Case Pending - Dell Shannon (13 page)

"Now, that I couldn’t say," said Mrs.
Demarest, placidly. "It’s queer, certainly. I’d say the same
as you—well, I guess detecting things is just a matter of using
common sense and reasoning things out. I suppose somebody might think
there was something valuable in a big parcel like that, and steal it
just on the chance—but a thief who’d do that, it’s just not
logical he wouldn’t take the handbag too, at least rummage through
it." She cocked her head at him, and her brown eyes were bright
as a sparrow’s. "Lieutenant, would you think I’m a
woolgathering silly old woman—you’re too polite ever say it, if
you did—if I said, Maybe whoever took it knew right well what was
in that parcel?"

 
"You’d say whoever killed her? For a
doll—"

"I don’t know that. Maybe somebody else,
first—or afterward. But I can tell you something else. I’ve
studied about it, and I went back to ask Mrs. Breen a couple other
things. I said she’d left the doll in the window, didn’t I? Well,
I go past there three-four times a week, up to the market, and I do
think I’d’ve noticed if that doll had been gone out of the window
right after Carol was killed, and put two and two together, and asked
then. But Mrs. Breen took it out of the window about a week before,
so I didn’t expect it there, if you see what I mean. And she says
now, reason she did is that she had notice from the factory or
whatever that made them, that they weren’t making this particular
doll any more—so she didn’t want to show it, and have to
disappoint anybody wanted one. And, this is what I’m getting at,
the morning of that day Carol was killed, there was a woman came into
the store and wanted to buy that doll. She wanted it real bad, Mrs.
Breen said she was almost crying that she couldn’t have that one or
get Mrs. Breen to order another, and she stayed a long while trying
to argue Mrs. Breen into selling her the one Carol was buying."

An extra ace to pad his hand, Mendoza had hoped: but
could it be? Such a small thing—such a meaningless thing!

"Did she know this woman?"

"She’d seen her before. It was a white woman,
Lieutenant, from over across Hunter Avenue. She couldn’t call the
name to mind, but she thinks she’s got it written down somewhere
because the woman made her copy down her name and address and promise
to find out couldn’t she get a doll like that somewhere. You’d
best see Mrs. Breen and ask, if you think it means anything at all
.... She thinks she remembers it was a middling-long sort of name,
and started with an L."
 

SEVEN

Mendoza felt rather irritated at the cosmic powers;
if they intended to direct a little luck his way, they might have
been more explicit. Still, one never knew: it might lead to
something.

The gift shop was closed, of course; he would come
back tomorrow. And it was possible that this Breen woman had simply
told a lie to avoid having to pay back twelve or thirteen dollars;
but such a relatively small amount—and Mrs. Demarest was emphatic
on assurance of her honesty. Judge for himself . . . .

He drove tedious miles across the city, cursing the
Sunday traffic, to Alison Weir’s apartment, and was late by some
minutes. She opened the door promptly and told him so, taking up her
bag, joining him in the hall. She was in green and tan today, plain
dark-green wool dress, high—-necked: coat, shoes, bag all warm
beige, and copper earrings, a big copper brooch.

He settled her in the car and sliding under the wheel
said, "Unsubtle, that dress. Every woman with red hair
automatically fills her wardrobe with green."

"It’s only fair to tell you," said Alison
amiably, "that like practically all women I detest men who know
anything about women’s clothes."

"As intelligent people we should always try to
overcome these illogical prejudices? He had not moved to start the
engine; he smiled at her.

"You know, it would be regrettable if you were
lying to me, Miss Weir."

The little amusement died from her green-hazel eyes
meeting his. "Do you think I’ve lied to you? Why? I—"

"
No, I don’t think so. But Teresa Ramirez says
her sister meant to tell you about this ‘queer boy,’ and yet you
don’t know quite as much as she told Teresa."

"I told you about that. She probably did mean to
tell me a lot more, but I took up her consultation time with
lecturing her. You can’t regret it any more than I do, Lieutenant!
If I’d listened to her—"

"Yes," said Mendoza. He’d turned sideways
to look at her, his right arm along the seat-back; he laughed
abruptly and slid his hand down to brush her shoulder gently,
reaching to the ignition. "I’ll tell you why I’m not just a
hundred percent sure—I mustn’t be. Because I’m working this on
a preconceived idea, and that’s dangerous. I find something that I
doesn’t fit, I’m tempted to think, let it go, it’s not
important—because I don’t want to prove my beautiful theory
wrong. Just now and then I am wrong, and it’s not an experience I
enjoy."

"I see. I also dislike egotistical men."

"
Mi gatita roja
,
what you mean is that you dislike the ones honest enough to admit to
vanity—nobody walking on two legs isn’t an egotist. And you
should have more common sense than to talk so rudely to a rich man."

"
Are you?"

"I am. None of my doing—in case you were
thinking of bribes from gangsters—my grandfather was shrewd enough
to buy up quite a lot of land which turned out to be just where the
city was expanding—office buildings, you know, and hotels, and
department stores—all crazy for land to build on. And fortunately I
was his only grandson. It was a great shock to everybody, there he
was for years in a thirty-dollar-a-month apartment, saying we
couldn’t afford this and that, damning the gas company as robbers
if the bill was over two dollars, and buying secondhand clothes—my
God, he once got a hundred dollars out of me on the grounds of family
duty, to pay a hospital bill—and me still in the rookie training
school and in debt for my uniforms! And then when he died it all came
out. My grandmother hasn’t recovered from the shock yet—she’s
still furious at him, and that was nearly fifteen years ago."

"Oh. Why?"

"For fifty-eight years she’d been nagging at
him to stop his gambling—she’d been telling him for fifty-eight
years that gamblers are all wastrels, stealing the food out of their
families’ mouths to throw away, and they always die without a penny
to bless themselves. And that’s where he got his capital—his
winnings. And to add insult to injury—because if she’d known
about it, she’d have found some way to save face and also, being a
woman, something else to nag him about—he managed to get the last
word by dying before she found it out. Frankly, I think myself it
wasn’t all luck, the old boy wasn’t above keeping a few high
cards up his sleeve, but you know the one about the gift horse. And
unfortunately," added Mendoza, sliding neatly ahead of an
indignant bus to get in the right-turn lane, "by then I’d got
into the habit of earning an honest living, and I’ve never cured
myself."

"Well, it’s an original approach to a girl,"
said Alison thoughtfully. "Such a fascinating subject too—I’ve
always been so interested in money, if only I’d had the chance to
study it oftener I might have developed real talent for it. But I
must say, I should think you’d bolster up your ego more by doing
the King Cophetua business, instead of practically offering a bribe.
Not at all subtle."

"I’m always loved for myself alone. And why?
Es claro
—a woman of
high principle like you, she’s afraid to be taken for a gold
digger, so she starts out being very stand-offish. She’s so busy
convincing me she’s not interested in my money,
vaya
,
she’s never on guard against my charm."

"Ah, the double play. I keep forgetting you’re
an egotist. But what about the stupid ones?—the ones like Elena,
all bleached curls and giggles and gold ankle chains? The ones those
tired middle-aged businessmen—"

"
¡Vaya por Dios!
I never go near such females, except in the way of work. There’s no
credit to the marksman in an easy target."

"Or to the wolf who catches the smallest lamb? I
see what you mean."

"So I’ll let you have the last word. You’ll
do me a favor tomorrow—"

"What?" She regarded him warily.

Mendoza grinned at her. "Don’t sound so
suspicious, I don’t operate so crude and sudden as that! Look, I
want you to ask all your girls if Elena said anything at all to them
about this staring man. Don’t tell them much, don’t lead them—a
couple of them might make up this or that to be important—but
you’ll be more apt to get something helpful out of them if
anything’s there to be got. Official questioning might encourage
them to romanticize."

"Oh, well, certainly I’ll do that, I meant to
anyway. Yes, I think you’re right about that."

At headquarters he piloted her upstairs to his
office. She looked around curiously. "What exactly is the
procedure? I’ve never done this before."

"I’ve made a rough draft, here, of the
substance of what you told me. Just look it over and see if you want
to change or add anything, and then we’ll get it typed for you to
sign. And what do you want?" he added as Hackett wandered in
after them. "I thought you were safely occupied for the
afternoon."

"
Una espectativa vana
,"
said Hackett, spreading his hands. "Kids! It’s the damnedest
thing, they’ll be budding Einsteins at twelve, but the minute they
hit their teens I swear to God they all turn into morons. You’d
think they were blind and deaf." His eyes were busy on Alison.

"It’s a phenomenon known as puberty,"
said Mendoza. "Nothing?"

"Nada. You goin’ to remember your manners, or
do I count as the hired help around here?"

"Miss Weir—the cross I am given to bear,
Sergeant Hackett."

"The brawn," said Alison wisely, nodding at
him. "I knew you must have somebody to do the real work."

"And she has brains too," said Hackett
admiringly. "You got a visitor, Luis, before I forget. That
Ramirez girl." He jerked a thumb.

"Oh?" Mendoza got up. "You’ll excuse
me, Miss Weir—if this caveman type gets obstreperous, you’ve only
to scream."

Standing there by the clerk’s empty desk in the
anteroom, before she spoke, she wasn’t this century at all. Black
cotton dress too long, the shabby brown coat over her arm, and a
black woolen shawl held around her, both hands clasping it at her
breast. No make-up: she’d come straight from church, from late
mass, probably. This large official place had somewhat subdued her.

"You wanted to see me, Miss Ramirez? Sit down
here, won’t you?"

"Oh, thanks, but it won’t take long, what I
come for. I wasn’t sure you’d be here, Sunday an’ all, I
thought I’d ask could I leave a note for you—" She took a
breath. "There was some of your guys come with a warrant, to
look all through Elena’s things—Mama, she just had a fit, she
don’t understand about these things so good—"

"
I’m sorry it troubled her. We have to do
that, you know."

"Sure, I know, it don’t matter, we haven’t
nothing to hide."

He wondered: the visiting uncle? The faint defiance
over the honesty in her round brown eyes looked convincing. He
thought, whether they caught the shifty Tio Tomás at anything or
not, that was a wrong one; but he also thought the Ramirez family
hadn’t an inkling of that. He waited; she had something else to
say. She fidgeted with the shawl, burst out a little nervously, "I—I
thought of something else, Lieutenant, that’s why I come."

"Yes?"

"I don’t want to sound like I’m telling you
your own business, see, but—well, you are sort of looking into that
Palace skating place, aren’t you? I mean—"

"We are. Why?"

"I don’t know nothing about it," she
said. "I never been there myself, and anyway I guess this don’t
have anything to do with it, I mean whoever runs it, you know. But I
got to thinking, after you asked me yesterday about any guy bothering
Elena, I tried to remember just what she did say, if there was
anything I hadn’t told you. And I remembered one more thing she
said. It was when she was talking about this fellow watching her, she
said, ‘He gets on my nerves, honest, I nearly fell down a couple
times.’ "

"Now that’s very interesting," said
Mendoza.

"See, she must’ve meant it was at the rink she
saw him. Once, anyways. Because where else would being nervous make
her almost fall down? I—"

"Yes, of course." And there were a number
of possibilities there; a little imagination would produce a dozen
different ideas. He thought about some of them—(Ehrlich, the
attendants, the other kids)—as he thanked the girl for coming in.
Alison came out of his office with Hackett and was sympathetic,
friendly with Teresa, asking conventionally about the funeral. The
girl was a little stiff, responding, using more care with her manners
and grammar.

"Well, I-I guess that’s all I wanted tell you,
Lieutenant, I better get home—"