And kill once more (18 page)

time to ease Sandy Engle down to a horizontal position. It was time for a king-sized yell and the name that flashed to mind was Widdle. I bellowed it once at the top of my lungs, just as Kate Weston came in sight, then bent to look at Sandy.

She was already cold, not breathing of course, and when I lifted an eyelid there was no reaction, no change in the size of the pupil. No use to feel for a pulse, but I did it. I did it knowing that she would be far past any help —gone—irrevocably consigned to join George Engle in whatever was slated to follow their brief stay on earth. I bit my lip and shook my head. Poor Sandy. She had been one of those who really love the gay and vibrant way of living but an eccentric husband had deprived her of two full years of that life. Then last night, with a beach boy named Bowman, she'd recaptured a small part of her world, found the key and opened the door leading back to the bright brittle world she had lost. And for how long?

A few hours. From the half dazed moment when the doctor said she had never really been sick, to the first bar, then a short ride in Kate's big car and another drink and then the picture faded for a time. How long had she slept and who had gotten her out here? A few hours' reprieve. Then her tomorrows snuffed out by a black wire drawn tight behind a jacaranda tree. I straightened and looked down at her. At least one thing was settled—she didn't have to sit quietly and watch others enjoy the full life any more. She was past that now.

Vaguely I was aware that reinforcements had arrived, that Widdle was standing beside me, his mouth hanging open as he stared down at Sandy Engle.

"Better send for the boss," I reminded him gently.

He looked at me, then decided on another errand boy, probably because Bob Widdle had an idea that Bowman should be where he could be kept an eye on. At a word

from him, Cronk worked his pudgy rump into a dog-trot toward the house. Widdle held his arms out and backed a few feet.

"Stay clear of her. Nobody touches her until Mr. To-land gets here."

Nobody wanted to.

It was as gruesome a half hour as I've put in lately, and I guessed that the others didn't enjoy it much, either. We stood in threes, Cronk joining his fat friends when he puffed back into our midst and Kate and Elsa flanking a very worried boy named Bowman—at that moment I might have been born only yesterday.

After the passing of about a hundred thousand years, Sheriff Toland steamed on the scene. He looked at Sandy Engle, then at us. The wire still hung loosely across her shoulders. Toland bent over it, but didn't touch it.

"It's been bent into a pretty big loop," he said to no one in particular.

I said, more to make sure I was there than for any other reason, "It was slipped on from behind the tree, I think. I found it twisted together back of the jacaranda trunk—neck and tree together."

"Who loosened it?" Toland looked at me and I looked back at him. He didn't have to repeat the question. "Now, son, don't tell me you dug in and mussed up the body and got your prints all over everything again. Not another one of these where I got to remember you tried to help."

"Suppose," I said, "you had found her. She might have been there two minutes. Or half a minute. Anyway she looked like hell. So I just stand there and watch her die while ,you drive up from Newhall? Be reasonable, Toland."

"I'm trying to be reasonable, Bowman," Toland said firmly. "So you're not a shamus—so you're here on false pretenses. Have you got to louse things up? All I want is to get to the bottom of this. The way it's going, though,

I haven't really got any problem. All I got to do is wait until there's only one of you left up here, then cart him off for killing the others. Right, Bowman?"

I had nothing to say to that. He turned to his understudy. "Widdle, you phone the coroner's office and tell him we've got some Sunday work that won't wait. Then pick up a blanket and get back here—we'll see how far we can go with this. You've been riding herd on these people and you should be here when they tell me where they've been; it'll keep 'em from forgetting things a little." Widdle went up the flagstones on the double and Toland had another look at Sandy Engle. He stood up again, put a tired hand to his hat, then pulled the hat off and held it in his big brown fist as he walked back to look at the jacaranda.

"Marks of the wire here," he pointed out, mostly to himself. "Not too deep, though. And I guess the source of that wire would have been available to everyone. Just an old coat hanger you'd find in any closet."

No one had any appropriate comments to make, and in due time Widdle returned.

Toland turned to me. "I guess you found her, eh, Bowman?"

"No. Not this time, Sheriff. It was Mrs. Pilcher."

The sheriff raised a questioning eyebrow in her direction and she explained that she'd been strolling down the path and come onto this. She screamed and Mr. Bowman came dashing to the rescue. She hadn't touched a thing.

"I know, ma'm. It's Bowman whose fingers get into things. Now how many of you have seen Mrs. Engle this morning? Before breakfast, say, or just after?" He didn't get any response so he jumped back to last night. "What about after dinner? She around then?"

A damned fast worker, I thought. He caught most of us staring.

"Sandy has been staying in her room since—since you

were here last," Kate said quietly. "Understandably, she didn't want to be with anyone after you found out about—" But I didn't hear the rest of Kate's explanation. I was watching Bob Widdle's face and he was watching mine. There wasn't anything to do but take a big breath and dive in.

"Toland," I cut in. "I know it looks like hell, but I'm afraid you'll have to put me down for seeing her last. Except for whoever got her out here and wound that wire around her throat, I mean. I was with Sandy Engle last night. From evening until midnight, and we even sneaked off bounds for a while. We did have, though, one hell of a good reason."

"That would be a good place to start, son—the reason."

I gave it to him from the time I began to guess that Sandy was being kidded about her illness right on through until we came home and I parked her in her bed. I even gave Widdle a credit line for surprising us. Kate had heard most of it, of course, but the redhead was giving me an appraising eye before I finished and so were some of the others.

Elsa Doyle was watchful, waiting for developments. Dan Pilcher was frankly skeptical and didn't mind its showing. He'd dredged up an old-fashioned match to chew on and it moved up and down between his teeth as he said, "I sure hope you don't see me last one of these nights. Seems like every time somebody's with you late in the evening—" He cut it off when Toland gave him a sharp look but the smirk built around the match lingered on.

"And then you went in and crawled between the sheets, Bowman. That right?" Toland prompted.

"Yes, and no, Sheriff." I fumbled for my smokes and took a little time lighting one. There was going to have to

be a slight variation here to account for the time I'd been with Kate. Neither hell nor high water was going to bring that to light. I blew a smoke ring and said, "Naturally I couldn't sleep, Toland, because—"

"You mean thinking about this girl wired to the tree out here?" Cronk asked wickedly. "How does Toland know you didn't slip back to her room, bring her out along the path to this bench, and tighten that coat hanger around her, Bowman?"

"You'd better examine her, Doctor," I said with mock sincerity. "She had a bad heart, no doubt."

"Would anyone mind if I ran things for a while?" Toland put in firmly. "You went to bed around midnight, Bowman? Nobody can swear to that, but you say it's true."

"Well—" I caught myself. I almost suggested he ask Widdle. "No. I left Widdle after my phone call but of course he doesn't know that I came back to my room."

"He did. I was by shortly afterwards and heard him in there," Widdle said.

"Uh-huh. And when did this insomnia set in, Bowman?"

"About two, or a few minutes after. I walked around the pool once, then into the snack bar for coffee. Widdle was still up."

Bob nodded to Toland. "Two-sixteen. That's when he came in and got the coffee. He left at two-twenty-three."

"He came in at two-sixteen," Toland observed dryly. "You haven't any way of knowing when he left his room, Bob."

"That's right," Widdle admitted. "From about twelve-thirty until he came in no one saw him. An hour and a half or better."

"Uh-huh. Who else was up last night? You see anyone other than Bowman around, Bob?" He got a negative

shake of the head from Widdie, then turned back to the rest of us. "How about it?"

No one answered. I forced myself not to look at Kate Weston, just listened to what she'd say. But she said nothing. I whistled softly.

It didn't improve any in the next little while. Toland questioned everyone in detail but nothing more worth noting was tossed into the pot. When the coroner brought his stretcher down the path and they took Sandy away we followed along up to the house.

The sun was high overhead but food was out of the question and Toland worked ahead, getting everyone fixed as to what time they corked off and who saw who last. I gave it a careful ear because anything I could pick up would help. Nothing could hurt—I was already the prime nominee. When Widdie asked about Kate's time schedule she gave it to him just the way I heard it last night. In her room all evening after that brief swim—a book and then to bed. Not out. When the sheriff had it all down he turned to Widdie.

"This time no one leaves, Bob. For any reason." Then turning to us: "I don't want anyone running around the grounds. Stay in the house or on the front terrace. Got that? Anything I don't need up here is someone else getting it. I'm going to take a run into Lancaster to see those people you dealt with last night, Bowman, and by God they'd better go along with the story you're telling."

Nobody said anything as he went out. I looked at Kate and shook my head.

"I'm sorry," she breathed softly, "to've gotten you into such a mess. I'm—"

"Take it easy, kid," I said. "We'll work something out. We'll have to. Let's take a stroll—at least the terrace is ours."

She linked an arm through mine and fell into step, her high heels ticking along the stone, her fingers sliding down

my arm and lacing with my hand.

But she hadn't mentioned being out last night—neither to me nor to Toland. It wasn't anything new, I told myself. Beautiful women have been making suckers out of guys for a long time now. Marty Bowman was just one of a lineage that stretched back a long way. No, it wasn't anything new but it was damn uncomfortable, enough so that a man ought to try to do something about it.

Seventeen

We stood and watched a breeze whip tiny ripples across the water. Now and then I felt the warm pressure of Kate's fingers in mine and gave a quick return. But I had already detached her from the oneness we had known last night—I was working alone from here in. We walked, leisurely around the oval of the pool, but when we came near the opening in the cypress our names echoed down to us. Bob Widdle stood by the front door of the house and gestured us away from the path.

"The human bloodhound," I said smiling. "If we want peace and quiet we'll have to settle right here someplace."

Kate stopped by the lawn swing. We sat down, and I gave us a gentle push. The swing drifted in smooth easy motion, the light nylon of Kate's blue dress stirring in the air currents.

"Why Sandy, Marty?" she asked suddenly. "George was engaged in a dangerous business and his death is understandable. But why Sandy?"

"I wish I knew," I said sadly. But I lied—because I did know. I was quite sure, in fact, but I no longer felt under an obligation to tell Kate Weston. I hadn't been hired to solve a murder—much less two—and what had

happened between us last night had to stand on its own. It had either been right or it hadn't—and a lie had no place in it.

George's murder was planned; Sandy's was a "must" brought about by a sheaf of white paper—those missing envelopes and the old game of kill once more. It was that simple.

"Marty, let's take them one by one and see where they fit in the puzzle," Kate suggested. "We could run through the list and see what the evidence is against each and who looks like the guilty one."

"Let's not settle on the one who looks most likely," I said pointedly.

"I know, Marty, and I'm sorry. But we're both sure neither of us could have done this—this thing. So knowing that, we could work together, narrow down the field—"

I listened and put in my nickel's worth every little while, but I didn't contribute anything new. From here on if anything looked hot, Marty Bowman was strictly for himself, but I went along with her on the surface. She dug into Cronk first and went through how he wanted to let well enough alone when George was pulled out of the water and how he would surely be tried for posing as an M.D. and had a lot to gain by George's death.

"Maybe he isn't too badly off after all," I said. "Look at it this way. If he'd cut someone or loused up a diagnosis and killed a patient there'd be pure hell to pay. He didn't, though. He just slipped through whoever is supposed to screen the medical profession, as far as we know. This will embarrass more people than Cronk, I'd guess, but it's even money that they'll ease him out with very little publicity and a small fine. Why should he get a sweat up now? If he didn't kill Engle he hasn't a thing to worry about that the rest of us don't—by the way, what do you think of Toland?"

"I want to stick to Cronk."

"All right—but you'll have to admit that he's done some clever broken-field running Kate. He's pretty well clear so far. After the story he handed Toland about keeping quiet so as not to scare off the killer, it's a wonder they didn't give him a deputy's badge and put him on the payroll. We'd better pass up Cronk for the time being."

She went from there to Elsa—no progress. We rounded up the entire tribe in the next few hours of course, and added almost nothing to the fund of information. About the only forward stride the entire day brought was elimination of one suspect—Sandy.