Ed Lacy - Shakedown for Murder

“Indeed not. Edward would never refer to a patient like that!”

I stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Barnes, you've been most helpful. One more thing—was your husband's hearing aid working that night?”

“Of course. He had several and would have worn another if anything had been wrong.” She got to her feet. “Mr. Lund, you're new to the Harbor, never knew Edward. He was a tender and loving man. I've been sickly all my life, couldn't give him children. Yet he was always considerate of me, never complained, although he dearly wanted a child. Everybody spoke well of him, he was a man in a million, without an enemy in the world. He gave unceasingly of his time and money. Why, he even loaned Mrs. Jenks the money for her son's schooling, for example. I'm telling you this because there's absolutely no reason for a man like that to have been murdered, it's... it's... just impossible!” She worked her ear over for a moment. “I'll do everything in my power to help poor Jerry.”

“That's most commendable, Mrs. Barnes. Did you tell that to Chief Roberts?”

“I did. Landsakes, everybody knows Jerry Sparelous is a bit touched, but he barks, doesn't bite. I've never known him to harm a soul.”

I thanked her again and at the door I asked, “Do you think Jane Endin would have harmed Doctor Barnes?”

The pale lips formed a tight slit after she said, “Get out!” The words came with bullet force.

It was raining again and I sat in the car, slowly cleaned out my pipe and lit it. Mrs. Jenks came running out of the house, a shawl half over her big head. When she saw me, she opened the car door, pushed in. “Drive me to the drugstore! I could break your neck, upsetting Priscilla like that!”

I wanted to remark that I hadn't the slightest doubt but that those arms could break my neck. I drove off without saying a word, then I asked, “Where is the drugstore?”

“Straight ahead on Main Street. Where did you think it would be? You made her sick.”

“Sorry. But I have to ask certain questions and....”

“Why?” she shouted. “Why do you have to ask any questions? This isn't your town!”

“Unfortunately murder isn't the property of any one town. Do you want to see Jerry sent to jail?”

“If he killed Ed Barnes he ought to be hung!”

“The 'if' is why I must ask questions. Like, where were you that night, Mrs. Jenks?”

“Me?” It was a mild explosion.

“Like I said, I have to ask certain questions.”

With a movement amazingly fast for a woman her size, she suddenly put an immense sandaled foot on top of mine, banging it down on the brake, causing the car to screech to a stop. “You dirty old skunk, stop this car this second!”

She opened the door and jumped out. I wiggled my toes. She shook a fat fist at me. “If I tell my son what you just said—I hate to think what he'd do to you! And for your information, I was home all night after I left Priscilla's. Why I even sat up until three in the morning, watching out the window to see if Edward came home. Then my younger boy, Mike, got up and made me go to bed. There, you dirty-minded ferret!”

I watched her walk away in the rain, the jelly-flesh on her wide backside shaking. I drove to Hampton, letting the talk with Mrs. Barnes cook in my mind. The “evidence” against Jerry was getting downright silly, and there were at least five leads that made a damn sight more sense than Jerry's alleged motive. Nelson, whoever he was, could be the 'old goat.' Mrs. Barnes had reason enough to kill her husband, so had Jane Endin—if what Jerry said was true.

Nor could I even rule out burly Mrs. Jenks—she might have wanted her son to practice in the Harbor awfully bad.

Any lawyer could prove Mrs. Barnes was far from positive the doc didn't make two calls that night. Why, I could take the stand and disprove Roberts' “evidence” on the basis of my conversation with Mrs. Barnes. I considered Roberts a hot lead, too. As the guy in Riverside said, not much in the way of a salary or pension for a small-town cop. Not impossible Artie decided to get something going for himself, and Priscilla must certainly be the Harbor's richest widow right now. That fitted, he needed other reasons beside hushing up a town scandal for making such a sloppy case. But—it takes a certain kind of sharpie to make a realistic job of playing an older woman, and Roberts was all lardhead. Of course, you can never tell about motives—he could be framing Jerry merely to spite me. That was fantastic, but then what was my motive for being an eager-beaver in my old age?

However, I felt quite pleased with myself. Detective work was only using horse sense—shame I hadn't been more ambitious when I first got on the force. This job was far from over, though. Tracking down Nelson would be hard, I didn't even know his first name. Probably mean a lot of digging into Doc's past—I had the hunch they'd known each other years ago—and that would require spade work. The thing to do was take a crack at what I had on hand—Jane Endin.

You'd never guess Hampton was only seventeen miles from End Harbor, everything about the town cried money: solid, father-to-son folding dough. The large houses and great estates looking like something you see in the movies, the swank shops—branches of famous Fifth Avenue stores —the expensive cars, even teenagers zipping around in foreign jobs. I had to ask a couple times before I found the watch factory—a new brick building covered with vines and flowers, the windows large and clean, bright neon lights inside. I would have taken it for a small ritzy school.

People rarely question a police badge, the gal at the reception desk didn't when I flashed my tin and said, “Peace Officer. I'd like Miss Endin's home address.”

“This is something, the police phoned yesterday and this morning asking for her. She lives in End Harbor.”

“I know that, but she hasn't been home,” I said, thinking I was wrong not to have tried her house instead of taking the boy-cop's word for it. “Did she have any address here in Hampton? You know, some place to call in an emergency?”

“No sir, we only have the Harbor address for her.”

“I see. Can I speak to whoever worked next to her, any close pal she has among the girls here?”

“I suppose it's about that murder in the Harbor. Gee whiz, we never have nothing here but hot-rod jerks wrecking themselves.” She phoned in to somebody, then told me, “Girl be out in a second. This Jane in trouble?”

“No.”

A young girl in a tight red turtleneck sweater, and tighter jeans showing off her round basketball rear, walked up to me. When she walked the basketball was far from still. “You the detective? See, I work next to Jane. Is she in a jam? When I saw her this morning she didn't act like....”

“Where did you see her?”

“On the Dunes Road. I can't, sleep much when it's muggy and my old man is too cheap to get air conditioning, so I was up early this morning. I drove around and she passed in her old struggle-buggy. She didn't stop, just waved at me. Jane looked bad, like she'd been up all night.” The girl had a jerky way of talking—and thinking, for she reached up to brush her close-cut dark hair with her fingertips... and to make sure I saw her tiny pointed breasts.

“Did Miss Endin ever mention any friends in Hampton? Say, some place where she might go on her lunch hour, or after work?”

“Naw. She didn't talk much. Even though I've worked beside her for over a year now, Jane ain't the buddy-buddy type. You see, she's old, and an Indian. Last....”

“Old?”

“For crying out tears, I bet she's thirty if she's a day. Last summer I suggested we might take in the pow-wow at the reservation. I figured her being Indian and all. Man, she near flipped, told me off. You can't figure a woman like—”