saddled them with ate as much as a horse-but it would be nice just to relax and not have to get up so early.

They hadn't got much from Joe Bauman yesterday, just profane denials. They'd tackle him again today. But before Landers came in Sergeant Lake buzzed him and said somebody at the hospital wanted to talk to police, a Dr. Richter at Cedars-Sinai. Hackett picked up the phone and said,

"Robbery-Homicide, Sergeant Hackett."

"Rob- Well, I just wanted to report the death," said a doubtful masculine voice. "We understood the police were concerned. This Mrs. Leach."

"Ieach. I'm afraid I don't know-"

"Well, she died last night. I don't know the details, but the ambulance man said it was a police officer had called him."

"I don't know anything about it. What did she die of?"

"My God, she was in a terrible state- I was at the end of my shift in Emergency when she was brought in- I never saw anything like it," said Richter. "Gross malnutrition, in and she was filthy. Hadn't bathed or eaten in God knows how long. We took it that she lived alone and hadn't been able to look after herself, and she was probably in the late seventies. She was dying when she was brought in, there wasn't much we could do. She went into a coma about seven P.M. and died a couple of hours later. The heart just gave out. All we have is the name. I understood the police had the background-it was an officer called the ambulance."

Hackett was a little annoyed at new business. He called down to Traffic-they would have the records of what went on in all the beats in Central Division, if it had been Central business-the fact that the hospital was Cedars-Sinai said nothing, that was the emergency hospital. Traffic eventually found the record for him. The patrolman was a Dave Turner, the address Banning Street. It didn't sound like any business for Robbery-Homicide, a natural death; but he got Turner's phone number and woke him up.

What Turner had to say put a little different look on it. They'd better talk to this Leach anyway. "I mean, Sergeant, he acted a little bit senile as far as I could see, but he looks O.K. physically. He could've helped the old lady if he wanted."

"Yes," said Hackett. The other men were drifting in. It was Galeano's day off. It still didn't sound like much and it would take some time, but he started out to talk to Leach. Palliser and Grace were talking to a couple of witnesses-probably on that mugging last night. The paperwork went on forever.

It was already at least ninety outside. He had to look up Banning Street in the Country Guide. At the ramshackle little house he waited awhile before the door was opened.

"Mr. Leach?" He proffered the badge. "I'm sorry to have to tell you that your sister died last night. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

The old man peered at him blearily. "I got no money to pay for a funeral," he said.

"How long had she been ill?"

Leach said indifferently, "Awhile. It' was a damn nuisance. Leave me to do the cookin'. She allus did. But it sure saved on grocery money. Yes, sir. Time she took sick"- He worked his slack mouth as if savoring something-"said all she wanted-tea and toast. I brung it to her a time or two, but it was a damn nuisance. But it sure cut down on expenses." Suddenly he cackled gleefully. "I come to see that, first week or so-reckon I got by for no more than six, seven bucks a week."

"Why didn't you call a doctor for her?" asked Hackett.

Leach said, "Doctors, they cost a lot of money."

"You hadn't been giving her anything to eat?"

"She wanted, let her get up and get it. Leavin' me do all the cookin'. She allus been a pretty good worker up till then." Leach gave Hackett a furtive, silly smile. His mouth was slack and he dribbled a little.

Hackett swore to himself. The old man going senile, that poor damned old woman left helpless. They'd have to find out if there were any responsible relatives, get Leach safely tucked away. It was a little mess and not really police business. It wouldn't add up to any charge but contributory negligence, and Leach obviously wasn't in possession of all his faculties.

He started to ask another question, but Leach suddenly turned and went over to the T.V. and switched it on, blaring.

Hackett looked through the house. There wasn't much in it and it was filthy. The kitchen was piled with dirty dishes, alive with flies, and the whole place stank like a sewer. He didn't find an address book or any letters. There wasn't a phone.

The house to the left side was boarded up and empty. The house on the other side was occupied by a fat, mustached Mrs. Sanchez who said in thick English that she didn't know none of the neighbors-she just moved in.

Hackett went back to headquarters and talked to the Health Department. Then he called the appropriate Social Services office and talked to a Mrs. Peabody. They would get the old man committed, sort out who owned the old house, get the old lady buried. And by that time he'd wasted half the morning on it.

Nobody was in the office but Higgins, sitting at his desk, smoking and staring into space.

"Goofing off," said Hackett. "Where is everybody?"

"Tom went to talk to that heister, and Baby Face's latest victim came in to make a statement and Jase took him down to look at mug shoots-not that he'll make one."

"No," agreed Hackett. "I don't think Baby Face is in anybody's records. What's the boss up to?"