Murder Is Suggested (13 page)

Pam swallowed. She said, with that completed, that she had once known a girl who was very much like Mrs. Oldham.

“She was always losing out on things,” Pam said. “Jobs, mostly. And always because people were against her or crooked in some way. She knew an awful lot of crooked people, the poor thing. Hearing her talk about people was like—” Pam paused. “Like being in one of those places with the funny mirrors. Everything was always out of drawing. Except, of course, she wasn't herself. After you'd heard her talk awhile you got dizzy.”

She looked around the table at the three men, who looked at her with speculation.

“Only,” Mullins said, “there has to be something to get reflected, Mrs. North. In these mirrors of yours.”

They waited.

“All right,” Pam said, “we'll break the mirrors, sergeant.”

But both Jerry and Bill shook their heads. After a moment, Pam shook hers, also.

“And,” Bill pointed out, “the fact that a person always blames somebody else for his failure doesn't prove that there is never anybody else to blame.”

“I realize that,” Pam said. “Sometimes there is a wolf. Granted. But Jamey wasn't.”

“Actually,” Jerry said, “you don't believe what she said about Elwell either, Bill. Or, is it time for the one about smoke and fire?”

“Of course,” Pam said, “somebody could read all Professor Elwell's books and all Professor Oldham's and that way—”

She stopped, observing that her words froze as they fell.

“She said another thing,” Bill told them. “Mrs. Oldham, I mean. That there wasn't anything between her daughter and Carl Hunter. Except that the girl was ‘sorry' for young Hunter. Why she should be, not disclosed. That there was another young man. Name disclosed. Arnold Ames. One of ‘the' Ameses.”

“Is he?” That was Pam.

There was an Arnold Ames listed in the
Social Register.
He was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Wellington Ames. Wellington Ames was important in a bank. Wellington Ames's father had been important in a bank.

“I can have a theory,” Pam said.

“I'm sure,” Jerry said.

“Jamey was influencing Faith against Mr. Ames. Mr. Ames found out and killed him. Mr. Ames is very much in love with Faith, of course.”

“He'd rather need to be,” Jerry said, but looked at Bill. Bill grinned slightly, and shook his head.

“Having seen the girl and Hunter together,” Bill said, “I doubt Mrs. Oldham is—let's say well informed. I suppose somebody'll have to have a little chat with this Ames scion to keep things tidy. But—”

Raul approached, the handkerchief in his breast pocket a banner. He said that Captain Weigand was wanted on the telephone.

“I never,” Bill said, “seem to get to stay for coffee.” He went. He was gone several minutes and, as he walked between tables, he jerked his head upward at Mullins, and Mullins finished his coffee in a gulp and stood up.

“Young Hunter's been shot,” Bill said. “Wounded. They don't know how seriously. Taken to Dyckman Hospital.”

Pam North looked shocked.

“I only meant it to be a theory,” she said.

Jerry's question was more immediate.

“Where?” he said. “And I don't mean anatomically.”

“Halfa block from the Elwell house,” Bill said. “He seems to have been going in that direction.” Then he said, “Come on, Mullins,” and they went on.

*
Mullins's disbelief is perhaps still shared by many; it was once almost universal, and in unexpected places. Dr. Ian Stevenson, professor and chairman of the Department of Psychiatry, University of Virginia School of Medicine, writes (
Harper's,
November, 1958) that Dr. James Esdaile, a surgeon of the 1840's who had performed many successful operations on patients in hypnosis, “had great difficulty in getting his work even published, much less accepted. His scientific critics alleged that he had bribed his patients to sham insensibility. According to one account ‘it was because they were hardened impostors that they let their legs be cut off and large tumors be cut out without showing any sign even of discomfort.' In their opposition to hypnotism many of the most creative scientists of the period forgot the rules of their own calling. Lord Kelvin announced that ‘one-half of hypnotism is imposture and the rest bad observation.'”

8

Carl Hunter had been shot, from behind, in the right leg, as he was walking toward the two Elwell houses at around eleven-thirty in the morning. He had been shot just after he had passed the mouth of a service passageway four doors up the sloping street from his destination, his destination being the house the Oldhams lived in; his purpose being to pick Faith up and take her to lunch—an early lunch, since she had a one o'clock class. He had no idea whatever who had shot him, or why anybody would want to.

He had been out of surgery for more than an hour when Bill Weigand and Mullins reached the hospital; he was in a private room.

“Lost a bit of blood,” the resident said. “Feel groggy for a while. Nothing serious. Missed the bone. Sure you can talk to him. He may be a little vague.”

He did not seem to be especially vague; more than anything else, he seemed annoyed. Which was understandable. “Right at a crucial point with the cats,” he said, “and this has to happen. Probably have to start the whole damn series over again.”

Surely he had some idea who might have wanted to shoot him, presumably to kill him? It could hardly be to interrupt his “series” with the cats.

“Mr. Hunter,” Bill said, “do you know more than you've told us about the professor's death?”

“Oh,” Carl Hunter said, “I've been thinking about that. Jumps to the mind, doesn't it?”

“Right,” Bill said. “Well?”

“Nothing,” Hunter said. His gray eyes were entirely steady. “I told you what I know—which is nothing. I was there; I went away anyway fifteen minutes before you say he was killed. All right—I stood outside the bookshop instead of going in right away. And—that doesn't mean anything.”

“Who,” Bill said, “do you know that's a good shot, Mr. Hunter? Or, assuming killing you was what was planned, a not very good shot?”

“Nobody,” Hunter said. “Fact is, I don't know anybody's got a gun of any kind, or knows how to use one. Or would use one.”

He smiled, faintly.

“I know a very peaceable lot,” he said. “Wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“Or a cat?”

“My God no,” he said. “The cats have a fine time.”

“You were walking down the street and there was a bang—I suppose you did hear the gun go off?”

“Yes,” Hunter said. “It didn't make a lot of noise and I was—it was as if somebody had kicked me in the leg, as much as anything else. I fell down and this man of yours—the patrolman outside the professor's house—came running. Did a spot of first aid; got an ambulance on the double. Very efficient man, luckily for me. Might have lain there and drained dry, for all I know.”

“You didn't see anybody. In the block?”

“Sure. Down at the far end, near the drive, there was a woman pushing a baby carriage. On the other side of the street, there was somebody parking a car. It isn't a busy block, captain. I realize I'm not helping much.” His eyes were very intelligent. “Tell me they got the bullet,” he said. “Doesn't it answer any questions?”

They didn't know yet. The calibre was right.

“Obviously,” Hunter said, “you haven't caught anybody.”

They had not. They had found the service passageway; found that it led to the unfenced back yards of several houses; found, also, that from them passageways ran to the parallel street beyond. Hunter nodded. “I know,” he said. “It's rather like a park—community effort. And nobody waiting to give himself up?”

Nobody had been.

“Mr. Hunter,” Bill said, “did Professor Elwell ever hypnotize Miss Oldham?”

“What the hell?” Hunter said. “What's that got to do with—anything?”

“Did he?”

“So far as I know, no,” Hunter said. “As a matter of fact, she believes she's not a subject. And I don't know why Jamey would—” He stopped, a little abruptly.

“Establish amnesia?”

“You've been reading books, captain,” Hunter said, and seemed slightly amused. “Yes, that's what I meant.”

“He didn't with you?”

“No. I see you've been finding things out.”

Bill nodded his head.

“I'm rather a good subject,” Carl Hunter said. “I suppose you think that means—” He let it go, as of no importance. “No, amnesia didn't enter into it. In a sense it was a—a collaboration.”

“Why did you break the clock?”

“Oh—that. Posthypnotic suggestion. Followed by rationalization. To avoid looking like a fool.”

“Mr. Hunter, could a man like yourself—a good subject—be directed, under hypnosis, to do—anything?”

“
Any
thing?”

Bill nodded his head.

“I doubt it,” Hunter said. “So did Jamey. I don't argue anybody knows. So that—well, it's nothing to meddle with. Nothing for amateurs to meddle with. And, what are you getting at?”

“Anything I can,” Bill said. “About Professor Elwell and—the people around him. For example—can you tell me anything about a man named Ames? Arnold Ames?”

Hunter was propped in the hospital bed. He moved slightly and said, “Ouch,” with no particular emphasis. He said, “Captain, I'll tell you anything I can to help clear this up. Anything that has any bearing. But if you're just fishing around—and if Faith is going to be dragged into it—”

“Obviously I'm fishing,” Weigand said. “And nobody'll be dragged into it who isn't in it.”

Hunter looked at Bill Weigand for some seconds.

“All right,” he said. “Ames is a man who used to date Faith. Up to three-four months ago. I met him a couple of times. Upstanding citizen, and a lot of money in the family.” He smiled faintly. “The kind who could be the apple of Hope Oldman's eye.”

“And was?”

“Oh yes,” Hunter said. “And I'm not. And—nothing could be of less importance, captain. Whatever you're getting at.”

You do not push too long in the same place.

“Right,” Bill said. “How about a man named Finch? Rosco Finch?”

“Poor Liz's boyfriend,” Hunter said. “Yes—I ran into him a few times, too. At the Elwell house. Golf pro. Of all the silly ways to live. And I'm damned if I see—” He stopped and his intelligent gray eyes narrowed somewhat. “The accident come into it?”

“I don't know that it does. Or, that it doesn't.”

Hunter again looked at Bill Weigand for some seconds.

“Jamey thought Finch was driving,” Hunter said. “I gather you've come on that, somehow.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes. I was nearer their age—Liz's anyway. Finch has got several years on me. How did I think their minds worked? Particularly Finch's mind.”

“And?”

“I said I hadn't the foggiest notion how a golfer's mind works. Probably said I doubted if they worked as well as cats'. And that I knew a lot more about cats.”

“Seriously?”

“No. But I knew Finch very slightly. I've nothing against him now and hadn't then. When Jamey asked me. And I remember saying something like, ‘Why don't you let it lie, sir?' and the obvious, meaningless bit about its not bringing Liz back.”

“When was this?”

“Captain, I don't get—oh, all right. Maybe you do. A couple of weeks ago. And Jamey merely nodded his head, the way he often did, indicating that I had made a point and that he was aware of the point.”

Bill Weigand looked at Mullins, who had been making notes.

“You've no idea who might've shot you?” Mullins said. “For the record?”

“No.”

“And don't know anything you haven't told us about who might've killed the professor?”

“No.”

“You realize—” Mullins began, and stopped and said, “O.K. Far's I'm concerned.”

They both stood up, started toward the door of the hospital room. Bill Weigand stopped with his hand on the knob and turned back.

“By the way,” he said. “The door from the Oldham house into the professor's laboratory. You know the door I mean?” Hunter moved his head affirmatively on the pillow. “You have a key to it?”

Hunter turned his head to look at Weigand. He said, “No. Why should I?” He considered Weigand for some seconds, his gray eyes intent. “You think somebody used that door?”

“I don't know,” Bill said. “It's a possibility, of course. Who had keys? Elwell himself, I suppose. Miss Oldham says she had. Any others?”

He would, Hunter said, have to ask somebody else. But then he said, “Keys are a dime a dozen, you know. All you need is one to start with.”

“Mrs. Oldham?”

“I don't know. I can't see her popping in on Jamey. Or being asked to. But, I've no idea about the key. Why don't you ask her?”

“I shall,” Bill said.

He turned back toward the door.

“Seems to me,” the man on the bed said, “that there was something about—” But he stopped. He said no, he guessed not. Bill and Mullins waited. “No,” Hunter said again. “If there was anything, it's gone. Probably wasn't.”

“About the key?”

“That's what I thought for a moment. But if it was, it's gone.”

Bill had his hand again on the doorknob. But again he turned back. There was one other thing. Hunter had arranged to pick Miss Oldham up for lunch? That was—Miss Oldham was expecting him?

“Sure,” Hunter said. “That is—sure.”

A standing arrangement? Or had he telephoned?

Not quite a standing arrangement. Rather, a common one. A “tomorrow the usual time?” sort of thing. And the answer, in this case, “yes.”