Mark of Murder - Dell Shannon (13 page)

"What's it all about?" he asked.

"Oh, God, I feel awful," said the woman.
 
 

NINE

When he got to Federico's out on North Broadway he
called the hospital. He was passed around a little, until an annoyed
nurse told him that the patient's condition was unchanged, and while
they realized that people were concerned, it would be helpful if
they'd refrain from calling in more than once an hour. There had been
four calls in the last twenty minutes, she said crossly.

Mendoza deduced with no difficulty men going off duty
for lunch and taking the chance to call in. He didn't apologize, but
thanked her. He went on into the restaurant, found Palliser at a
table alone, and joined him.

"Hospital says no change," said Palliser.
"They still won't say yes or no."

"I know. Who'd you get, the nurse?"

"No," said Palliser. He looked very tired
and grave; he spoke deliberately, looking at his cigarette. "I
got a chatty young intern who's very interested in the case. He said
that at this stage there's no way to be certain that even if he lives
he won't have some permanent brain damage."

Mendoza didn't say anything to that. There wasn't
anything to say. The tall Jamaican waiter came up and he said, "Bring
me a drink, Adam. A double rye.”

"Scotch and water," said Palliser.

Adam didn't remonstrate with Mendoza for drinking in
the middle of the day; he said softly, "Yes, sir. We were all
mighty sorry to hear about Sergeant Hackett's accident, Lieutenant.
They know yet whether he'll get better?"

"Not yet," said Mendoza.

Adam shook his head. "I'll do some earnest
praying for him, Lieutenant. I'll fetch your drinks."

Mendoza took Nestor's appointment book out of his
breast pocket and laid it on the table. "Last Wednesday
morning," he said, "the call came in on Nestor, and you and
Art went over to look at it. While Art talked to the wife you looked
around the office, as the Prints boys finished with things. You
looked at this appointment book. Carefully?"

"Well, I looked at the last filled-in page to
see if his Tuesday evening appointment was listed, to give us a lead.
It wasn't. Then I just riffled through it."

"
Look at it again, please." Adam brought
their drinks; Mendoza swallowed rye and lit a cigarette.

After a minute Palliser said, "Somebody's added
a good deal to this, I think. As I remember it, it hadn't much
written in it--big gaps on the few pages that had anything on them.”

"
Soy del mismo parecer
,"
said Mendoza, and swallowed more rye. "And right under Art's
nose too. He had the glimmering of an idea about it, and once I'd
thought over what he'd written down in his notebook, I had more than
a glimmering .... Small steak as usual, Adam. You'd better have a
substantial lunch, John, we've got an afternoon's work ahead of us."

"Same for me, medium. What are we going to do?"

"Try to break down the Corliss woman. After I
went through that office I thought any finesse would be wasted. I
called Jimmy--Scarne and Bert will meet us at her place with a search
warrant. I'm not gambling that we'll find anything, but you never
know.”

"
And what did you see in your crystal ball about
her?" asked Palliser.

"Where the money was coming from," said
Mendoza.

"And she's a very levelheaded, cool, shrewd
female, is the Corliss woman, and something to tackle. The way she
took that gamble--my God. And nearly brought it off too, because Art
hadn't seen through it all the way .... That, I'll lay you any money,
was a very high-class abortion mill, and I'll bet Nestor was getting
some fancy prices."

"
For God's sake," said Palliser. "How
do you make that out? Any evidence?"

"
A little, maybe. Short way round if we can
induce Corliss to talk, but on that I'm not taking any bets ....
Details later. What did you find out on the legacy?"

"
Nothing, because there's nothing to find out.
Nestor never had a legacy in California. But I've been back into his
bank records, and it makes a funny kind of picture. About the time he
told his wife he had that legacy he paid in five thousand bucks in
cash--"

"It fell out of the sky on him, maybe?"

"He said, all gratuitous, he'd had some lucky
windfalls at Santa Anita. Now listen to this. For roughly the last
two and a half years Nestor's been paying some nice round sums into
his account every month. Paying some out too, but we know where that
went--the Buick, the office, et cetera. It's run all the way between
one and two thousand a month; lowest it ever fell was eight hundred.
And about ninety per cent of it in cash."

"Yes, naturally," said Mendoza. "He'd
ask for cash. He'd spread it out over each month, not to pay in a
suspiciously large sum all at once. There'll have been a few checks
for small amounts----he had some genuine innocent patients, the ones
still on file."

"That's right," said Palliser. "And a
couple of times when he did deposit a large amount told the
teller--all very garrulous--he'd picked a lucky horse or had a lucky
poker session. It does look as if you might have something. But what
about this appointment book? When I looked at it before it didn't
have a tenth of all those names in it--”

"Can you swear to that?"

"Yes, I can."

"Good," said Mendoza. "Right under
Art's nose, by God. The nerve of the woman--I tell you, I don't think
we'll shake her. I think we'll have to go the long way round to prove
it."

"If Nestor was in that trade it'd be pretty
certain she was in it with him, I see that."

"Almost without question. Because the money was
coming in hand over fist--he must have been doing a roaring
trade--and it's not the kind of business you put box ads in the Times
about. Some woman helped him build up that trade. You notice it took
a little while--about six months--and then the profits started
rolling in. I could tell you a little story about it."

"You always tell interesting stories," said
Palliser..

Mendoza looked at his steak meditatively. "Well,
Clay said Nestor was out to get his, however it came. Also said that
he'd probably have been very competent at his profession. I can see
him, when he started in practice, envisioning possibilities in a
mill, a first-class one, absolutely safe and reliable. Everything
guaranteed. Aiming to draw the high-class females who could afford to
pay a stiff price for the super service. I don't know where he picked
up Corliss--she's not in our records but I think she may be in
somebody's, because on all the evidence she's tough and experienced.
I'll tell you what I think. I think that, round about three years
ago, word began to get round here and there in the suitable places,
about what number a girl should call if she was in the market for the
super service. Around all the places where there'd be innocent
daughters of wealthy fathers, any kind of money in combination with
the kind of girls and women apt to find themselves in the
market--married or not. In other words, he was trying to corner the
market in that field, and I'd say he made a pretty good stab at it,
judging by his income."

"That's quite a story," said Palliser.
"Have we got anything to back it up?"

"The bank account. Overpriced vitamins wouldn't
quite account for that kind of income. And at that, I expect all was
grist to his mill, apologies for the pun, and he'd do some cut-rate
ones to keep in practice. We've got a smock with a bloodstain on it,
a pair of rubber gloves, a small scrap of a label which was once,
probably, on an ampoule of morphine. And--"

"But listen," said Palliser, "if that
was so we'd have found all sorts of evidence there! There'd be his
instruments, and drugs, and hypos--"

Mendoza sighed. "We all make mistakes. Art was
ready to kick himself when he began to suspect, from his notes. You
started the usual routine on it, the photographs and printing and so
on, but didn't begin an official search--and then Art sent you on the
other case. And didn't bother to put a man on guard there while he
went and had lunch." He finished his coffee and picked up the
bill.

"Come on, let's go try to scare Corliss."

"I'll be damned!" said Palliser. "You
mean she-- With him there? For God's sake. But--do you think she's
the one shot Nestor?"

"I do not," said
Mendoza. "In a left-handed sort of way, you've got to admire the
woman. She must have had the hell of a shock when Mrs. Nestor called
and told her. And what a gamble to take-- I tell you frankly, in her
place I'd have packed a bag and bought a plane ticket to Japan. And
the fact that she didn't--well, I don't think we'll get much change
out of her."

* * *

Margaret Corliss faced the four men unblinkingly,
stolidly. "A search warrant?" she said. "Well, reely,
I never was so insulted--as if I had anything to hide! What the world
is coming to, with the police thinking they can accuse honest
women--" And she looked like a very ordinary honest woman, plain
and indignant, in the middle of her ordinary, rather shabby apartment
living room.

"I haven't accused you of anything yet,"
said Mendoza. "But we're going to take some short cuts, Corliss,
because I'm not feeling very tactful or talkative. Go over there and
sit down. All right, boys"--he nodded to Dwyer and Scarne--"take
the place apart."

"
Reely, I--"

"
Sit down, I said! I know all about it,"
said Mendoza, standing over her where she flounced into a sagging
armchair. "And if you don't come apart and admit it, we'll go
the long way round to collect the nice legal evidence to prove it. So
one way or another you're due for a little holiday at the taxpayers'
expense. I'd guess a one-to-three, it you've never been inside
before. Now, Frank Nestor was operating an abortion mill and you were
in on it. He--"

"I don't have to listen to your insults--dirty
Mex--"

"
Sit still and pay attention!" he said
coldly. "You'd done some leg work on it, passing the discreet
publicity. Between you, you'd built up a nice business, profitable as
all hell because you were charging what the traffic would bear."

Both he and Palliser were watching her for any
betraying gesture or expression; she just sat, a plump plain fortyish
woman, and stared back with cold eyes. But Palliser thought the eyes
were watchful.

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you," said
Mendoza hardly. "This I know. I know the hell of a lot.
Everything had been running smooth as silk--you'd been doing a
land-office business.
Dios
,
at the prices you probably got, two or three a month would make a
damn nice living for both of you. And as word got round by satisfied
customers--everything guaranteed safe, a real doctor--business picked
up, didn't it?"

"Talk all you please," she said stolidly.
"I don't have to listen.”

"You'll listen. You had one hell of a shock when
you heard that Nestor had been shot--"

"Oh, I thought you were going to say I shot him.
Reely, blackening Doctor's name like this--wherever you got a nasty
idea like that--"

"Weren't you at all surprised when his wife told
you first that he wasn't feeling well, was at home, and then called
to say he was lying murdered in his office? Did you know anything
about Nestor's private life, or was it purely a business
arrangement?" He looked her up and down, contemptuously.
"Obviously he wouldn't be interested in you that way--probably
nobody--"

She reddened indignantly: the one slur a woman might
rise to. "Of course there wasn't anything between Doctor and me!
I've got my own gentleman friend, he--"

"Oh, have you?" said Mendoza. "That's
interesting. Was he here with you last Friday evening? What's his
name?"

"I don't have to tell you anything! Coming here
and--You've got me all confused--what's Friday got--"

"Never mind. When you heard Nestor had been
murdered you knew you'd be in one sweet mess unless you could clear
the evidence out of that office. You were taking the hell of a
chance, but you moved fast and you had luck. You found the office
open, and you found the evidence where it had been left, so you knew
probably we hadn't searched the place thoroughly yet. You bundled it
into your car trunk--and don't think I can't tell you what it
consisted of." He gave her a wolfish smile. "There'd have
been a few surgical tools, probably in the sterilizer--and whatever
supply was on hand of the morphine he used for anesthetic--and we'll
find where he was acquiring that too, probably from some local
pusher--and I really do think Doctor had kept a record of all his
under-the-counter  patients, and while he never let you lay
hands on it, you knew where it was and you took that too. Once we had
made any kind of search, the whole thing would have been obvious--and
how obvious that you'd known all about it! As it was, there were a
few more details you had to take care of, but just as you started
back to the office your luck ran out. A big tough sergeant of cops
drove up." Mendoza stopped; her silent tight-lipped watchfulness
was raising wrath in him, Palliser thought. He'd heard that Mendoza
was one of those, a drink or so turned him belligerent; and he'd had
that double rye, and hadn't
eaten much of his
steak.