Дэвид Балдаччи - One Good Deed

“Anybody else?”

“His secretary, Desiree Lankford, let me in the house yesterday.”

“Did she let you out?”

“No.”

“So you got no alibi?”

“Well, when was the man killed?”

“We don’t know exactly. But he’d been dead a while, I can tell you that. Coroner will be working up a more exact time, but it won’t be to the minute, I can tell you that.”

“Hang on, Lucas Tuttle was supposed to meet Jackie at her house at nine o’clock last night. It was all arranged.”

“I doubt he made that meeting, son.”

“When did you find his body?”

“About two o’clock this morning. I just got back from there and came straightway here.”

“Why’d you go out there that late?”

“That fella you mentioned, Bobby Kent, phoned. He saw the front door of the house open last night. He went inside and found Tuttle dead. He called the police.”

“How’d the man die?”

“He was shot dead with a bullet from a revolver. Right through the heart. Died instantly.”

“There were two revolvers lying on the table in the man’s office.”

Shaw nodded. “Thirty-eight-caliber Long Colt and a Smith and Wesson .32 hammerless. But neither one of those was used to shoot the man.” He eyed Archer. “What would a shamus make of that, I wonder?”

Archer thought about it and said, “The killing was planned because the murderer brought their own weapon. If it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, they wouldn’t have brought a gun. They’d have snatched the Colt or the .32 to do the deed.”

“Now you’re thinking like a detective. How’d you get out to Tuttle’s place?”

“Jackie let me use her car,” said Archer. “I left it over at the garage on Fulsome.”

Shaw looked at his watch. “Well, we’ll go over and see Jackie Tuttle in a few hours. If her father was supposed to meet with her last night, then maybe she can explain why he was found dead at his house.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“Hell, yes, Archer. In for a dime, in for a dollar.”

“Hang on. Does Jackie even know her father’s dead?”

“No. I told you I just found out myself and then came back here.”

“You want a drink before you go?”

Shaw glanced thirstily at the bottle of bourbon for a long moment, but then decisively shook his head. “No. I will trouble you for a smoke,” he said, eyeing the pack on the dresser.

Archer passed it over, and Shaw shook one out and lit up. “See you here at nine a.m. sharp.”

After Shaw left the room, Archer stood there feeling like Joe Louis had just clocked him with a crushing left hook.

“You nervous, Archer, about seeing this gal?” asked Shaw as they trudged along later that morning. The rain had passed, leaving a clear sky and crisp temperatures. They had decided to walk rather than drive.

“Not really. I was nervous when me and my company were surrounded by Germans who outnumbered us five to one at Salerno and we were running out of ammo.”

“What’d you do?”

“Only thing we could think of. We charged their position because it was the last thing they’d expect us to do. Overran their right flank and got back to our lines.”

“Your plan?”

“I admit I was the only one stupid enough to come up with it, but my scouting revealed a weakness on that flank and a sliver of a path we could take to escape. And the captain okayed it.”

“It worked, so how stupid could it be?”

“You’d think.”

“I’m not sure how smart it was letting Jackie Tuttle go back to her house,” said Shaw.

“But Dill’s dead and Draper’s still in the hospital unconscious.”

“Yeah, but you’re presuming that they attacked her on their own. My thinking is somebody paid them to try to kill her. Same as what happened to Sid Duckett.”

“I never thought of that,” conceded Archer.

“You really want to be a shamus, son, those are the very things you need to think about.”

“But Ernestine Crabtree was going to be with Jackie when her father came. And I know she knows her way around a gun.”

Shaw looked at him strangely. “Does she now?”

Archer couldn’t figure out the look on the man’s face, and he was afraid to ask.

The two trudged on.

“What do you two want at this hour of the morning?” asked Jackie at the front door of her house.

She was dressed in the same thick robe as before, and her hair was matted and her eyes were tired.

“I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news, Miss Tuttle,” said Shaw, his hat in his hands. “Can we come in?”

She glanced quickly at Archer, saw his grim look, and stepped back for them to enter.

They sat in the front room. “What bad news?” Jackie asked anxiously.

“I’m afraid it’s your father.”

“Did something happen to him? Is that why he didn’t show up last night?”

“So there was a meeting planned?” said Shaw, glancing at Archer.

Archer could sense what the man was thinking. He’d just gotten corroboration of what Archer had told him.

“Yes. Nine o’clock at my house. Archer arranged it. But he never came. I finally got mad and went to bed and Ernestine went home. So, is he ill? Is that why he never showed up?”

“No, ma’am.” Shaw cleared his throat. “Fact is, someone shot him and he’s dead as a doornail.”

Jackie rose, wavered, and then looked like she might topple over.

Archer leapt up just in time as the woman went into a dead faint. He caught her, lifted her up, and set her on the couch. “See any brandy or anything around here?” he called out.

Shaw gazed frantically around the room. “No, but let me check the bathroom for some smelling salts.”

“Yeah, and while you’re at it, why don’t you check yourself for another way of telling a daughter her daddy’s dead as a doornail, Mr. Shaw? I mean, for Chrissakes.”

Shaw looked suitably chagrined and rushed off in search of the smelling salts.

Archer sat down next to the unconscious Jackie, checked her fluttery pulse, and patted her hands and cheeks. When Shaw came back with the smelling salts, he applied them under her nose.

With a jerk she sat up and slowly looked around.

“I’m very sorry about that, Miss Tuttle,” said Shaw nervously. “I should have found a more, um, delicate way to tell you.” He shot Archer a quick glance.

“Somebody murdered my father?” she said, her eyes welling with tears.

“I’m afraid that’s right. Did he have any enemies that you know of?”

She sniffled and said, “The only one I could think of is dead, too.”

“You mean Hank Pittleman?”

Jackie nodded and gingerly put her feet on the floor. She leaned back against the sofa cushion, took out a hankie from her robe pocket, and wiped her eyes and then her nose, while Archer placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

“When did this happen?” she asked.

“Sometime late last night. We’re not sure of the exact time of death, but he’d been dead a while when he was found.”

“Who found him?”

“Bobby Kent. He called the police. It was around one a.m.” He glanced at Archer. “Archer was out there to see your father yesterday, too.”

“I knew about that. He borrowed my car to go.”

“He said he was going out to try to resolve the debt held by Pittleman.”

“I knew that too, and he did. Got three hundred for himself. He told me yesterday.”

“He showed you the money?”

“Yes. And he gave it to me, too. We were going to take it to Marjorie’s today.”

Shaw looked at Archer once more.

Archer said, “Sounds like corroboration to me.”