And kill once more (9 page)

"We checked," Toland said. "An office and X-ray lab. San Diego. We sent a wire. In fact everyone here seems to be pretty much what he said he was last night. We've been burning up the phone and all, and the autopsy report just came a while ago." He paused, then went on, "There was, of course, no evidence of heart trouble. Engle was as sound as a fence-post."

"Then he did drown?" I asked.

"No, son, he was dead going into the pool. They didn't find water in him. None at all, and while there's never a whole lot, there's always a little when a guy goes out that way. So, now we can eliminate the women. George Engle was strangled, or otherwise suffocated, maybe with a beach towel or some such thing, and pushed into the pool. He wasn't a kid any more, but I can't see how any of these girls could have turned the trick."

He finished with a careful look at his now shortened list of possible candidates for the deep breathing exercises at San Quentin: Pilcher, Doc Cronk, and Marty Bowman.

Eight

Toland's weather-beaten face was turned toward me, his steady gray eyes asking a silent question. Doc Cronk had managed very nicely in the short interval that Toland

had been away to the phone. I felt I could use a break myself.

I forced a smile. "If it's all the same to you, Sheriff, I'd like to down a bit of breakfast before starting this one. It could, you know, turn out to be a long session."

"Couldn't it?" Mrs. Pilcher said sourly. "And for some more than others."

I didn't see any point in getting into an argument with Pilcher's fat wife. I turned back to the sheriff.

"Fact is," he said, "we're all having a bite. On the terrace, I think she said. That right, Mrs. Engle?"

Sandy nodded, tight-lipped, got up and went through the door leading toward the kitchen. When she came back she said, "They're starting to bring it out now. If any of you care to freshen up—"

She let it trail off and the warring clans drew apart. I watched Pilcher and his wife go toward their room, then Cronk left. Toland nodded to Widdle and the pair of them went out onto the terrace. When I took Kate's arm and piloted her through the glass doors leading toward the terrace and pool, Elsa Doyle fell in beside us and matched our steps.

"Thanks for your help, Miss Doyle," I said. "It's appreciated."

"Elsa," she said with a smile. I murmured that my name was Marty and Kate tossed her first name into the hat. She drew a very warm and friendly smile from the redhead.

Elsa said, "That Cronk! After the quick way he wanted to give up on any attempt to save George last night—and now he really has you in trouble with Toland, I'm afraid."

I gave her a short nod. She was worth thinking about— she'd spoken to me but looked at Kate. Why? Because Elsa Doyle had an eighteen-carat mind under that carefully done red hair. It was obvious to all that Kate and I were together up here at Engle's and Elsa wasn't risk-

ing friction in that direction. She was being friendly to our cause, just a shade distant with me, and glowingly warm with Kate. It was a technique calculated to make her friends where it mattered.

The three of us found a round metal table, complete with striped umbrella overhead, and when the Philippino rolled out his little portable buffet we went over, lined up for bacon, scrambled eggs, orange juice and coffee, and carried our loot back to the poolside.

For the next half hour I said "Yes," and "No," and "It would seem you might have something there," in the right places but quietly I was trying to evaluate my latest position and what could be done about it. If Kate had really leveled with me on the reasons for my being here, a vague picture of the Engle setup was taking shape. It wasn't pretty. And I would have trouble proving it.

For one thing, I couldn't explain that I'd been asked to investigate the Engle estate. Boreland Gregory would be out on a limb and so would Kate. But I thought I could put the squeeze on Cronk, and I figured to give it a try. I could point up plenty of inconsistencies in his story and intended to have the Doc explain a few of them. It would keep him busy for a while at least, keep him from tightening the net on Marty Bowman.

Then there was Dan Pilcher. Both he and his wife had added their weight against me. There had to be a reason for that. It would only be natural that anyone helping G.E. into the great beyond would be most anxious to have a good candidate for the scapegoat. Which led me to the redhead again. She was trying to get me out of this and as far as I was concerned, it let her out from under, at least for the time being. Finally I brought Sandy Engle under consideration. Knocking off a hubby isn't exactly unknown in these parts, and if you don't go along with Toland's quick dismissal of the women present, Sandy would certainly have to be weighed a time or two. I still

had her on the scales when Toland and Bob Widdle sauntered over, followed by the overweight threesome. Toland sent Widdle for Mrs. Engle, then turned to me.

"Now last night you had Mr. Engle face down on the grass, Bowman, just about there." He pointed with his thick forefinger to the spot where Engle had lain. "You were giving him artificial respiration when I got here. We'll have to admit that the doctor has fairly well explained his part, so—"

"That isn't quite unanimous, Sheriff," I objected. "He's built up a case against me, but I'm afraid it's a trifle thin in places."

"You could point out those spots if you would, Bowman," Toland invited. He turned around to nod to Sandy who had just arrived, then raised a questioning eyebrow in my direction.

"Well, for one thing, Dr. Cronk's decision that Engle was beyond help came too damn fast, Sheriff. He barely touched Engle's face and pronounced the man dead." I shook my head. "Maybe he had a finger on George's wrist, maybe not. In any event he didn't move it enough to open the hand. You found a coin there, you said."

"He's a doctor, Bowman."

"A radiologist. An X-ray man," I corrected.

"I have explained," Cronk cut in, "that I am an M.D.— a full-fledged member of the medical profession, Bowman, but specializing in X-ray."

"Then you should be well aware that a drowned person's pulse is often too weak to be found in the wrist. Any honest-to-john medic ought to know that."

"But it turns out Engle didn't drown," Cronk countered.

"Maybe you knew that at the time," I grinned, "but "the rest of us didn't. At least I didn't—hence the effort to start his breathing. An effort to which you offered about

every objection in the book. Remember?"

"You're twisting my words, Bowman," Cronk said sharply. He was getting a little excited. Fair enough. He couldn't get too hot under the collar for me. I poured on the fuel.

"The sheriff didn't tell us George hadn't drowned until today. Care to find a good reason why you knew it last night?"

"Now just a moment, Bowman. As a member of the medical profession, I judged Engle dead. I have explained why I gave a false reason, but the man was past help and I said so. It was obvious to me."

"Once again, how was it obvious?" I asked softly. I was getting ready to dive into some pretty shallow water, but there wasn't any other way.

"Bowman!" Cronk stormed. "In my professional opinion George had already died when I was summoned. The pulse. Other factors too, and I am getting a little weary of your questioning my decision in that matter. As a doctor—"

"Stop kidding," I cut in quickly. "You aren't a doctor. You wouldn't know a broken leg from the pink-eye."

Cronk caught his breath and you could have heard a leaf drop in Engle's pool. Toland looked at me as if I'd just said something unholy and righteous indignation was beginning to build in Bob Widdie's face.

"We've checked that, Bowman," Widdle said severely. "You'll remember that the sheriff mentioned it this morning."

"You found he had a practice. You didn't check his credentials."

"Just a minute, Bowman," Cronk raged, his face getting about three shades farther into the red. "That last statement was as close to libel as I care to hear you come."

"Now, men," Toland said soothingly, "we'll have to calm down a mite here. We aren't going to get anyplace this way."

"Don't bet on that, Sheriff." I grinned. "Last night Cronk had never heard of McBurney's point. Any doctor is as familiar with that as he is with the steering wheel of his car. And there are other things. Things he didn't do for Engle that any doctor would have done."

"Bowman, I'll—"

"Go ahead and sue," I said, and tried to sound like a man with confidence.

"No. No, the sheriff is right. It isn't going to help any for us to get excited. You're a little overwrought, Bowman, and the least I can do is overlook—"

"Go on," I grinned. "Be nasty. Be as nasty as Marty Bowman and sue the pants off him."

Cronk fumbled for a handkerchief. He gave careful attention to wiping his glasses while regrouping his forces. When he slipped the specs in place he turned to Toland.

"Go ahead with your work, Sheriff," he said. "There isn't any point in my complicating things at the moment with a personal side issue. I shall deal with Mr. Bowman through the courts when we've finished with this unfortunate situation."

Now I was sure. He managed to keep the voice steady but his lips trembled and his eyes were careful to avoid mine. I'd gambled and won, and I felt a vast relief. I could grind right into him now, but I saw a doubt working into Toland's face and it would be much more effective if he did the honors. I'd slipped the knife into Cronk. Now I could rest a while and let the sheriff twist the blade a little. When he turned toward me and asked what in hell McBurney's point had to do with what, I silently jerked my thumb toward Cronk.

"Well?" Toland asked. "What's it all about, Doctor?"

Cronk eyed me speculatively and gave it one more

try. "You've got me, Sheriff," he said, his voice holding that nervous edge. "I think Bowman should see a psychiatrist. He's slipping over the edge."

"Uh-huh," Toland said heavily. "Me, I don't know which one of you two is tilted, but I'll sure as hell find out. Bob, you wanna sit here and sun yourself while we have a short breather? I'm going to get on that phone and see what's what. Hell's bells, maybe I'm the one that's losing his marbles."

I bent down at the edge of the pool and dipped a hand into the warm water, then snapped my fingers a few times, and when the dry desert air spirited away the last of the moisture, I found my smokes. I passed the pack to Kate and Elsa and offered one to Sandy but she shook her head.

"Bright boy," Kate said. She favored me with a look that made me feel good all over.

"Lucky shot," I grinned, and struck two matches at once. Three lights from the pair of matches, and we settled back to enjoy cigarettes. "He looks bad," I said, and nodded in the general direction of Doc Cronk.

"And sad," Elsa said lightly. "Do you notice a slight cooling off on the part of the other couple?"

I nodded. Pilcher and his wife had drawn a few feet away from the doctor and were holding one of those casual, low-toned discussions that aren't casual at all. First one would speak, then I'd see the lips of the other take over, and the strain on both of their faces told me they were more than a little worried. Like a pair of two-bit city employees who might have backed the wrong candidate in a local election. I enjoyed their misery for something like five minutes and then Frank Toland walked heavily toward us. Cronk looked up, his pan wearing all of the hope-against-hope you'd expect to see on the face of a man in the death cell.

"Weil?" he said.

"I put it to Dr. Crandy," Toland said grimly. "I asked him if he knew anything about McBurney's point—where it was. He laughed and said naturally he did. So then I asked what he'd think of a doctor who didn't know." Toland fixed an accusing eye on Cronk. "Crandy said he'd probably think the same thing about that doctor that I'd think about a sheriff who didn't know what a pair of handcuffs were."

Toland pulled his wide-brimmed hat off and touched his sleeve to his forehead, then settled the hat in place. "It turns out that this McBurney's point is on the stomach, Cronk, and anybody goes to an M.D. about a belly-ache, they start working around this place to see if maybe his appendix is kicking up a fuss. Very common. One of the first steps a doctor takes, Crandy says. I'm afraid we'll have to award that round to Bowman. You have the floor, Cronk."

Cronk looked toward the sheriff, then dropped his head and stared at the grass under his feet. When he spoke his voice was halting and low and utterly defeated.

"Sure. I guess that's the end of it. You'd check and you'd find out. I'm practicing under a false certificate— a diploma mill job. Radiology I can handle—have handled for quite a while. I worked as a technician, and then in the Army X-ray lab. Enough years to learn all that was necessary—" His face showed how hard this was for him to say, and under other circumstances I might almost have felt sorry for him. Suddenly he burst out, "But don't think I'm the only one up here that's under Engle's thumb. Or was. They're all in the same boat, Sheriff. Every one of them. I'm not standing for this one alone. I didn't kill him. I didn't, and I don't know who did, but I do know one thing. Pilcher—the movie girl—everyone, they all were buying insurance from George Engle."

"Insurance. Well, that was his business," Toland said. "You haven't helped us any there."

"We had to buy it, Sheriff, all of us. Premiums paid in cash—no checks accepted. Which sounds good, only you pay and pay and pay and you never mentioned to George that he hadn't ever gotten around to making out a policy."

Nine

Kate drew a quick breath and I heard Pilcher swearing softly. Elsa Doyle stood looking from the doc to me, then to the sheriff and back to me again.

"This Bowman," she said in a low voice. "He's a pretty sharp beach boy." She gave me an admiring look that could have matched the ones you get from a teen-ager you've just lugged out of a rip tide. I scrambled around for a quick change in subject.

"Just one of those things," I said. "Something left over from an appendix operation I had as a kid. But didn't he say we were all in the same life raft? I seem to remember that you got special mention along with pudgy pants over there."